Belia'zaar's New Throne (Inflation, TF, NSFW, Popping)

A birthday story for Ceejay, a friend over on twitter!

 Sure, being turned into an inflatable chair by a fat-assed imp isn't everyone's cup of tea, but hey, there are worse ways to pay off a demonic contract!

Ceejay reached to take another drag from his cigarette. When his fingers touched his lip revealing that his hand was missing a cigarette, he squinted hard, and tried to remember if he put it down somewhere. He pat his trouser pockets, his shirt pocket. Nothing. His wallet, phone, keys too, were gone too. A mild panic began to hitch his breathing, had he been robbed without even noticing? Ceejay did the dance of searching for his belongings a second time. Trouser pocket, shirt pocket, even going as far to check his shoes in case he had miraculously managed to store a smartphone, a leather wallet, and a pair of metal keys in his left sock by accident. When there was nothing to be found except his clothes, panic set in properly.

It wasn’t unusual for Ceejay to misplace things. He was an avid smoker, both tobacco and weed. He once bought two hundred dollars’ worth of sour candy while high, forgetting about it until it arrived a week later which resulted in an awkward phone-call with his bank. The difference between that incident and now was sobriety. He was dry as he had ever been in his life. So, unless he was robbed by Carmen Sandiego in broad daylight, he had no way of explaining where his stuff went.

“Are you done with your little jig?” A sonorous voice spoke. But it was raspy too, like an aged smoker. When Ceejay looked for its source he found a noticeably short man sitting behind an opulent wooden desk, lined with golden symbols and shapes he didn’t recognize. The more Ceejay stared, the more his blood ran cold. What he thought was a trick of the light, was actually the deep green of the man’s skin. It shined like polished leather. Two curved ram-like horns protruded from slicked back hair the colour of red wine, and they gleamed. They were made of gold too. Small as the creature was, Ceejay had seen enough horror films and been to enough bible study classes as a kid to know. He was looking at a demon.

“Where am I?”

The demon took a cigar cutter from his desk. It had a face. When he pushed both ends of the double-bladed guillotine to do away with the cap, the face winced in pain. He reached for a lighter made of solid black material, lighting his cigar with a green flame. The moment he did, Ceejay could tell it wasn’t tobacco. He couldn’t place the smell, but it was potent. Just the small wisp he breathed in from ten feet away was enough to make him viciously cough.

“Hell.” The demon took another puff, sizing Ceejay up with a grin. His pupils were a pair of golden slits, burning dimly against a deep black where the white of his eyes should have been. “You sold your soul.”

“I did WHAT?” Ceejay exclaimed and approached the green man. He must have forgotten where he was, or who he was speaking to, because he slammed both hands on the demon’s desk before he could stop to think if it was a smart idea or not. “So I’m DEAD?”

The demon blinked. He snorted and took his cigar in hand to explode into laughter. “Wow, you really are a forgetful one.” He tipped his ash and reclined into his chair. It squeaked, Ceejay swore he heard it ask for help. “April nineteenth, two o’clock in the morning. Client requested an item - one joint, high quality - in exchange for one temporary enslavement of their soul.” He locked eyes with Ceejay. “You’re not dead kiddo, but you do belong to me. At least for a little bit.”

Ceejay backed away from the desk. “No, no, no.” He protested. “This is all some sort of sick prank, you’re not real.” His head swam with discordant memories, all flooding back to him in an instant. Shit. He didn’t think the guy who gave him that joint was serious, he just thought it was a bit he was doing. Like, everyone was drunk, a weirdo in a cloak with sharp teeth and horns and a tail and... oh, no, actually that was a demon. Yup. Ceejay realized. He’d gotten drunk, sold his soul for some weed, and gotten high. That sounded about right.

“Well I’ve been in a very particular mood and going over your file, you seem like just the thing to scratch my itch.” Ceejay didn’t like how the demon referred to him as a thing.

“Don’t I have rights? A trial, like, a lawyer?”

“Nah.” The demon disappeared in a puff of smoke. Ceejay felt something jab him in the stomach, looking down, he saw it was a golden pen nib attached to a long green cable. “It’s a solid contract, I wrote it myself.” A symbol had been drawn on his skin, shining bright and lurid through his shirt. He turned around to realize he had been stabbed by the demon’s tail, and he sweat with fear of what came next.

“I feel... weird...” dizziness was setting in. Ceejay wobbled.

“My name is Belia’zaar, owner of the Greed and Excess Casino.” he snapped his fingers.

Ceejay felt the humid air of the demon’s office on his skin. His clothes vanished, he tried to call out in protest, but something was keeping his mouth shut. There was nothing there to physically clamp his lips together, but trying to part them and vocalize resulted in a mental shock that forced his silence.

“First of all, we need to do away with those icky pores and hair. I don’t want to feel like I’m sitting on a cheap rug.” Click. His fingers snapped again.

Ceejay felt tingly. His skin was being washed over by a golden light. Wherever the light touched became shiny and reflective, like the surface of a balloon. He looked at his hands, now devoid of the texture and imperfections of human skin and he saw his face in a warped reflection. Seams had grown along his contours, if he could see himself in a mirror, he was sure he would resemble a cross between a pool-toy and a realistic blow-up doll. The thought triggered something deep down in him and he grunted to suppress it. Shit, no, don’t...

With a loud hiss, Ceejay’s dick inflated to its full length and width. 

“Oh-hoh!” Belia’zaar’s eyes lit up. “So, the file was right, you ARE a freak.”

Ceejay had more fetishes than he dared ever tell anyone. Everything happening to him right now would be a dream come true if it wasn’t at the hands of a demon with ownership of his fucking soul. “Look man, just be cool. You’ve had your fun, can I go now?”

The demon smirked. “Please, we haven’t started yet.” He began unbuttoning his suit. Too lazy to undress fully by hand, he vanished his clothes away in an instant with magic. Somehow, hidden in those pinstripe trousers, was an enormous dick and balls to match the size of which rivalled Belia’zaar’s entire torso.

Ceejay would have blushed if he still could. He wasn’t sure if he had blood anymore. There was just this overwhelming pressure and he presumed that was the thing keeping him upright and capable of moving. Like if someone made him expel it, he’d crumble.

And that’s what Belia’zaar did.

He jabbed Ceejay, right in the dick. He watched the human blow-up doll deflate, crumpled to the ground without any air to pull his shape taut. Belia’zaar inhaled the pink-tinted gas which rushed out of him, his own monstrous emerald rod growing firmer with every taste. “Mm,” he said. “Ah... pure lust, you like what you see don’t you?” He chuckled. Raspy, not deep, but powerful. His voice was a spell, seducing Ceejay with its sorcery.

“Next. Colour.” Belia’zaar’s tail extended, pen nib pointing down. It sprayed golden liquid all over Ceejay’s emptied husk. It soaked in and turned him into a golden, deflated blow-up doll of a man. “Now, the best part. Reshaping.” He whipped Ceejay with his tail, the long green chord of a prehensile limb stretching infinitely until it looped around the former human’s body until it formed a circular cage. It squeezed tight, until Ceejay was just a formless ball of golden rubber. Belia’zaar recalled his tail, picked the orb up in one hand and bit down with his sharp gold teeth.

He blew. Air pushed into the orb and inflated it. As it expanded it unfurled. When fully inflated it became an inflatable throne, with a lewd dildo-like protrusion on the seat. A round and puffy redolence of Ceejay’s face appeared at the height of the chair’s back. Little nubs implicated his arms were now the arms of the inflatable throne, the rest of his body had been fully moulded and lost in the anatomy of this golden rubber chair.

“Time to scratch that itch, big boy. Shame your face didn’t end up merged into the seat, was really looking forward to sitting on it.” Belia’zaar smirked. He waltzed to his desk and pulled out a jar of lube and slathered it between his cheeks. He added some to the dildo poking out of the inflatable seat, causing Ceejay’s eyes to roll. “Oh, like that, do ya?” He said.

Two great emerald cheeks, squeezed in between the arms of the Ceejay-chair. It was a tight fit. The dildo slid deep into Belia’zaars ass. The demon rode it, bouncing hard. With every bounce, the chair grew. It was like a bike-pump’s plunger being raised and depressed. Every time the demon’s body slammed down; the chair grew puffier. Bigger, and bigger. 

Ceejay could barely hold on. He wasn’t tired but he felt like he was slipping away. Belia’zaar’s ass riding his inflatable pool-chair dick felt good. It kept feeling good, no, better and better, the more he inflated.

“Oooooh you feel pretty nice, but it’s a shame, I don’t think you’re made of high-quality rubber~” Belia’zaar taunted Ceejay. His massive green dick had inflated, and he stroked it, jacking it off with both hands. Bounce, bounce, rub. It was all too much for Ceejay.

But he couldn’t speak, or protest. The only way he could respond was by inflating. His internal protests and thoughts were turning into a hot pink gas within his morphed body. The chair became overly round and deformed, brushing the ceiling of the office and crushing furniture against the walls. Ceejay could only feel two things. Belia’zaar’s monstrous ass pleasuring him; and an overwhelming tightness. It grew until he was screaming internally: I’M GONNA POP, I’M GONNA POP. DUDE I’M GONNA POP... I’M GONNA BLOW. I’M TOO FUCKING HUGE, MAN, YOU GOTTA... STOP... IT’S TOO... MUCH. I’M... GONNA POP... LIKE A...

BANG! 

Belia’zaar hit the ground. The chair gave out, it had filled his office from top to bottom and gave out, unable to handle the strain and his fat ass. He growled. “Damn it.” The contract binding Ceejay’s soul burned up. “Paid off his debt and I didn’t even get to cum, what a waste.” He clicked his fingers, commanding the furniture to rearrange itself back into place. “Guess I’ll need to make sure the next one’s got more stamina.”