Belia'zaar's Plaything

(CW: Inflation, Popping, Penis Inflation, Self-Humiliation, Blowjob)

Commission for CynicalGage.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Thomas landed with a harsh thud.

“Oh, another one,” the green skinned devil behind the desk looked up at the ceiling. He clicked his black tongue against his golden, shark-like teeth and hummed to himself. “We really need to hire a contractor to fix that broken portal, one day we’re going to get a real hefty lad signing his soul away and he’s going straight through the floorboards. I’d bet ten years of someone’s life on it.” He returned to his paperwork, signing an infinitely refilling stack of papers with the golden nibbed tip of his tail. The attached pen to his prehensile limb moved on its own, whipping out signatures with blinding speed. His hands remained free, with the ends of his golden claws drumming the desk impatiently.

“Are you going to wake up and ask your twenty questions, or are you just going to lay there like a human-skin rug? Because I have plenty of those and they’re all much higher quality than you. So, you know, whenever you’re ready,” he said and rolled his eyes. “Hello? Human... I can literally smell your anxiety; I know you’re still alive.” He reached into the desk to pull out a cigar and a double-bladed cigar cutter, which had two wide eyes and was trying to yell something. “Oh shut up Steve, one month as a cigar cutter is a pittance compared to how much debt you racked up...” the imp used Steve to cut the end of his cigar, then lit it with a lighter that didn’t have eyes.

“Ugh, my head,” Thomas said. He got to his feet and felt his heart skip a beat. He was in a dark wooden office festooned with hellishly opulent decor and a floor-length mirror that looked onto a demented metropolis of casinos, attractions, and amusements that were as monstrously terrifying as they were exciting to look at. “What... how... where...”

“Going to stop you right there buddy,” the short little devil behind the desk raised a hand and Thomas could no longer speak. He tried to separate his lips with his fingers but he was impeded by golden threads which materialized over his skin.

“First up, my name is Belia’zaar. I own this pocket of hell. Yes, hell. There’s an infinite number of afterlives and this is one of them. No I don’t know everything about the selection process for who goes where and why hell and not heaven; but between you and me, those angels are the real sickos.” Belia’zaar waved a hand, returning Thomas’s ability to speak. “And no, you’re not dead. You just signed a contract.”

“... oh right, I did.” Thomas looked down at his shoes.

“So what did you sell yourself for kid,” Belia’zaar puffed on his cigar, releasing rings of acrid green smoke that made the room smell like a burning forest. “Fame, money, power, a hot babe?”

“... art.”

“Oh you’re a fancy bourgeoisie type. Well what sort of painting? One that would make anyone who looks at it fall in love with ya? Was it something real pricey? Heck, are you the fella who sold his soul for a Banksy? Because if you are, you’re a day early.”

“No it was... cheaper, kind of,” Thomas rubbed his arm and avoided eye-contact with the gold-horned imp. “I have a sort of, um.”

“Spit it out or I’ll just make you tell me.”

“Fine! I have a bunch of weird kinks and I signed a contract so I could get a really expensive commission artist to draw me a comic full of inflation porn!”

Belia’zaar just stared at Thomas, ash flaking from his cigar. There was a long, uncomfortable pause, and then he laughed so hard he would have died if he had human lungs. “You signed a hell contract, admittedly a minor one, for FETISH PORN? Maaaaaaan that’s a new one, no, no really! I’ve got to tell the boys at the sauna about this, oof. They are going to laaaaaaaugh.”

“Okay so I did something stupid. Just... flay my skin off and make it into a raincoat already!” Thomas’s face flushed red as the sky outside.

“With the way you moisturise?” Belia’zaar hopped out of his chair. “Not likely.” Without his desk, he was even smaller than Thomas thought. Barely three feet tall. He was fat all over, walked with confidence and a charismatic twinkle to his golden eyes. His pinstripe suit, black with golden stripes, shared a rubbery sheen to it - like latex - with his skin. He was like a small but powerful walking balloon. Thomas had never been attracted to a literal demon before but there was a first time for everything.

Thomas stood awkwardly in the middle of the office. He was a pot-bellied man in his early thirties, cropped brown hair that had grown into a bit of a mess in the recent months. A beige button-up, blue jeans and some white sneakers. He pushed up his squarish glasses and gulped, next to the immaculate perfection of Belia’zaar he might as well have been a naked slob.

“What ‘are’ you going to do with me?” Thomas asked, keeping his voice low.

Belia’zaar commanded a piece of stained parchment to fly from a drawer in his desk. It unfurled itself at the demon’s eye-level and he regarded it with a smirk. “You sold your soul for a period of seven days to pay for some porn, you must of really been pent up in the downstairs if you were ‘that’ desperate. Was it good? Did you manage to get your moneys worth?”

Thomas grit his teeth. “Yes...” he answered.

“So that means you must have a lot of lust.”

“What?”

“Y’know. Lust, the sin? Everyone has sin. Some people have more of it than other folks. Down here sin is a delicacy, it’s a currency. Heck it’s even a fashion statement,” Belia’zaar tapped his golden ram-like horns. “All the gold you see on me, from my horn, to my tail, claw and clothes? Liquid greed baby. Real high-class stuff too, almost existential. This aint cheap CEO boss greed, though I do like a cup of that stuff in the mornings.”

“So you’re going to what. Melt me down, harvest me for my lust?”

“Oh no, nothing so basic.” Belia’zaar clicked his fingers. His clothes vanished; he was just there. Naked. With the biggest, most beautiful emerald green penis Thomas had ever seen. He wasn’t usually taken by someone’s bits, male or female, but that shaft between the imp’s legs looked like a turgid balloon and if there was one thing Thomas liked... it was a big balloon. “Ever been blown by a demon before, big boy?”

Thomas was so enraptured by the simultaneously compact and bulging form of the naked imp, he failed to notice he himself had ended up naked. His semi-boner now rapidly swelling to attention, but even with the stark differences in their heights, Belia’zaar had the greater instrument. It appeared to be swelling, blowing up like a long tubular balloon connected to an invisible air pump.

“Yeah, that’s the stuff. It’s far more effective to work with the kinks of the lusting soul than to go against them.” The imp took Thomas’s shaft in his hands. They were pliable, like high quality latex. Balloons, balloons, balloons. That’s all Thomas could think about. “And you’re a regular fountain of lust, blowing up my pecker real good. Oh, you didn’t know?” He gestured to his still inflating cock and balls, the latter had become a pair of inflatable balls wide and pendulous enough for him to sit atop of. “You’re doing this, buddy.”

Thomas should have protested. But then he thought, and realized. He was already in hell. He had already hit metaphorical rock bottom in terms of action and consequence, so what could go wrong from here? “Do you want m-more lust? ‘cause there’s a way.”

Belia’zaar was in the midst of playing with his gorged emerald dick like a cat with a ball of yarn. When Thomas spoke, he made eye contact, and his grin magnified a thousand fold. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well,” Thomas huffed. “I don’t just... like balloons. I’d much rather uh, well, be one.”

“Oh, you’re one of THOSE guys. Gets off on being all shiny and round?”

“... except, not just like that,” Thomas replied feeling brave. “I want to go to extremes. I don’t want to just be a bigger me, I want to be a big, fat, ugly cartoon balloon. Like, I want people to look at me, and be grossed out, and laugh, and just boggle at how I used to be human. So fucking pumped my eyes go wide and I’m made of nothing but rubber and air.”

Belia’zaar shuffled his enormous balls to get closer to Thomas. He began to deflate as he transferred the airy lust inside of him into Thomas, making his skin glossy like a freshly constituted sheet of prime latex. He pushed the lust into the human’s slit, cupping his shaft and blew.

Thomas looked down fully expecting to see something hellish and vascular but he was instead greeted to a huge peach-tone balloon with a glans head, which was transparent enough to see Belia’zaar’s blurry shape through the thinning material blowing into him. Thomas moaned, unable to contain his elation.

“More?”

“Keep blowing, I can still tell I’m human.”

The imp blew with hurricane force. Thomas’s thin unimposing limbs exploded in size. They were raised at angles like a rigid blow-up doll. His stomach followed, like he had just swallowed a cannonball. Then his chest, both moobs growing to womanly proportions and beyond. He still held a human shape but that was changing, as pressure built in his head, rounding out his head now that he was no longer bound by the mortal limitations of bone or flesh.

Thomas knew how bizarre it was to say feeling his head inflated felt wonderful. Like a headache had built then immediately been expunged and all the pressure had gone from pain to pleasure. His eyes widened, then bulged cartoonishly and inflated like monochrome balloons attached just under his brow. His nose became round and bulbous, joined by two thick lips that banned him from speaking, robbing him of yet another vestige of his humanity.

“Oh, I can taste the lust, you’re a real looner freak aren’t ya?” Belia’zaar had no trouble toppling Thomas over, he was just air and latex now. The imp mounted his pneumatic prey and locked his legs around the balloon’s shaft, crossing them so tightly it made the top half swell with displaced air and nearly burst it to shreds. He grabbed the glans and bent it down and kept blowing into that slit.

Thomas no longer resembled a human. He didn’t resemble a balloon, either. In the haste and lustful abandon of the inflation process, there had been no care to preserve his anatomy. He was basically a collection of squeaking shapes that reflected the reddish light from the hellscape outside. Someone looking in from the window could probably make out the round latex-glove like orbs with little divots that used to be his hands. Or maybe someone who entered through the door could recognise the squarish shapes, pumped to bursting, with little rubber nubs that used to be his feet.

“Oh yes, you’re going to make a great worker. Your first half-hour in hell and look, you’re already so FULL of yourself!” Belia’zaar just kept puffing. Thomas was barely lucid enough to squeak out a reply, but he could feel himself approaching the apex of his elasticity. “We’re going to need to work on your stamina, you’re ready to blow your load, what a shame!” Belia’zaar raised his tail like a scorpion’s stinger. “Time to go pop, you big, fat, ugly balloon~”

Belia’zaar stung Thomas’s bellybutton with his tail. Thomas suddenly became hyper-aware of his situation; he felt every inch of him ignite with sensation. The chaotic push and pull of desire and fear, of living out his dream, and the horror of its visceral reality. With one surge of expansion that had his big round collection of shapes press against the four walls, he exploded with a cataclysmic bang.