Stuffed
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Content: Accidental vore, digestion, belly bulge, belly noises, squirming prey, struggling prey, internal struggle, swollen belly, round belly, casual vore, male pred, human pred, M/M, large belly, stomach noises, tight stomach, prey struggling inside, unwilling prey, teasing, male prey, digestion noises, beginner gainer, dominant pred, resigned pred.
"Alright, bro, one more bite," Ethan grinned, his hand outstretched, holding a loaded fork of buttery mashed potatoes.
Across from him, Dylan leaned back against the couch, shirtless, his blue "Growth" shorts hanging low on his hips. His stomach had the faintest curve of fullness, a soft bloat that pushed out just slightly over his waistband. He rubbed a hand across it absently, his other arm propped lazily on the couch's armrest.
He had a lean, athletic build, the kind that came from a mix of casual workouts and an easy metabolism. His chest and arms were defined but not bulky, with a light tan that suggested he spent more time outside than in the gym. His short, ashy-brown hair was slightly messy, the kind of style that didn’t take much effort to look decent, paired with a subtle goatee that gave his otherwise youthful face a touch of maturity. His hazel eyes had a sharpness to them, but his expressions were easygoing, often softening into an amused smirk or a raised brow. A faint tattoo curved just above his left pectoral, simple and understated, like it was more for him than anyone else. He carried himself with a relaxed posture, like someone who wasn’t in a rush to impress anyone but was comfortable in his own skin.
"Bro, I already feel like I’m about to pop," Dylan groaned, though the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement. His breath hitched slightly as Ethan pressed the fork closer, right under his nose. "You're insane."
"Insane?" Ethan scoffed, stepping closer with mock offense. "You’re the one who said you wanted to bulk up. I'm just being a good friend. Now, open up. Don’t make me force-feed your ass."
Dylan huffed but opened his mouth, letting Ethan shove the forkful in. "Mmm," he mumbled through a mouthful, rolling his eyes but still chewing. The rich, salty flavor of the potatoes filled his mouth as he swallowed it down. He patted his stomach again, laughing under his breath. "Seriously, I look like I’m carrying a food baby already."
Ethan smirked, grabbing a chicken thigh from the plate on the coffee table. "Baby? Nah, that’s like a first-trimester snack, my guy. You’ve got plenty of room in there." His eyes flicked down to Dylan’s midsection, watching the subtle swell with something bordering on fascination. "Besides, you know what they say: abs are made in the kitchen."
"Yeah," Dylan shot back, smirking. "And you're trying to turn me into a damn Michelin Man in the kitchen."
Ethan snorted, tossing the bone aside as he tore off another piece of meat. "Shut up. You’re gonna thank me when you’re benching 250 and lookin’ thick as hell. Now sit up straight, you're makin’ my job harder."
Dylan rolled his eyes but sat forward slightly, his stomach pushing out more as he leaned toward the plate. Ethan wasted no time, piling another forkful of potatoes onto a slice of steak and practically shoving it into Dylan's mouth.
"Jesus, dude," Dylan muttered after swallowing, reaching up to wipe a bit of grease off his lip. "You’re really tryna kill me with this. I can feel it hitting my ribs."
"You’ll live," Ethan teased, grinning wider. His hand brushed briefly against Dylan’s stomach as he reached for another forkful of food, fingers grazing the soft swell. "Or maybe not. Damn, you’re starting to feel solid."
Dylan blinked, heat rushing to his face at the comment, though he quickly covered it up with a laugh. "Solid? You’re making it sound like I’m some kind of stuffed turkey."
"Not yet," Ethan shot back, eyes twinkling with amusement. He jabbed the fork toward Dylan’s mouth again. "But we’re getting there."
Dylan sighed but relented, taking another bite. As he chewed, Ethan leaned back slightly, hands on his hips, observing his friend like an artist sizing up their work. Dylan’s belly was noticeably fuller now, his posture slightly slouched as he adjusted to the growing pressure in his gut. A small hiccup escaped him, and he gave Ethan a playful glare.
"Alright, that’s it. I’m cutting you off before I explode," Dylan declared, waving a hand.
But Ethan’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it grew wider. He leaned in again, one eyebrow cocked. "C’mon, you’ve got this. One more bite for the gains. Just one." His voice dropped, teasing. "Don’t quit on me now, champ."
Dylan hesitated, glancing between the plate of food and Ethan’s stupidly smug expression. "You’re the worst," he muttered, but his mouth opened anyway.
Ethan didn’t hesitate, stuffing the next bite in before Dylan could change his mind. What neither of them noticed, though, was how Ethan’s hand lingered just a moment too long, fingers brushing the corner of Dylan’s lips and then sliding back toward his chin, as if guiding him to chew, to swallow, to take in more.
Ethan leaned forward, his hand clutching another loaded fork of steak and potatoes, his eyes locked on Dylan’s stomach. "Man, for someone who’s just starting out, you’re already rocking a solid gut. Beginner my ass—you’re built for this, dude," he teased, his tone playful but insistent. He gave Dylan’s belly a light smack, the faint jiggle beneath his fingers making him grin. "C’mon, don’t go soft on me now."
Dylan groaned, leaning back again with a sharp exhale. His hand instinctively drifted to his bloated stomach, rubbing the tight, stretched skin. "Ethan, seriously, I’m about to explode. This is—ugh—getting ridiculous."
"Ridiculous?" Ethan echoed with mock disbelief. He dropped the fork back onto the plate and grabbed a slider bun stuffed with pulled pork. Without waiting for an answer, he pushed it toward Dylan’s lips. "What’s ridiculous is you whining when you’ve got the gut to take way more than this. Now open up, champ."
Dylan turned his head away, laughing despite himself. "You’re relentless, man. I’m gonna regret this."
"You’ll regret it more if you quit," Ethan countered, his tone dipping into something more taunting. "What kind of gainer gives up at halftime, huh? You wanna be soft and small forever, or are we doing this?"
"God, you’re annoying," Dylan muttered, but his mouth opened anyway, reluctantly letting Ethan shove the slider in. The bread and meat were warm and rich, the flavors almost overwhelming as he chewed and swallowed. The pressure in his gut tightened, and he let out a low belch that caught him by surprise.
"That’s what I’m talking about," Ethan laughed, giving Dylan’s stomach another firm pat. "You’re just getting started, big guy. Let’s go for round two."
"I hate you," Dylan said, but the grin tugging at the corners of his lips betrayed him.
Ethan didn’t stop. He grabbed another handful of food—this time a fistful of fries—and pushed them toward Dylan’s face. "Hate me all you want, but you’ll love the gains, I promise. Now shut up and eat."
Dylan opened his mouth begrudgingly, but this time Ethan didn’t stop at fries. His hand lingered, his fingers pressing a little further into Dylan’s mouth as he nudged the last bits in.
"Yeah, just like that—" Ethan started, but his voice cut off as Dylan instinctively swallowed, his throat working over Ethan’s fingers.
Ethan froze. "Uh, Dylan? You good?" he asked, his voice half-laughing, half-worried.
Dylan’s brows knitted in confusion as he blinked up at him. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and a warm, wet pressure encased Ethan’s hand. It was only when Ethan tried to pull back and felt the suction tugging his fingers deeper that the realization hit them both.
"Bro," Ethan stammered, wide-eyed. "Are you—are you swallowing me?"
Ethan didn’t stop. He reached for the plate again, piling on more food, ignoring Dylan’s protests as if they were nothing more than background noise. Dylan slouched further back into the couch, his stomach visibly rising now, pressing against his shorts’ waistband. The faint curve from earlier had grown into a noticeable roundness, and every breath he took seemed to stretch his skin tighter over the packed fullness beneath.
Ethan leaned forward, smirking as he grabbed a slice of steak and some potatoes, rolling them together in one hand. "Come on, beginner boy," he said, his voice low and teasing. "You said you wanted gains, right? Well, you’ve got the gut for it now. Let’s fill it up properly."
Dylan groaned, his hands resting limply over his stomach like they might somehow hold back the growing pressure. Ethan paid no attention. His hand hovered just above Dylan’s mouth, the mashed potatoes already starting to smear along Dylan’s lips as he pressed the bundle closer. Dylan turned his head slightly, grumbling under his breath, but Ethan tilted his chin back with a firm nudge.
"Open up," Ethan said, almost a growl, his fingers steady as they pushed the food forward. Dylan’s jaw parted reluctantly, and Ethan slid the food in, his thumb grazing over Dylan’s tongue as he withdrew his hand.
The swallow was audible, a thick, wet gulp that made Dylan wince and breathe out sharply. Ethan’s eyes darted down, catching the way Dylan’s bloated stomach tensed with the effort, the skin stretching taut like an overinflated balloon.
"Shit, bro," Ethan muttered, half-laughing as he grabbed another piece of steak and mashed potatoes from the plate. "Look at that belly. You’re already looking stuffed, and we’re just getting started." He pressed the next piece into Dylan’s mouth, watching with a strange mix of satisfaction and fascination as Dylan’s throat worked to swallow it down. The sound was heavier now, slower, and Dylan’s chest heaved slightly as he fought to keep up.
"Too much," Dylan rasped, his voice hoarse as he leaned back further, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. His hands drifted to his stomach, fingers brushing the curve of his gut like he didn’t quite believe how big it had gotten.
"Nah, you’re fine," Ethan said, his tone dismissive as he reached for more food. "You wanted to bulk up, didn’t you? You gotta eat like it, man. Don’t go quitting on me now."
Ethan leaned in closer this time, holding the next bite to Dylan’s lips, but this time, Dylan’s head tilted slightly. His lips parted again, more out of instinct than intent, and Ethan didn’t hesitate. He pressed the food forward, guiding it into Dylan’s mouth. Dylan’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, the movement slower now, more strained.
But Ethan didn’t pull back. His hand lingered too long this time, fingers still brushing Dylan’s tongue as he went to add more. Dylan’s mouth opened wider, reflexively, and before either of them realized it, his lips closed around Ethan’s fingers.
Ethan froze, a laugh bubbling in his throat. "Uh, bro?" he started, but Dylan’s throat worked again, and his hand was tugged forward, the warmth of Dylan’s mouth closing further up his wrist.
Dylan’s eyes were closed, moaning, his instincts already taking over. His throat contracted, pulling Ethan’s hand in deeper, his body working on autopilot. Ethan’s laugh faltered, replaced with a sharp intake of breath as he tried to pull back, but Dylan’s grip was stronger than either of them expected.
Dylan’s throat worked rhythmically, completely out of sync with the reality of what was happening. Ethan’s hand slid deeper, his wrist vanishing past Dylan’s lips as his throat bulged slightly with the effort. Each swallow was slow, steady, and deliberate, though Dylan’s glazed expression and the dazed heaviness in his half-lidded eyes showed he was oblivious to the situation.
Ethan’s arm twitched as he tried to pull back, but it was no use. Dylan’s body had its own agenda now, driven by the instinct to consume and keep going. His throat tightened again, the powerful muscles drawing Ethan further in, pulling his forearm past the curve of Dylan’s jaw. The wet, slick sound of swallowing filled the room, almost drowned out by Ethan’s sudden, stifled grunt as his arm disappeared up to the elbow.
"D-Dylan!" Ethan gasped, his voice breaking as he tried to yank his arm free, the motion only helping Dylan’s throat work faster. Dylan leaned back instinctively, his head tilting to make the process easier, his body operating on autopilot. The movement caused his stomach to shift, and he grunted softly, his free hand absently rubbing the firm swell beneath his ribs as if that might help the growing discomfort.
The tight pull of his throat forced Ethan’s other arm up, making him lose balance. His torso pressed against Dylan’s chest, and Dylan’s lips widened naturally to accommodate the new bulk. His jaw stretched wider, effortlessly taking Ethan’s shoulder as if it were second nature.
Ethan’s muffled protests were drowned in the slick, squelching sounds of Dylan’s throat, each contraction pulling him deeper, his chest sinking into the warm, flexing grip of Dylan’s gullet. Dylan didn’t even pause, didn’t seem to register the increasing weight pressing against him. His throat bulged visibly, his body instinctively adjusting to the load as he swallowed again, this time with a wet, audible gulp that sent Ethan’s upper chest sliding deeper.
His lips stretched around Ethan’s ribs, his throat working mechanically to draw him further in. Dylan shifted slightly, leaning forward now as Ethan’s weight dragged him, forcing him to adjust. His hands gripped the couch, his fingers tightening as his body found a rhythm, each powerful gulp guiding Ethan’s frame deeper, with no signs of hesitation or awareness.
Ethan’s legs kicked weakly as his waist reached Dylan’s lips. The taut curve of Dylan’s throat pressed against his own chest, Ethan’s muffled voice barely audible now, drowned beneath the steady, wet noise of swallowing. Dylan’s gut began to swell noticeably, the taut curve expanding into something larger, rounder, as more of Ethan’s body slid inside.
Another deep swallow sent Ethan’s hips into Dylan’s mouth, the weight pressing down on his lap as his stomach stretched further, rounder, the skin tight and gleaming with strain. Dylan groaned softly, his hand pressing against the growing dome of his gut, but there was no hesitation in his body’s movements. His throat bulged again as Ethan’s thighs slid past his lips, the sensation barely registering.
Ethan’s calves were next, and Dylan leaned back into the couch again, his lips parting wider as he tilted his head back to let gravity assist the final stretch. His throat flexed powerfully, a deep, wet gulp sending Ethan’s knees down, his legs curling slightly as they disappeared further.
With one final swallow, Dylan’s lips closed around Ethan’s toes, his throat tightening to draw them down in a smooth, final motion. He exhaled heavily, his chest rising and falling as his body finally stilled. His gut was massive now, a heaving, tightly-stretched dome that pinned him against the couch, the weight pressing heavily on his thighs.
Dylan blinked slowly, his hand resting on the crest of his swollen stomach, his breath steadying as he absentmindedly rubbed the taut skin. A low, soft groan escaped him, his body adjusting to the fullness without a single ounce of realization of what he had just done.
Dylan let out a long, slow exhale, his hand dragging lazily over the massive curve of his stomach. His head tipped back against the couch as his breathing steadied, his whole body feeling sluggish and heavy, like he’d just polished off a buffet for ten. Except… this wasn’t just food. Something wasn’t adding up.
A muffled sound from deep within his gut snapped his eyes open. His brow furrowed as he stared down at the swollen dome pressing against his thighs. The weight felt… different. Denser. Shifting faintly under his palm, almost like—
“Shit,” Dylan muttered, his voice breaking the quiet. He blinked again, slower this time, his hand pausing mid-rub. His brain, still hazy from the sheer effort of swallowing, tried to piece together what the hell had just happened. His fingers pressed into the firm, tight swell of his belly, feeling the stretched skin and the subtle movement beneath.
"Bro?" he said aloud, his voice low, almost uncertain. Another muffled sound came from inside, louder this time, followed by a distinct push against the inside of his gut—something pressing back. Dylan’s stomach gurgled in protest, a loud, drawn-out groan that felt more like a warning than anything else.
He groaned, leaning forward slightly and bracing a hand on the couch, the motion causing his stomach to shift. “No way… No fuckin’ way.” His free hand pressed harder into the taut curve, the heat radiating from his belly only making the realization sink in further. Ethan wasn’t just gone—he was inside.
The weight was unreal, heavier than anything Dylan had ever imagined, his gut stretching farther than it had any right to. He glanced down at the way it pushed out over the waistband of his shorts, the tight skin gleaming faintly in the dim light. His gut was rock-solid, packed full not just with food but with— “Holy shit, bro,” Dylan muttered again, his voice dropping into something between disbelief and faint amusement. “You’re in there with all the mashed potatoes and steak. What the actual fuck.”
A muffled shout rose up from his stomach, faint but definitely Ethan’s voice. Dylan blinked, processing the sound, but it was barely distinguishable—just a low, frustrated string of noises completely swallowed by the layers of muscle and skin keeping Ethan pinned inside. Dylan couldn’t make out a single word, but he could feel the vibrations of Ethan trying to shout, the faint shifting as Ethan squirmed.
“Dude, it’s tight as hell in there, huh?” Dylan said, more to himself than anyone else, his lips quirking into a faint, sheepish grin. He rubbed a hand over his belly again, fingers trailing over the taut curve, pausing where he felt the most movement. “Guess that’s what you get for force-feeding me, huh? You wanted me to bulk up, and now you’re part of it.”
Another muffled noise came from inside, followed by what felt like a weak kick against the inner wall of Dylan’s gut. The sensation made him wince slightly, his stomach gurgling loudly in protest. “Alright, alright, chill out in there. You’re not exactly making this easier for either of us.” He leaned back again, trying to shift into a position that didn’t press the weight of his gut so hard against his thighs. The movement only made the pressure worse, his belly groaning as it adjusted to the strain.
Dylan sighed, dragging a hand through his messy hair and letting his head fall back again. “How the hell did I even manage that?” he muttered, almost to himself. “I mean, you’re not exactly small, dude. Jesus.”
Another push from inside made him sit up straighter, his gut wobbling slightly from the motion. Ethan was clearly not settling down, and Dylan could feel the tight, cramped movements as his friend tried to reposition himself among the mess of food. His gut let out another low groan, the sounds inside almost as loud as Ethan’s muffled protests.
“Alright, bro, I get it,” Dylan said, his tone a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement. He slapped the side of his belly lightly, feeling the vibrations ripple through. “You wanna get out. I hear ya. I just… I gotta figure out how to do that without making this whole thing worse.”
He leaned forward again, bracing both hands on his belly, his fingers pressing into the firm, stretched skin. The weight made it hard to move, let alone think, but he could feel Ethan shifting inside, trying to find space that simply wasn’t there. Dylan grimaced, his mind racing for a solution.
“Okay,” he muttered, half to himself. “Let’s figure this out before I actually end up digesting your ass.” His stomach gurgled loudly at the mention, and he frowned, swatting it lightly. “Don’t even think about it, man.”
He shifted again, his hands steadying the massive dome of his belly as he tried to stand. The weight pulled him back down almost immediately, and he grunted, planting his feet more firmly.
Dylan groaned, leaning over the kitchen sink as his gut let out another wet, ominous gurgle. His palms braced against the counter, his belly pressing uncomfortably into the edge. He’d been trying for hours to fix this—to undo what he’d somehow, impossibly, done—but nothing was working.
He’d tried everything. First, he tried drinking water, guzzling down glass after glass, hoping it might loosen something or make Ethan’s situation more bearable. But all it did was make his gut slosh even louder, the added weight stretching his stomach tighter, more painfully. Ethan’s muffled voice—barely audible at this point—had been filled with frustrated grunts and weak cries, but even those had started to fade.
Then Dylan had tried forcing himself to throw up. He jammed his fingers down his throat repeatedly, gagging over the sink, his eyes watering from the effort. But nothing came up. His stomach clenched painfully, but it refused to release anything. If anything, it felt tighter, like his body was digging in, holding onto everything inside, refusing to let go.
“Goddammit,” Dylan muttered, his voice shaky. He paced the kitchen in slow, uneven steps, his swollen gut swaying slightly with the motion. Every step sent another wave of pressure rolling through him, his stomach groaning as if mocking him. “Ethan, bro, I’m trying, I swear,” he said, though he knew Ethan couldn’t understand him. The muffled protests from inside had turned into weak, occasional noises, barely registering against the wet, relentless churn of digestion.
The hours ticked by, and every failed attempt to get Ethan out only made the situation worse. Dylan tried jumping, bending, twisting, anything to dislodge the mass in his gut. He even laid flat on the floor, pushing and kneading at his belly like he was trying to coax something stuck out of a drain. But nothing worked. Ethan didn’t budge.
“Fuck, man,” Dylan said, his voice breaking as he sat back against the couch, sweat glistening on his forehead. His gut was massive now, swollen and heavy, the skin flushed and stretched taut. Every few minutes, it would let out another deep, wet groan, the sound of digestion growing louder, more insistent. He pressed his hands into his belly, feeling the faint movements inside—Ethan’s weak struggles becoming less and less frequent.
“I didn’t mean for this,” Dylan whispered, his voice cracking. He rubbed his belly again, his fingers trailing over the tight curve. He could feel the heat radiating from it, the way his body was working overtime to process everything inside. Including Ethan. Especially Ethan.
Another muffled groan came from within, followed by a sharp kick that made Dylan wince. “I know, bro, I know,” he said, his voice shaking. “I don’t want this either, alright?” His throat tightened as he said the words, the weight of them settling heavily in his chest. “But I don’t know what else to do.”
He leaned back, his head resting against the couch as he stared at the ceiling, his breaths shallow and uneven. The hours had dragged on, and it was becoming harder and harder to ignore the reality of what was happening. His body wasn’t waiting. It was working, relentless, determined to break Ethan down, no matter how much Dylan wanted to stop it.
He leaned back, his head resting against the couch as he stared at the ceiling, his breaths slow and steady. The hours had dragged on, and Dylan’s body had made its decision long before his brain had caught up. His stomach wasn’t waiting. It worked relentlessly, determined to break Ethan down, no matter how much he’d fought it at first. Now, though? Now he was just done fighting.
Ethan’s muffled cries had weakened into faint, pitiful noises, barely audible over the deep, rolling churns of Dylan’s gut. The earlier frantic kicks and shoves had dulled to pathetic twitches, barely registering anymore against the stretched walls of his belly. Dylan pressed his hand to the side of his gut, feeling the faint, fading resistance beneath the tight skin. It was almost like his friend was giving up, and honestly, Dylan wasn’t far behind.
“Man, you’re still at it?” Dylan muttered, rubbing the firm swell of his stomach. His voice was calm, almost lazy, with a sharp edge of indifference. “Hate to break it to you, but I think you’re outta options in there. You’re not going anywhere, bro. Not now.”
Another wet groan rumbled through his gut, deep and loud, almost mocking. Dylan smirked faintly, shifting on the couch to get comfortable, the weight of his bloated stomach pressing heavily into his thighs. His hand dragged across the massive dome, his fingers tracing the curve where Ethan was packed tight. “Guess that’s just how it’s gonna be,” he said, his tone casual, like they were talking about the weather. “Shit happens, man. You knew what you were getting into when you started stuffing me like that.”
He could feel Ethan still moving weakly, little nudges against the unyielding walls of his stomach, but the fight was almost gone. Every twitch was slower, weaker than the last. Dylan rubbed his belly absently, feeling the churns grow stronger as his body doubled down, working Ethan into the mess of food still sitting heavily in his gut.
“Man, I tried,” Dylan said, though there wasn’t much conviction in his voice. “I gave it a shot, but let’s be real—you were dead weight from the jump. And now? Now you’re just dinner.” He snorted softly, giving his belly a light slap. “Guess you’re finally pulling your weight, though. Literally.”
Ethan’s movements stilled briefly before resuming, but they were faint, almost nonexistent now. Dylan felt the shift inside as his gut gurgled louder, the sounds deep and deliberate. His body wasn’t just digesting—it was finishing the job, and Dylan was past the point of caring.
“Yeah, man,” he muttered, his voice quieter now but no less resigned. “It is what it is. You’re not getting out of there. So you might as well stop squirming and make it easy for both of us.” He leaned back further, his hand still rubbing lazy circles over his stomach, the heat from his gut almost comforting now.
Another deep, wet groan echoed from inside, louder this time, followed by the faintest twitch from Ethan. Dylan smirked again, his hand pressing into the heavy curve of his belly. “See? That’s better. Just let it happen, bro. You’re not getting out, so you might as well settle in.”
Ethan’s muffled voice had faded into silence now, drowned beneath the relentless churns and gurgles of digestion. Dylan let his eyes drift shut, the weight of his gut pinning him to the couch, the tension in his shoulders easing for the first time in hours.
