Devils and Details p.8 (finale) (Patreon)

contains constant gas, wg, potentially bad ending???

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It took ten minutes for the maintenance crews to gather down at the lobby, during which time most of the other employees had left – though Lewis and Amelie remained. During said ten minutes Argyle remained beached on the floor outside the elevator, at first wholly exhausted while his frame continued to swell and quiver, then just plain exhausted. He did put in a couple of feeble attempts at getting up, but all that led to was a terrifying knowledge of how heavy his limbs had become in the last few minutes. Not once during all this did his ass cease its constant trumpeting into the air around him.

The only part about it that would have pleased him was seeing Marshall in a gray jumpsuit, carrying a tarp, visibly recoiling from the smell he was walking into a heady cloud of – and Argyle was in no position to savor that particular morsel of revenge. Doubly unfortunate given how ravenous he was beginning to feel as he lay sprawled across the floor, whimpering, too shocked and embarrassed to think of anything to say in front of these people.

Six people, Marshall among them, got to work with Argyle’s body. Always two of them pulling on the corners of the tarp and four more digging hands underneath the loose, fleshy bulk of him and lifting as best they could. Argyle felt bone-deep cringes with each handful of himself taken in that process, like he was some spill that had to be cleaned up – a thought that was soberingly close to true he realized. He did not know what to make of the fact that somewhere deep inside all that flesh he felt himself growing steadily aroused by the attention.

For ten minutes Argyle wobbled and shook as that intensely sturdy patch of fabric was worked under his body. Ten minutes until it was under enough of him that the six maintenance workers could attach D-links with cable and handles to the ends of it and the middle and begin dragging him across the floor toward one of the walls toward the back of the lobby. A place Argyle had never really paid attention to before. An unassuming patch of silver amid the polished stone – a freight elevator.

Argyle grunted as he was dragged over the lip of it, the endless billowing out of his bottom mirroring the sound when it was brought over as well, eventually leaving him sprawled out in another small boxed space – albeit a much larger one than last time, not that it felt all that spacious anymore. As soon as he was in there the entire cluster of maintenance staff rapidly fled, most of them covering their faces with a shirt sleeve or whatever else seemed convenient. 

It didn’t take long after that for Lewis to step in and close the doors behind him. The elevator began moving with a somewhat chunky lurch, one that the squirrel clearly didn’t mind as he adopted a languid pose on the wall just opposite Argyle, who couldn’t quite crane his neck up far enough to see the fiend’s face. He didn’t really have to though, there were other details that were off enough to tell him things. Lewis never stood so casually, arms crossed and foot tapping – and he had never heard the squirrel breathe so openly (he hadn’t even been sure he did breathe at times).

“L-Lewis, what…?!”

Two words and Argyle felt like he had to stop and breathe, possibly because he was pitched onto his belly leaving him tilted a little forward, leaving an immense amount of his weight pressing onto his chest. The two words were enough, however. The squirrel leaned down, slipping onto one knee, taking another deep breath and visibly smiling in a strangely innocent fashion for something with teeth like his.

“You said it yourself, sir. You wanted the next retroactive alteration done as soon as possible. I had, at the time, been en route to tell you we could begin whenever you wanted. So, I did as you asked, in every fashion.”

Argyle quietly mouthed the words ‘oh no’ to nobody in particular. He understood instantly, he’d gone and given that order – and then he’d stuffed himself until he passed out while having Lewis blow him under his desk. The fiend seemed to relish watching the realization dawn, even reaching out to fondly ruffle the fur between Argyle’s ears the way one would a favorite pet.

“It’s been a very pleasant ten years, I must say. Normally I hate spending time on Earth. I cannot stand the smell up here, but you?”

Lewis reached out and seized a handful of Argyle’s bulk, violently shaking it, which briefly stepped up the intensity of his steadily erupting gut. 

“You smell like home now that the spices I brought with me from the pit have done their job.”

Blinking slowly, eyes watering a little, Argyle tried to push himself up a little – to take some of the pressure off his chest and get a little more breath in him.

“S-spices!? From – from Hell?! What-“

The effort was only a little successful. Argyle soon lost his grip and collapsed anew, wobbling a bit more, just in time for a soft ‘ding’ to announce they had arrived at the penthouse level. The doors opened to a rush of ice-cold air, the walk-in freezer by the kitchen he realized – the other side of it anyway. For a brief moment Argyle let himself slip into abject terror that he was about to be strung up with the rest of the meat, but as Lewis took one of the cables on the tarp and began effortlessly dragging him across the floor of the freezer they went right out the other side.

“In your food, obviously. You enjoyed it so much – I mean they are a trifle addicting but you clearly liked them from the start. Over time they twist your digestive system a bit – hence all the wind coming out of you. They also aren’t terribly friendly to the metabolism.”

All around, Argyle saw the suite mostly as he’d left it that morning. In fact the only thing that stood out as different was straight ahead – a bundle of sturdy looking straps dangling from the ceiling. Lewis drug him right over to them, a heap that Argyle couldn’t make heads nor tails of – not at first anyway. 

It started to make more sense when the squirrel plucked some of them up and he saw what looked like the lower part of a parachute harness if they designed them for marine mammals with glandular problems. The fact that Lewis’ hands wandered rather freely as the squirrel started to thread the strips of canvas around Argyle’s immense thighs and up over his ass just left the breathless wolf even more confused and uncomfortable – and left his aching manhood prodding into its blubbery confines a bit harder.

“I’m honestly delighted with the outcome – one can never tell how these things will go when they begin, and your work on that contract was so precise I was briefly worried I’d be in a life-long boring assignment before taking you back. Your life, obviously.”

Wiggling feebly, Argyle fought his hands onto the floor again and pushed.

“B-but… Soul’smine!”

Lews had gotten around to his middle now, which meant the squirrel was gradually yanking and sliding another sturdy looking bit of canvas down across Argyle’s chest and working it bit by bit to his belly. The comment earned him a brief reprieve however, and another fond ruffle of his head fur.

“Of course. Honestly, why you mortals think the only risk is if you outright bargain your soul away is beyond me – that’s got to be the one downfall you never manage.”

Argyle’s confusion peaked at that, he flailed weakly – but all that managed to accomplish was giving Lewis a slightly easier time with the last few loops of material. What followed then was an audible grunt from the squirrel, and a bit of creaking above – followed by Argyle’s whole world pitching as broad strips of canvas pressed up into his quivering bulk and began lifting him up and tilting him into an upright position. 

After a few moments of that Argyle found himself suspended in the heaviest harness he’d ever seen legs splayed out, belly cupped in its own pocket, arms wiggling uselessly at his sides, and perhaps most damningly – his cock twitching and clenching somewhere underneath it all. Lewis approached after a couple more grunts, apparently tying off the ropes holding Argyle in place, eventually coming to lean into the wolf’s gut and wrap his arms around it.

“Did you really think you could play with time and have Hell alter the world to elevate your status and means and not be joining us there when your time was up?”

Leaning back briefly, Lewis made eye contact with Argyle – then raised an eyebrow.

“Of course, you did, you really are that arrogant. Or were, anyway. I have to say-”

Argyle squirmed helplessly as the squirrel gave his belly a squeeze, briefly ramping up the volume (both kinds) the wolf’s ass was producing. It left him aching inside, a constant anxiety clawing at the back of Argyle’s mind.

“I much prefer the taste of gluttony and lust, to pride and greed. I have dinner ready for you if like, sir. Unless you’d care to try abstaining for another run at altering your history? You’d need to go without eating for… I want to say twelve hours, give or take – and it might take more than one sitting given your generous proportions.”

Wiggling weakly in his harness, Argyle shut his eyes and whimpered as he accomplished nothing at all but to make the steady rumbling baritone of his butt shift in pitch a little. He understood the situation well enough, he saw his mistakes, saw the traps he’d fallen into – and he saw them lined up around him now as well. His belly was ravenous, his body was wholly dependent on his servant. Twelve hours? Argyle was wrestling with a cold sweat from panic after less than an hour from waking – he knew well enough he’d fail to make it, would gorge himself stupid again and probably come out even worse for it – somehow. 

He had a hard time picturing how it would get worse, but Argyle suspected Lewis had a more vivid imagination than him there.

“F-n-no! J-just dinner, a-and-”

A fond pat at his belly followed, and a soft tone from the squirrel, as if trying to calm a nervous mount before riding.

“And then your adorable, tiny, needy little cock. Yes sir, I know. I’ve gotten quite fond of trying to find it under all that lard of yours, sir. Rest assured, both of us will be very satisfied in the near future, and then we can discuss your current case load.”

Case load. Argyle’s body went entirely slack, which left him feeling just how masterfully the harness he was in distributed things. No one part of it holding too much of his weight. No angle he could lean in that upset his balance in any meaningful fashion. He just hung there, floating almost, swaying gently as the leftover inertia from his pathetic struggling worked itself out. A steady stream of being hand-fed luxurious meals, talking Lewis through legal work, and frequent heart-fluttering orgasms – that was all Argyle could remember happening for the last decade.

As he heard a few dishes clattering about, a cart being loaded with more decadent bounty, it was all he could see happening for the rest of forever.