Inflation Types:
Date Written: 

The gentleman leaned back in his chair, staring intently at the paper in front of him as he attempted to decipher the meaning of the patterns it bore. It was a puzzle that had eluded him for far too long, but after careful consideration and study he felt he understood it enough to try his hand at deciphering it.

"Oh, I see," he muttered. "If the one goes here..." He entered a "1" in one of the boxes on the paper. "...then the seven would go... here. I think I'm starting to get the hang of this."

That it was a difficult puzzle does not mean that it was an important one.

Still, his sudden acquisition of vast amounts of wealth enabled him to fritter away his time with such pursuits, often in the comfort of his vast study. One pre-stocked with shelves upon shelves of books, no less - they had come with the house - though he hadn't bothered to look through them after the first few had come up as either obscure tomes on sorcery and the occult or formulaic best-sellers that were hollowed out and used to conceal what he assumed was pornography. No accounting for taste, he supposed. Still, even if their content was questionable they added a certain ambiance to the room.

Suddenly his attention was drawn from his puzzle by the scent of sulfur and brimstone and, his curiosity piqued, he looked over his shoulder to try and discern the source. Standing in the entrance of the room was a svelte, maroon-skinned women with raven-black hair that cascaded down her back, impish yellow eyes and two small horns protruding from her forehead. She slowly strode towards him, stiletto thigh-high leather boots clicking against the tile floor, her ample chest jiggling far more than it had any right to underneath the thin black leather band that passed for a top, and her rounded hips swaying far more than they had any right to in the black thong that passed for a bottom. Stopping in the center of the room, she rested one hand on her hip and gave him a wry smirk. "Derek Stenam, I presume?"

He stood up, turning his pencil over in his hands as he eyed her with bemusement. "I know what you are."

"Then you know why I'm here."

"I shan't go quietly, you realize."

"Ooh," she cooed, "I -love- it when they play hard to get."

"So you'll deign to to rob me of my mortal soul by forcing yourself on me?"

"Force myself on you?" She let out a haughty laugh. "We know what each and every human lusts for, and nothing is sweeter than having them give into their sins. I won't -force- myself on you, for when I'm done, you'll be -begging- for me." With that she inhaled sharply, her smooth abs quickly filling out into a small paunch. Smiling at the man's bemused expression the succubus continued to inhale, her belly rising up and out as it filled with air.

As she progressed past "plump" into "pregnant" the succubus paced in a small circle before him to give him a view from all sides. Still drawing the same breath, her stomach bobbed ever so slightly with her every move as she continued to swell. Finally she brought her inflation to a halt and reached around the front of her belly, barely managing to lace her fingers together over her navel. Cradling it, she gave him a come-hither stare. "Well?"

"I must confess," the man said, nonplussed, "that is an interesting trick."

The briefest flicker of dismay crossed the succubus' face and, resting her hands on her hips, she regarded him with interest. "Strong-willed, are we? Or perhaps merely... indulgent. No matter, I'll have you yet." She inhaled again, more forcefully this time. Her belly continued to swell, growing out as well as sideways as the sides of her torso began to round out, and her hips and backside rapidly ballooned, almost in an attempt to make up for lost time. Her leather boots let out a creak moments before the laces near the top gave with a series of "pop-pop-pop"s, pushed open by her swelling thighs, and the strings of her thong snapped under the growing assault of her hips before falling to the floor.

Eventually the succubus stopped inhaling and let out a sigh, cradling the large, swollen protrusion her stomach had become with no small sense of pride. She turned around and bent over, her navel inches from the floor, and thrust her beachball-sized ass out in the man's direction. Swaying her plumped hips back and forth, she looked over her shoulder at him as she licked her index finger in a blatantly suggestive manner.

He pointed to her thong. "I believe you've lost something."

She looked at him in confusion before standing up resolutely, resting her hands on the sides of her three foot hips. Furrowing her brow in concentration, she took another, even deeper breath and reached forward, attempting to press her gut in as much as she could. While it still continued to fill, albeit more slowly, the air inside her moved to other parts of her body: Her back began to round out, slowly joining with a butt large enough to seat two people. Her thighs, each now as wide as her svelte body was formerly, continued to thicken and tear her boots apart, forcing her to stand spread-legged or risk falling over.

The succubus' breath slowed, and she struggled to pull in air. Her backside, thighs and belly trembled for a bit before puffing outward with a hollow "bloompf," merging and taking on a more rounded shape nearly four feet across but strangely leaving her upper torso untouched. Her inhalations resumed unabated as she continued to grow up and out, gaining inches in a matter of seconds until she finally saw fit to stop, her upper torso perched atop a globular belly as wide as the succubus formerly was tall. She balanced precariously upon two conical legs that jutted out of the bottom of the sphere, her boots' laces pushed apart halfway down her shins.

"Oh dear," she said, "I seem to be... -exposed-. Whatever shall I do?"

"Might I suggest investing in clothing with more give? I hear spandex works wonders."

The succubus' right eye twitched a few times as she stared at him blankly before her face screwed up in a mask of rage. "I -will- have you yet, mortal!" Her mouth opened unnaturally wide as she sucked a torrent of air down her gullet, her body creaking as it swelled outward at an alarming rate. As she grew higher and rounder her legs thickened with her, slowly being absorbed into her sides. Her boots strained to contain her growth before the stitches gave up the fight, breaking apart and falling to the ground.

As she crested eight feet she continued sucking in air through gritted teeth, jaw clenched and brow furrowed from the effort. She felt her feet leave the floor as the underside of her belly lifted her up, the last of her legs joined the rest of her rounded mass soon after.

Still she grew larger. Nine feet, then ten, then eleven... her ruined boots and thong had long since disappeared beneath her, pressing uncomfortably into her underside. The succubus knew she was approaching her limits, but her wounded pride wouldn't let her admit defeat. She struggled to pull in a last few breaths, only stopping when the top of her head brushed against the ceiling.

She looked down at the man as seductively as she could manage, running a finger along the side of her expanded expanse. Her face, shoulders, arms and breasts were only slightly rounder and fuller, but all that remained of the rest of her body below that was a taut, shiny, crimson orb that towered over the man, with two plump feet protruding from indentations on her sides. "So now that I've pumped myself up," she said, her belly gently creaking with each breath she took, "how 'bout giving me a few pumps of your own?"

The man considered this for a second. "No thank you."

"How are you doing this?!" she demanded.

"Doing what, pray tell?" he casually replied.

"Resisting -me!-" she huffed. "My charms should have been-" Her gut let out a loud groan, and she reached down to gently massage it with her hands, cringing.

"No doubt you would have enamored others," he said, gesturing with the pencil in his hands "even without your... unusual display. But you've made three errors today, I'm afraid. First, believing that I would become consumed by lust simply because you demonstrate some paraphilia-related talent is, quite honestly, the dumbest plan I've ever seen."


"Secondly, you have me confused with the previous owner of the house."


"...and finally," he continued, placing the tip of the pencil against her inflated gut, "I'm gay."


The man gave her a gentle poke with the pencil. The succubus' eyes went wide, and with a deafening bang she exploded in a shower of rubbery maroon scraps, the tatters gently floating around the room before settling to the ground. He scanned the debris of the supernatural seductress before sighing and leaving the room, returning shortly thereafter with a dustpan and broom, and set about cleaning up what was left of the demonic seductress. "But if it's any consolation," he continued, "he didn't give me a forwarding address either."

Fifteen minutes and one full dustpan later, he crossed the room to a bookshelf near his desk. He ran his fingers across the spines of the tomes, settling on one that looked particularly out of place. Giving it a gentle tug the shelves beside it retracted and slid apart, and the study was filled with a cacophony of screams, cries, pleas and inarticulate rage.

Behind the shelves was a positively massive room, filled with dozens of succubi that came before. Some were locked within impenetrable glass cubes full to the brim with water, bound and hung from the ceiling in networks of ropes and straps, shrunk to mere inches in height and stuck in glass jars or sealed within stone. Still others were immobilized by their own bodies, either so fattened that they could scarcely move, attached to breasts, bellies or butts that towered over their heads or weighed down with members the size of tree trunks. All were immobilized, and all by their own power.

Ignoring the noise around him, the man crossed the room to a bin labeled "inflation scraps," half-filled with red, rubbery bits. He emptied the dustpan into it, turned, and left, not giving the other denizens of the chamber a second thought.

As the shelves closed behind him, he shook his head. "Mister Stenam has a -lot- to answer for..."

Average: 4.2 (16 votes)
Login or register to tag items