Boom Boom's Boom

(CW: Farting, Belching, Popping, Hypnosis, Wrestling, Roughhousing).
Commission for Caz!

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“They want me to do WHAT with my hair?” Zac cried out. His face red with indignation. “It’s bad enough they had me change my stage name to BOOM BOOM, but they want me to braid my hair like a literal fuse? What’s next, are they going to light it on fire while I’m in the ring and watch me explode!?”

The assistant who delivered the news wasn’t at fault. Zac just needed someone to be present while he vented his frustrations, or he might actually blow up. It was bad enough that the wrestling federation had renamed him and cast him as the goofy heel ‘Boom Boom,’ but now he was expected to literally look the part of an explosive fool, not just play-act as one. He eyed the latex wrestling singlet on the wall of his dressing room, and thanked whatever god of wrestling there was for the fact it covered his legs. He was worried they might have him wear one of those singlets that cut to a v shape around the crotch, like a leotard, and he would have to struggle to maintain air-time decency while costumed.

It was only a matter of time until they did something else to his costume. They might as well give him a red nose and some greasepaint, and call him Boom Boom the exploding clown, really go whole hog and complete his humiliation. He sighed and dismissed the PA, feeling guilty over how he verbally exploded on the poor lad without warning. He was just trying to pay the bills, like Zac was, it wasn’t his fault.

“Ugh, I’m an asshole,” he stood up and walked to the doorway trying to catch the lad before he fully departed. He was too late; the boy had fully departed. Zac committed their appearance to memory so that he could approach them after the match and apologize in person. “Their name is... uh... Terry, he’s the one with the curly brown hair and... purple eyes?” Zac stopped, and wondered for a moment. Purple wasn’t a natural eye colour, and he felt like he would remember if one of the personal assistants made a habit of wearing coloured lenses. “Guess he’s trying something new,” he said to himself and sat down at his dressing table.

“Years of acting experience, pro wrestler training, and LITERAL sumo wrestling, and this is where I’m at,” Zac sighed.

Zac had signed up with his current employer three years ago. He was fresh faced, well trained, and fat enough to fit the niche of the heavyweight heel they were missing. Their previous heel, The Great Zeppelin, had quit under mysterious circumstances. Rumours were endless about how and why, with the most popular one being his distaste for the increasingly humiliating storylines centred around his size.

He brushed his hair. In order to prepare for his latest role he was asked to grow it out. Unbound and straightened like it was it hung past the small of his back, an earthy blonde like wheat. Under normal circumstances the maintenance of such long, thick hair would be a nightmare, but he had plenty of assistants to help him with elements of his appearance relating to work. Whenever he needed food to keep himself wide, it was delivered to his dressing room; whenever he needed his costume upsized, a tailor was sent over immediately. He just wished his latest persona was less... compromising.

The singlet he was tasked with wearing was black and shiny, with a bright pink harness that fit over the top. His boots were pink too. A mask covered the top half of his face from above his nose to his scalp, with a circular cut-out for his ‘fuse,’ which he would braid from his hair. He started weaving it, twisting and methodically wrapping his hair tightly. At the end it was left purposefully bristled to emulate the tip of a cartoon black bomb’s own fuse.

“Boom Boom,” he said to his reflection. The chair creaked under his weight. He wondered, if the fuse was lit, would he really explode when the fire touched his scalp. If that were the case would the explosion be loud, would it be more powerful because of his weight?

Zac had gained weight rapidly for tonight. He was plump around the middle with thick arms and legs from his teenage years, when he still lifted weights and pulled heavy tyres behind the train tracks. He was originally going to be a championship focused powerlifter. When he laid his eyes on sumo wrestling, and professional wrestling, however, he felt a twinge of excitement. Instead of bulking and training to display his strength in isolation, he wanted the thrill of competition. The true competitive force of sumo, or the scripted entertainment of pro wrestling, both had their appeal. In the end he chose the latter.

When he pulled the latex over his body it squealed. He grunted and pulled hard, constricting the doughy fat beneath a jet-black veneer. He pulled on the matching socks, tied the high pink wrestling boots, and fastened the harness over his chest. “I’m nothing if not professional,” Zac said to prepare himself. He stood up and left his dressing room in full costume, ready for the fight.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s get ready to rumble!” The announcer yelled over the microphone. He pointed upwards towards the jumbotron, showing Zac’s headshot imposed against a wrestler’s face which Zac himself didn’t recognise. He squinted to try and get a better look, but the stage lights were too bright, and he was quickly thrust forward by the team telling him to take his position. He did a quick mock sumo slap and stomp to get himself geared up. He gave his cheeks a hard smack, and put on his game face.

“In this corner you don’t know him, but you’ll either love him or hate him... my money’s on hate. It’s the dastardly human bomb who’s going to try and blow our heroes away, BOOM BOOOOOOOOM!”

Zac bounded into the ring. He made what he thought was an intimidatingly grim face, but it only made the crowd chuckle at him. He adjusted his stance, wide feet and arms out ready to grapple with his opponent. He was one of the fatter, stronger wrestlers on the roster. He was scripted to lose tonight’s bout, but he was determined to put up a good fight.

“And in the other corner, it’s everyone’s favourite purple bombshell, the bachelor of blimping, the big bad boy of blowing his opponents to bits, it’s THE BIG BANG!”

Zac shot a look at the announcer. The spiel he just gave felt a bit too... menacing for a face. Laying eyes on the man, Zac noticed that his eyes were glazed over with purple. Similar to the colour he remembered in his personal assistant’s eyes in the dressing room. He stared harder and noticed a wisp of purple smoke leave the man’s lips. Something wasn’t right.

“Hey there, Boom Boom,” his opponent entered the ring. He was dressed in a tight spandex body suit. It had a plunging neckline that showed off his dark furred chests, compressing his moobs enough to grant him an impressive cleavage. His arms were bare as the upper portion of the suit resembled a tank top in form, his arms were disproportionately massive. Even measured against the wide, all-encompassing barrel stomach and chest which loomed over Zac, the Big Bang had cartoonishly thick upper limbs. Like he had connected them to air pumps, and let them inflate his muscles.

“Do I... know you?” Zac queried.

The Big Bang ran at him. The last thing Zac remembered before the pain set in was his fat, handsome face coming towards him like an ill-tempered bull. He was bowled over, then grabbed by the harness and flung in the opposite direction against the ropes. Air rushed against his face, the ropes bounded him back towards his opponent, and his pinball journey across the ring came to an abrupt half with his face buried deep in Big Bang’s belly. He grabbed Zac, and pressed him in.

“You like this, don’t you?” He whispered into Zac’s ear. “You want this don’t you?”

Zac pushed with all his might. He broke free and stood with a slacked jaw, amazed at a fellow wrestler would be so unprofessional. Hugged so tightly to the other man’s body he could feel their stiff cock against the spandex. “What are you doing!?” He said, still in shock.

“Just doing what we agreed on if we ever met, piggy boy.” Big Bang moved with preternatural quickness. His alacrity was too much for Zac to counter. He was put into a hold by the larger man. His skin raising to goosebumps, as his body - touch starved for months - craved the contact. Big Bang held Zac with his back to his gut, pushing out Zac’s large harnessed and latex covered gut and giving it a long, sensual stroke.

“You want it to be bigger, don’t you?” Big Bang said. “You want to play the fool for all these people, right?”

Big Bang slammed him to the ground and squatted over him. He blew into his thumb, and forced air through his body. His enormous ass inflated until it covered Zac, rumbled violently, then deflated. Giving the poor defeated Boom Boom a face full of purple gas which smelled strongly of gasoline. The farting continued for a whole minute uninterrupted, sending the audience into an uproar. They laughed, at him, and he had enough.

“STOP IT,” Zac shot to his feet the moment Big Bang moved away. “I’ve had to put up with TOO MUCH tonight. First they gave me this humiliating costume; then I get put up against you with your god damned superpowers; and now I have to put up with you FARTING on me!?” He pointed furiously, and his eyes went wide. His index finger swelled up at the tip, becoming thick and rounded, until the transformation spread down his arm and he heard a hissing from within his limb.

“Oh come now,” Big Bang ripped off his mask. “You recognize me, don’t you?”

Zac’s eyes opened. “Biohazard Ben...” in retrospect, it was obvious. His body caught up to his arm. He was swelling up and out, feeling a lightness in his body that was making it increasingly hard to retreat towards the edge of the ring. He missed a step and bounced against the mat, floating upwards instead of falling back down. He was worried he might end up bobbing against the ceiling or out through one of the skylight windows... but Ben grabbed him by his braided hair fuse.

“You really shouldn’t go around telling people on ‘my’ website about how much of a big balloon you are... if you can’t back it up,” he grinned.

Zac felt something brewing. He closed his eyes, and knew what was trying to force its way out of him. But it was futile. With a loud, crowd silencing geyser of cherry gas, he farted.

Ben held on to Zac’s fuse, with the casualness of a child holding the string of a balloon.

“Time to give them a show, Boom Boom.”

Ben held the end of Zac’s braided fuse. He could feel it tug at his scalp while his inflated body attempted to ascend towards the trinity of screens above, all of them broadcasting his flatulent humiliation to the crowds. Every cherry scented fart was met with laughter and insulting taunts, with some calling for him to meet the ultimate fate of an overinflated balloon--which he ostensibly had become, despite his body’s furious attempts at deflating itself through loud, gaseous blasts. He went cross-eyed feeling another fart brewing, the bubbling in his gut so loud it was audible over the groans of his stretching rubber skin.

“Ladies, gentlemen and gentlethem, boys girls and ghouls of all ages, let’s get a round of applause going for our lovely Boom Boom,” Ben yelled, following it up with a powerful, and pointed laughter at the ridiculous fate he had inflicted on his opponent.

Zac was ashamed that being laughed at by Ben was more erotic than humiliating. He harboured a secret fetish for being subjugated by larger, more powerful wrestlers; he often masturbated to the idea of being stuffed to his limits, and having his feeder laugh at how silly he looked, sometimes with an apple stuffed in his mouth like a roast ham. Despite his myriad of kinks he never expected his wish to be granted so suddenly, and so publicly. He was split between his libido and his rational mind, the overactivity of both making him sweat uncontrollably, adding a hot red sheen to his skin that further cemented him as a balloon.

Ben tugged on the fuse, bringing Zac eye-level with his tormentor. “While this gas giant has been a delight to blow up, I think we should begin wrapping things up,” the crowd booed. “Oh, no?” He smirked. “Are you not done with him yet, do you want to see more of him... or rather...” Ben’s smirk made his cheeks crease with devilish intent.

“Shall we strike a match for Boom Boom and...” Ben gestured to the hypnotised assistant who struck a match for him, and handed it through the ropes to the purple clad villain. “LIGHT. THE. FUSE?”

“LIGHT THE FUSE!” The crowd chanted.

“LIGHT THE FUSE, LIGHT THE FUSE,” their din pulsed in Zac’s ears. They likely thought that his transformation into a balloon was a clever trick. They probably thought his expansion was being caused by an intricately designed inflatable suit, filled with some kind of lighter-than-helium gas to lift him off the mat. They couldn’t possibly have known that it was all real, that Zac could feel every inch of his body twinge with pleasure and ache when it stretched larger, or that he was hyper-aware of the searing heat between his ass cheeks before it geysered out as cherry smoke.

There was no possible way the crowd could have known that by cheering for Ben to light the fuse, they were cheering for his destruction. That when the crazed man with purple eyes ignited his hair, it would eventually reach his head, and he would explode like a literal bomb. No, not ‘like’ a bomb. He ‘was’ a bomb. An explosive, horny, sweating ball of flammable gas. And the worst part of everything, the thing that Zac was most terrified of... was that he liked it.

“Boom Boom... gonna... go boom?” He said, making his voice deeper and sillier. He sucked in air to blow up his cheeks when he spoke, adding to the illusion of buffoonery that was transforming into his reality the more he kept it up. “Boom Boom gonna boom, Boom Boom gonna Boom!” Zac chanted with the same fervour as the pop-happy crowd, surpassing their eagerness with his own. “BOOM BOOM,” he declared himself using his new name. “IS GONNA GO -BOOM!-”

Ben’s smile impossibly grew wider.

Boom Boom, formerly Zac, felt the heat at the end of the fuse. Ben gently placed the lit match against the tip and watched it catch fire. It bathed his face in a subtle orange glow, highlighting how shiny his skin really was. He ‘was’ a balloon, after all, like Boom Boom. He had exploded several times himself; he always came back. Boom Boom wondered, with morbid excitement, would he come back after he exploded?

When the fuse touched his skin, ignited the gas, and sundered his rubber body. Would he be reconstituted after the fireball, or was this it, one big, cataclysmic hurrah. He pushed the consequences from his mind and resolved to live in the now. Whatever happened he was going to be entertaining, and he was going to make everyone in that arena remember the big fat balloon who farted, and loomed, and creaked until he exploded in a ground shaking spectacle.

“Who wants Boom Boom to make a fool of himself!?” Boom Boom’s eyes were glowing with the same purple light as Ben and the assistant. He was giving in now, accepting his fate, playing into the role he was given. It was funny. He had apparently hated the entirety of tonight’s show a few hours ago, cursing the outfit and the ridiculous name Boom Boom. It all felt like a distant memory. The only name he had ever known was Boom Boom.

When he rotated in the air like the untethered balloon he was, he saw a name on the jumbotron above. It said something about him. ‘Zac as Boom Boom the Human Bomb.” Who was Zac? Why was their name next to his? He let out another thundering blast from his ass, its emissions joining the first wisps of smoke to become a rolling smog that orbited him as his fuse burned closer to his head. His body rounded out despite the farting trying to relieve the pressure which caused its swelling. Boom Boom giggled, feeling his limbs thicken into gas-filled doughnuts, with stubby fingered and toed orbs that used to be his hands and feet.

“Boomboomboomboomboomboooooooom,” was all Boom Boom could say. It was the only thing he knew how to say. Knowledge was a thing that humans had, and he wasn’t a human. His flushed skin and vague features might have insinuated that he was something which ‘resembled’ a human, but he was not one of them. All Boom Boom was, and ever had been, was a balloon. He let out a belch, that same cherry smoke exploded from his mouth, between round cheeks the size of basketballs.

“Is everyone ready?” Ben called out. “Put on your sunglasses, put in your earplugs, or don’t! I’m not your dad!” He winked at the cameras. “Because here’s the finale you’ve all been waiting for, take it away gasbag. BOOM BOOM IS GOING BOOOOOOOOOOM!”

Boom Boom felt the fuse reach his scalp. It fizzled, and the audience held their breath. The silence was punctuated by the lone creaking of the balloon looming at the centre of the arena, three times bigger than the ring, and rumbling as it rotated to show its smiling, cross-eyed face.

Then it pulsed. Its farts erupted, ushering cherry smoke like a tide over everyone in the building. It grew in stages, to the limits of its elasticity, unrecognisable as anything but a round, faced balloon. Then it deflated, only a little, by way of hot gasses firing out of both ends. The cycle resumed over and over. Bigger, bigger, almost; smaller, smaller; bigger bigger, almost again... !

And finally, it snapped. The imaginary rubber band which represented the tension holding Boom Boom together went slack. He surged, burgeoning with red hot gas, both sets of cheeks erupting in a panicked attempt to vent enough pressure to keep the body in one piece. It was a valiant effort but ultimately, they failed, with a spectacular moan from the sunken face of the blimp... and an explosion, a pink fireball, so searing the audience felt like they might lose their eyebrows.

In the aftermath of Boom Boom’s explosion the purple clad wrestler who revealed himself as Biohazard Ben departed. Zac the wrestler was never heard from again, but two weeks later, a new henchman joined the super-villain’s ranks. A strange, bouncing fool, wearing a pig nosed mask and a long fuse for a tail over some skin-tight pink latex.