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Come one, come all! Have I a deal for you! It's Black Friday today and that, my friend, means that you can swindle away any of the crumbs you have left after Thanksgiving to buy last year's items and rock bottom prices. But I'm not selling anything tangible. I'm not selling TVs, air fryers, stereos, or even bedding!

I'm selling your souls.

You sold me your soul last year as you prayed that you would make it out of the store alive. Last year when you stomped over five bodies as you grabbed that cheap television because it looked like a great deal and then realized how crazy you looked when you saw yourself fighting people for the best Black Friday deal on social media. But you didn't care! You had a giant flat-screen TV and a new man cave recliner which became the prize of your life.

Every night you plopped yourself down in front of that TV thinking it was the best deal of the century. Your cable feeding your mind with make-believe and sports got you addicted and now it has become your goal in life! You take so much pride in that possession, so much that you brag about it to your friends and take great care in telling them how to flip through the channels as they laugh deep inside pretending to listen. They really don't care about your obsession with your TV and joke about it with their wives when they get home.

Over the year, the pounds creep up and your body spreads out as you watch that boob tube. Nothing else matters now, just your beer, your nachos, and that damn TV with that special recliner. While your friends are out having fun without you, your wife is out with someone else because she realized that she couldn't compete with the damn device. Yet still, you worship the 67 inches of dreamland in front of you. 67 inches gives you way more than the inches you could ever give her.

It's Black Friday again and now you're wondering if you should upgrade. Your friend has a 3D TV that he brags about but he doesn't seem to care about it as much as you love your television and that special chair. As you think about it, you realize that you're out of beer so you push the recliner back into the normal position and begin to stand realizing that the leather of the chair has stuck to your legs. Laughing a little, you try to pull your ever-growing ass up out of the chair but something seems stuck. You think it's your boxers so you adjust them and tug just a little harder trying to get up.

Man bound to chair leather

The pain! That isn't your boxers that are stuck, it's your skin! You pull harder and it feels like someone is tearing the hair away from your body. Thinking it's your hairy legs, you jerk one cottage cheese thigh up off the seat and scream in pain as the skin tears away from the ever-growing flab of your thighs. A trickle of something warm and fresh pools beneath you and when you feel for what you might have spilled from your breakfast of leftover Thanksgiving gravy you realize that it wasn't your food at all, but it is coming from your body.

The blood! It's thick and sticky as it coats your hand. There isn't so much that you're bleeding to death, but it's more than just a small scratch. As you try to get up from your beloved chair, you realize that you're infused to it--sewn to the chair you love so much.

Thinking back in a fury of pain, you wonder if you had fallen asleep while watching TV. Perhaps someone came in to rob the place and sewn you to the chair? That sounds ludicrous! Or maybe your wife was taking revenge and glued you to the chair. That must be it. That bitch! She poured some glue down while you slept because she hates you!

But as you try to press your fingers between yourself and the chair you realize that your pasty white flesh and the warm brown tone of the cow leather have become one without stitching. Your fingers probe all along the outsides of your legs and between your thighs as you realize everything, and I mean everything, is suddenly merged with the smooth brown leather.

The pain grows as you rock yourself back and forth trying to work your body out of the recliner but it is of no use because your skin is infused with the leather as if it were from your own. It tears just a little and you feel your skin rip down the side causing you to attempt a stifled cry but nothing comes from between your lips for they too have become blended together. You try hard to open your mouth to scream and the mottled brown leather from the chair tears open just a little but it snaps shut faster than you can purge the air from your lungs.

You can feel your arms sinking into the sides of the armchair and your body melting inside. It feels like you're suffocating because you can't take a breath. The harder you try to breathe, the more frustrating it becomes until you feel yourself panicking. Anxiety kicks in and you know you're going to die. Tears trickle down your cheeks as the lack of oxygen burns your veins and then nothing.

You realize that you no longer need to breathe. Sitting there in the living room you look around using the only mobile parts of your body--your eyes. Your dog sniffs at you, whimpers, and then sits by the door waiting for you to let him out but you are unable to even move or let him know you're there. At least the TV is still on and you can watch a movie while you figure out what is happening. You watch until you fall asleep in the unusual warmth of leather.

The smell of fresh urine stings your nose and awakes you from the brief slumber you were attempting. It was all a dream your mind screams and your body jerks for a moment. The dog pissing on what used to be your leg suddenly yelps and begins to bark in alarm.

"Biscuit! What are you barking at?" Your wife walks quickly through the room, grabbing a cup of coffee from the machine and stops to look around. "Ray?" she calls out. "Are you here?"

She checks that bathroom and outside then she looks at the chair in confusion and then around the room. "That asshole left the TV on!" she says, shaking her head while turning off the only thing that was keeping you sane, that damn Black Friday TV.

Written by Spookyboorhodes
Content is available under CC BY-SA