Gay Vore Blog

Mostly Oral vore as it's my favorite! 28, M, USA, Prey. Ask for Snapchat.

[ryanmarshallryan]

Decision Digest

A short vore story about the relatable task of trying to figure out what to have for dinner. I wrote it to pair with this drawing I made of @collinbulker!

“What do you want to eat for dinner?”

“I don’t know, what do you want?”

“I want a decision.”

“I don’t care, let’s just make whatever you want.”

“Okay, pasta?”

“We had pasta yesterday.”

“Yeah, let’s eat the leftovers.”

“I don’t feel like pasta.”

“What do you feel like, then?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, do you want take out then?”

“We need to save money.”

“Okay, let’s just make some salad.”

“Salad’s so light though.”

“Not if we add to it.”

“I don’t know what we could add.”

“I don’t care what you add, I’m just hungry.”

“I don’t want salad.”

“Okay, then let’s make quesadillas.”

“The cheese is old.”

“Cheese is always old.”

“We don’t have sour cream.”

“You don’t like sour cream.”

“Yeah, but you do.”

“I don’t care if we have sour cream, I just want to eat something.

“I don’t know what to eat.”

“If you don’t make a decision, I am literally going to eat you.”

“Maybe we should get takeout.”

“You said you didn’t want to get take out.”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s it, I’m eating the pasta.”

“I don’t want pasta.”

“Then don’t eat pasta.”

“But we should make food together.”

“Okay, then what do you want to eat?”

“I don’t know.”

…

…

“Get up and take off your clothes.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

“I thought you were hungry. You want to do stuff now?”

“Just get up.”

“Okay, fine.”

…

…

…

“Hey, where did you get that sour cream? Hey! That’s so cold. Why are you putting sour cream all over me?”

“I told you, if you didn’t make a decision I would just eat you for dinner.”

“Haha, very funny. But we could make quesadillas now, you found some sour cream.”

“The cheese is old though.”

“But I thought you were hungry.”

“I am. Now, shut up and get in my stomach.”

…

…

…

“Urrrrrrp.”

“How did you do that? Wow, it’s so cramped in here.”

“You tasted better than I expected.”

“I thought you said you were starving. There’s not much room in here for food to fit.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re the food and you're filling the space.”

“Oh.”

…

“Wait, does this mean you’re going to digest me.”

“You are dinner, so I would assume so.”

“We still need to decide what I’m gonna have for dinner.”

“You don’t get dinner, you are dinner.”

“You got dinner; me. But I didn’t eat anything. So you have to make a decision and swallow it so I can eat it.”

“I thought you said there wasn’t much more room in my gut.”

“I don’t care, I’m hungry.”

“I’m already gonna have to burn off the love handles you’re gonna pack onto me, I don’t think I should eat for the rest of the night.”

“That’s true, you’ll probably get your heartburn. Don’t forget your heartburn medication.”

“I won’t.”

“Go make me a cheese and onion omelet.”

“What?”

“C’mon, I’m hungry.”

“No, you’re weighing me down, my feet will get tired standing over the stove.”

“Okay, then swallow down some toast for me.”

“It’ll be all scratchy.”

“Then what can you swallow for me to eat?”

“I don’t know. I just ate the biggest meal of my life, give me a break.”

“If you don’t make a decision on what to eat for me, I will kick you in the diaphragm.”

“You wouldn’t - “

…

…

…

“Okay fine, I’ll make you an omelet.”

“Hurry, the stomach acid is already tingling my skin.”

“Yeah, no dip. I told you I was hungry.”

“You should have made a decision on what to eat earlier.”

“Don’t you start with me, man. You’re the one getting digested for his indecision.”

…

…

“It’s pretty hot in here.”

“It’s a human stomach, what do you expect?”

“Nothing really, I never thought about it.”

“That seems to be a pattern with you.”

…

…

…

“Hey, I think about things.”

“Well, all you gotta think about now is omelet and then fade away into my belly.”

“Sounds good. I like that I won’t have to make decisions after getting digested.”

Ryan E. Marshall | Linktree

Paunch Premonition Publishing

If you enjoyed this story, you could pre-order my book filled with other short stories about vore, "Gaining And You; Varied Opinions, Recitations, Etc. (G.A.Y.V.O.R.E.)." It comes out August 8!

[urfavoritewriter]

Bowels of a Bear

A commission for a lovely user here on Tumblr, thank you for commissioning me! It's always good when I get a chance to write hairy bear preds >:3

Content: vore, digestion, belly bulge, belly noises, willing prey, willing pred, casual vore, male pred, human pred, M/M, large belly, bear pred, teasing

Clint sat cross-legged on the couch, leaning forward like the whole match was going to hinge on how tight he kept his aim. The glow from the TV lit up his beard and the crease between his eyebrows, the little amber light on his controller blinking as his thumbs worked over the sticks. On the other end of the couch, Reed was slouched back with one ankle propped over his knee, controller balanced in one hand, eyes flicking between his character and the minimap.

They were deep into Halo 3, going head-to-head on Guardian. Clint had the high ground near the green lift, peeking the corner with a battle rifle, trying to keep Reed from pushing across the narrow bridge. Reed’s Spartan was ducking in and out from behind the central column, lobbing plasma grenades up toward the catwalk. The sound effects—rifle bursts, shield recharge whines, that heavy thunk of a grenade going off—bounced around the room under the hum of the old box fan by the window.

Reed caught Clint slipping a little too far out from cover and dropped him with a clean three-shot burst. Clint groaned, tossed his head back, and immediately respawned near blue lift. “Lucky,” he muttered, eyes narrowing. He swung the camera fast, sprinted up the ramp toward active camo before Reed could get to it first.

They kept circling each other like that, the match timer ticking down. Reed pulled off a perfect stick right to Clint’s chest, the blue light flashing across the whole screen before it went black. Clint sat back, exhaled through his nose, and was about to make a crack about Reed’s aim when a low, rolling growl cut through the game audio.

GroOoOwLl.

It wasn’t the TV—it was Reed’s stomach, loud enough that Clint glanced over with a crooked grin. “Damn bro, you seem hungry as fuck.”

Reed smirked faintly, gave a little shrug without taking his eyes off the screen. “I know, but for some reason I’m not craving anything in particular.”

Reed finally set his controller down on the coffee table, leaning back into the worn cushions with a long stretch. His beard shifted against his chest as he tilted his head side to side, loosening his neck. The grumble in his stomach hadn’t gone anywhere, and with the match timer now at zero, his attention slid toward his phone. He unlocked it with a swipe, thumb moving toward the DoorDash icon like muscle memory.

The screen lit his face as he scrolled. “Let’s see… we got Chipotle,” he muttered to himself, thumb flicking past. “Nah. Had that last week.” Another scroll. “Five Guys… mmm, skip.” He paused on Red Robin for a second, squinting like he was almost tempted, then kept moving. “Outback Steakhouse? Ugh… skip.”

Clint leaned his elbows on his knees, still catching his breath from laughing at the last match. His eyes wandered over to Reed without thinking. Reed’s shirt had ridden up a little from all the stretching, showing just the start of a soft curve at his middle. It wasn’t huge, but it had that rounded, easy weight that comes from too many late-night beers and big weekend meals. The fabric of his t-shirt was a little stretched across his stomach, and the hair on his forearms caught the glow of the phone screen. His beard was full, dark with a few lighter streaks, and his shoulders looked broad enough to block half the light from the TV if he leaned forward.

Reed scrolled again, muttering, “Applebee’s… nah… Buffalo Wild Wings… mmm… nah.”

Without really thinking about it, Clint leaned over and put his hand over the phone screen. The scrolling stopped.

Reed glanced sideways at him. “What?”

“You can eat me, if you want,” Clint said, like it was just another casual suggestion between rounds.

Reed let out a short laugh and shook his head. “Get outta here.”

Clint didn’t move his hand. His eyes stayed on Reed’s face, steady. “I’m serious,” he said, his voice a little quieter now but not joking. “You’re hungry, and I have no problems with it.” is what he said, but what he really meant was ‘I want to be in your hairy belly.‘

Reed blinked at him for a long second, then smirked and shook his head. “Bro, you gay as fuck for that,” he said, the words drawn out just enough to make it sound like a joke. The corner of his mouth pulled higher, though, like he was already picturing it. “You know what you’re getting yourself into?”

Clint didn’t flinch. “I don’t fucking care.”

That answer seemed to stick with Reed. His eyes narrowed just slightly, and then he leaned forward, setting his phone down on the coffee table without breaking eye contact. “Alright. I’ll give you a demo.”

Before Clint could say anything, Reed’s big hands clamped down on either side of his head. His palms were warm and a little rough, fingers curling into his hair as he yanked him forward. The sudden movement made Clint’s knees bump the coffee table. Reed’s beard brushed Clint’s forehead for a second, and then his mouth opened wide right in front of him.

The heat hit first—a wave of stale air that carried the sour tang of old beer, meat from lunch, and the faint bitterness of coffee. Reed’s tongue flexed inside, slick and pink under the yellowed light from the lamp, the back of his throat twitching as he exhaled straight into Clint’s face. The smell clung, warm and humid, filling Clint’s nose before he could turn away.

HhhhuuuUuurrRRRpphhhh

The burp rolled out mid-breath, wet and deep, vibrating right against Clint’s skin. The sound was loud in the small room, the gust of it making Clint’s hair shift. Reed didn’t let go—he kept his grip firm, forcing Clint to take the whole blast of it.

Then Reed’s tongue slid out, rough and damp, dragging from Clint’s jaw up to his cheekbone in one slow, deliberate lick. He pulled back just enough to look at him, still holding his face, thumb resting against the hinge of Clint’s jaw.

“You sure that’s what you want?”

Teron Commission (I)

————————————

Clint sat cross-legged on the couch, leaning forward like the whole match was going to hinge on how tight he kept his aim. The glow from the TV lit up his beard and the crease between his eyebrows, the little amber light on his controller blinking as his thumbs worked over the sticks. On the other end of the couch, Reed was slouched back with one ankle propped over his knee, controller balanced in one hand, eyes flicking between his character and the minimap.

They were deep into Halo 3, going head-to-head on Guardian. Clint had the high ground near the green lift, peeking the corner with a battle rifle, trying to keep Reed from pushing across the narrow bridge. Reed’s Spartan was ducking in and out from behind the central column, lobbing plasma grenades up toward the catwalk. The sound effects—rifle bursts, shield recharge whines, that heavy thunk of a grenade going off—bounced around the room under the hum of the old box fan by the window.

Reed caught Clint slipping a little too far out from cover and dropped him with a clean three-shot burst. Clint groaned, tossed his head back, and immediately respawned near blue lift. “Lucky,” he muttered, eyes narrowing. He swung the camera fast, sprinted up the ramp toward active camo before Reed could get to it first.

They kept circling each other like that, the match timer ticking down. Reed pulled off a perfect stick right to Clint’s chest, the blue light flashing across the whole screen before it went black. Clint sat back, exhaled through his nose, and was about to make a crack about Reed’s aim when a low, rolling growl cut through the game audio.

GroOoOwLl.

It wasn’t the TV—it was Reed’s stomach, loud enough that Clint glanced over with a crooked grin. “Damn bro, you seem hungry as fuck.”

Reed smirked faintly, gave a little shrug without taking his eyes off the screen. “I know, but for some reason I’m not craving anything in particular.”

Reed finally set his controller down on the coffee table, leaning back into the worn cushions with a long stretch. His beard shifted against his chest as he tilted his head side to side, loosening his neck. The grumble in his stomach hadn’t gone anywhere, and with the match timer now at zero, his attention slid toward his phone. He unlocked it with a swipe, thumb moving toward the DoorDash icon like muscle memory.

The screen lit his face as he scrolled. “Let’s see… we got Chipotle,” he muttered to himself, thumb flicking past. “Nah. Had that last week.” Another scroll. “Five Guys… mmm, skip.” He paused on Red Robin for a second, squinting like he was almost tempted, then kept moving. “Outback Steakhouse? Ugh… skip.”

Clint leaned his elbows on his knees, still catching his breath from laughing at the last match. His eyes wandered over to Reed without thinking. Reed’s shirt had ridden up a little from all the stretching, showing just the start of a soft curve at his middle. It wasn’t huge, but it had that rounded, easy weight that comes from too many late-night beers and big weekend meals. The fabric of his t-shirt was a little stretched across his stomach, and the hair on his forearms caught the glow of the phone screen. His beard was full, dark with a few lighter streaks, and his shoulders looked broad enough to block half the light from the TV if he leaned forward.

Reed scrolled again, muttering, “Applebee’s… nah… Buffalo Wild Wings… mmm… nah.”

Without really thinking about it, Clint leaned over and put his hand over the phone screen. The scrolling stopped.

Reed glanced sideways at him. “What?”

“You can eat me, if you want,” Clint said, like it was just another casual suggestion between rounds.

Reed let out a short laugh and shook his head. “Get outta here.”

Clint didn’t move his hand. His eyes stayed on Reed’s face, steady. “I’m serious,” he said, his voice a little quieter now but not joking. “You’re hungry, and I have no problems with it.” is what he said, but what he really meant was ‘I want to be in your hairy belly.‘

Reed blinked at him for a long second, then smirked and shook his head. “Bro, you gay as fuck for that,” he said, the words drawn out just enough to make it sound like a joke. The corner of his mouth pulled higher, though, like he was already picturing it. “You know what you’re getting yourself into?”

Clint didn’t flinch. “I don’t fucking care.”

That answer seemed to stick with Reed. His eyes narrowed just slightly, and then he leaned forward, setting his phone down on the coffee table without breaking eye contact. “Alright. I’ll give you a demo.”

Before Clint could say anything, Reed’s big hands clamped down on either side of his head. His palms were warm and a little rough, fingers curling into his hair as he yanked him forward. The sudden movement made Clint’s knees bump the coffee table. Reed’s beard brushed Clint’s forehead for a second, and then his mouth opened wide right in front of him.

The heat hit first—a wave of stale air that carried the sour tang of old beer, meat from lunch, and the faint bitterness of coffee. Reed’s tongue flexed inside, slick and pink under the yellowed light from the lamp, the back of his throat twitching as he exhaled straight into Clint’s face. The smell clung, warm and humid, filling Clint’s nose before he could turn away.

HhhhuuuUuurrRRRpphhhh

The burp rolled out mid-breath, wet and deep, vibrating right against Clint’s skin. The sound was loud in the small room, the gust of it making Clint’s hair shift. Reed didn’t let go—he kept his grip firm, forcing Clint to take the whole blast of it.

Then Reed’s tongue slid out, rough and damp, dragging from Clint’s jaw up to his cheekbone in one slow, deliberate lick. He pulled back just enough to look at him, still holding his face, thumb resting against the hinge of Clint’s jaw.

“You sure that’s what you want?”

“I told you already,” Clint said, voice steady now. “That’s what I want.”

Reed’s eyes narrowed, but the corner of his mouth tugged into a grin. “Well shit. I figured saying all that would scare you off, but it seems your mind’s made up.”

He leaned forward, controller still in hand for a moment, then set it down on the coffee table with a solid clack of plastic. He shifted back into the couch, spreading his legs wider, adjusting until he looked comfortable. His shirt rode up as he settled, the soft hairy swell of his beer belly pushing against the hem. He scratched absently at the side of it, beard shadowing his jaw as he looked at Clint. “Get here,” he said, voice low, direct.

Clint hesitated only a second before moving. He climbed across the cushion and lowered himself into Reed’s lap, straddling him carefully. The older couch springs creaked, his knees pressing against the cushions on either side. Reed’s thighs were solid under him, the denim of his jeans rough against Clint’s legs. His chest brushed Reed’s, and he could feel the faint give of that rounded, hairy belly under his shirt. For a second, they just stayed like that, the hum of the muted TV filling the silence.

Reed’s hand came up, steady on Clint’s side. “So,” he said, tilting his head, “you want head first, or feet first?”

Clint didn’t blink. “Head. I’ve already smelled the worst of it, remember?” He smirked faintly, thinking back to the hot burp blown in his face.

That got a short laugh out of Reed. He tipped his head back slightly, then opened his mouth wide. The beard parted around it, teeth glinting faintly in the light, tongue glistening as he drew in a breath. Clint could see the back of his throat shift and pulse, the faint rhythmic flex of muscle like it was already ready for him.

He tilted Clint’s head forward with both hands, lowering his open mouth until beard bristles brushed across Clint’s forehead. The first pull was slow, lips sealing around his hairline, tongue dragging hot and wet over his temple as Reed worked him inside. The tight muscles of his throat flexed, swallowing down inch after inch, and the sound of it was loud in the quiet room, wet gulps and slick suction filling the air.

Clint’s face disappeared between Reed’s lips, cheeks bulging faintly as he drew him deeper. His jaw shifted wide, teeth glinting in the glow of the TV as the throat behind them rippled and swallowed. Reed groaned low in his chest, the vibration rumbling through Clint’s head as it pressed further into the heat of his gullet. His beard rubbed down over Clint’s neck, scratchy against skin before it vanished into the slick pull of his throat.

The shoulders took effort. Reed leaned back, adjusting the angle, belly rounding slightly as his throat stretched around the broad line of Clint’s collar. With a heavy swallow, his lips stretched wider, sliding over the slope of shoulder and pulling both arms in tight against Clint’s chest. His throat jumped visibly, each convulsive gulp working the bulk down.

Past the chest, the slide grew easier. Reed’s tongue curled and lapped along Clint’s torso as it slipped inside, savoring the taste before it disappeared deeper. His hairy belly rose and shifted under his shirt as the weight filled him, the swell pushing out with each drag downward.

When Clint’s hips pressed against his lips, Reed paused, breathing heavily through his nose, savoring the heat of the moment. He opened wider and drew them in, teeth scraping lightly at denim before the whole lower half slipped into the slick heat. The bulge inside him writhed faintly, pressing outward against his shirt.

He noticed how his buddy had a hard on the entire time he was being swallowed, and it was straining against his pants long before, when he was sitting on his lap. No, even earlier; When he offered, or maybe when Reed gave him the demo. And so, for this reason, he spent a good chunk of time licking over the bulge, and he could swear his friend was already wet down there.

Reed took his time with the legs. His tongue worked along the thighs, leaving them slick as his throat dragged them down in steady pulls. His Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow, and a deep groan escaped him as he worked down to the knees. The couch creaked under his weight, his belly distending further as he packed Clint away.

Finally, only the feet remained. Reed gripped Clint’s ankles in both hands, lifting them to his mouth. He spread his lips over the toes, sucking them in one by one, his tongue swirling across the arches. He lingered there, lapping and slurping noisily, tasting every inch before his throat claimed them. With a deep inhale, he tilted his head back and swallowed hard, the slick soles sliding past his lips in a final wet pull.

The bulge inside him shifted, settling heavily in his gut. Reed groaned, leaning back into the couch, one hand rubbing the stretched curve of his much-bigger hairy belly. It was round and taut, gurgling faintly as it tried to adjust to the sudden fullness.

HHhhhuuuUUUUUuuuurrrrpppphhh!

The burp ripped out of him, long and sloppy, echoing off the walls and leaving his chin wet with spit. He wiped his beard with the back of his hand, still panting, then patted his stomach with a lazy grin. “Whew,” he said, voice rough. “That was all you, buddy.”

Clint shifted against the slick walls, pressing outward with his hands and feet as much as the cramped space allowed. His voice carried, muffled but clear enough through the taut skin of Reed’s belly. “It’s hot in here… tight too. Feels like you’re hugging every part of me at once.” There was a low laugh that turned into a groan. “I… kinda like it. Never thought I’d say that, but it’s making me hard as fuck.”

Reed’s stomach gurgled loudly, the sound wet and deep, rolling under Clint’s words. He tilted his head back and smirked, rubbing over the bulge of his hairy gut with slow circles. “You’re really okay in there?” he asked, his tone carrying a half-mocking concern.

Clint panted, his cheek pressed to the slick wall. “Yeah… yeah, I’m good. It’s—”

“Don’t really give a fuck,” Reed cut in, slapping the side of his belly with a heavy smack that sent the mass inside jostling. The sound of it echoed with a dull thud, followed by another wet churn. His beard twitched with a grin as he pressed his palm down firmly, kneading the curve. “I’m gonna take my sweet time digesting the fuck outta you. And even if you’re fine now, you won’t be in a little while.”

Inside, Clint shivered at the words, his breath catching. “That’s so fucking hot,” he said, voice tight with arousal. He pushed outward again, almost like he was trying to press into Reed’s hand from the inside.

After less than an hour, Reed’s gut had changed from full and heavy to actively working. The hairy dome shifted with wet noises as the pressure inside climbed. Beneath the thick layer of skin and muscle, acids had pooled up around Clint, sloshing every time Reed moved or adjusted in his seat. The gurgles came louder now, bubbles rolling up from the depths of his stomach, the sounds sharp and swampy.

Clint shifted uneasily inside. His voice came muffled but strained, like he was pressed against the belly wall. “It’s… it’s starting to sting, man. Feels like I’m sitting in a hot bath.” His kicks pushed faintly against Reed’s gut, but they barely made a ripple through the thick swell.

Reed rubbed slow circles across his belly with the flat of his palm, grinning down at the bulge. “Yeah? Belly finally getting to you, huh? Told you it wasn’t just a nap in there. That’s my gut putting in the work.” He gave it a firm pat, the wet glrrk inside answering right away.

Another shift came from within, Clint groaning as the acids licked higher up his chest. “It’s tight, bro. Like… harder to breathe now.”

Reed leaned back into the couch, letting his hairy stomach stretch out in front of him. “That’s ‘cause you’re getting packed down. My belly don’t mess around once it decides you’re food.” He smirked and gave a small bounce of his gut with both hands, making the contents slosh and bubble louder. “You wanted this, remember? All you, bro.”

Clint’s laugh was shaky but real. “Yeah… fuck… still hot though.”

Reed chuckled, low and satisfied, the sound rumbling through his chest and gut alike. “Good. Keep squirming. Makes the job easier for me.” He rubbed over the writhing bulge again, teasing. “By the time I’m done, nobody’s gonna believe you were my buddy. Just another meal sitting in my hairy gut.”

His belly grew louder as the hours dragged on, each churn a deeper, wetter note than the last. What had started as restless gurgles turned into heavy sloshes, acids shifting and bubbling inside the stretched hairy dome. Clint’s form, once distinct in outline, softened as the heat and pressure worked him down. His groans became fewer, broken up with gasps and the occasional muffled curse, his energy leaking away with every squeeze.

Slouched deeper into the couch, rubbing slow circles over his hairy gut, feeling the slush beneath his palm. His fingers scratched idly at the coarse hair across his belly, and then up into the thick hair on his chest, sighing as another wet cramp rolled through him. He tilted his head back and let the air rumble up.

HHhuuuorrrghhhllllrrraapphhhhh

The burp was thick and wet, spit clinging to his lips afterward. He wiped his beard with the back of his hand and chuckled, muttering under his breath. “Midway point, buddy. Belly’s got you working down nice.” He patted his gut hard, the noise inside slopping back like a pot of stew.

“Uh, you know you’re not coming back out by now, right? I can’t hear you much in there, but I just thought I’d let you know.”

Inside, Clint’s kicks weakened. The acids had risen high, bubbling around him until every movement squelched like something sinking in mud. His outline lost shape; arms and legs blended under the surface, his body softening to slurry. His groans turned ragged, fading to little more than heavy breathing, then to silence. One final twitch made the hairy belly ripple before it went still.

Reed scratched across his chest, thick fingers combing through the mat of hair as he exhaled, heat rising in his face. His stomach groaned back at him, lower now, like it was congratulating itself. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and pressed both palms deep into his gut. The bulge sloshed like heavy soup, no longer fighting, just bubbling.

Then it came up, wet,

HHHHhhuuuuuuuuuuaaarrrhhrrrrllllggggghhhpphhhhhkkhhhhh!

The belch dragged on, thick with moisture, breaking into smaller gurgles as it tailed off. Reed’s eyes watered at the force of it, saliva stringing off his lips. He let out a laugh, half-groan, wiping his mouth with the heel of his hand. He sat back, scratching lazy circles over the swell of his hairy belly, feeling it slosh and settle into something thicker. His other hand drifted back up to rake through the hair on his chest, nails digging lightly at the skin as he sighed with satisfaction. “Told you I’d take my sweet time,” he muttered, giving his gut a slow rub. “And I did.”

[urfavoritewriter]

Lead By Example

A commission for someone over on Discord, I really enjoyed writing this one and went a lil over the requested word count because I didn't realize I was already over the limit X3 thank you for commissioning me!

Content: M/M Vore, Implied M/F Vore, Casual Vore, Rapid Digestion, Weight Gain, Straight Predator, Gay Prey, Public Vore, Teasing

The restaurant sat on a small cliff overlooking the water; the kind of place that wasn’t just about food, but about the whole experience of being there, which certainly justified the overpriced menu items. Warm string lights hung overhead, their reflections flickering on the glass railings and the dark waves below. The air smelled faintly of grilled seafood, citrus, and sea salt. This was the same place they’d gone for their first trip together to the coast, back when they’d still been figuring each other out– when Evan had joked that if Caleb ever proposed, it’d better be at a table with that same view. So here they were again, two years and a handful of months later, same view, same faint sea breeze brushing against their skin. Except this time, they had matching rings and a reason to order champagne without pretending it was for getting fucked later.

The waiter had barely set down the menus before Evan leaned across the table, grinning. “You realize we’re officially that couple now, right? The ones people hate because they’re too happy.” His voice carried a teasing warmth, light but genuine. Caleb laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Good,” he said. “Let ‘em hate us. We earned it. People like us couldn’t even get married not a little long while ago,” Evan was the sharper one, his hair cut close on the sides, eyes quick and bright even in low light. Caleb looked softer beside him, his expression easy, his build a bit broader, like someone who gave really good gay hugs and never rushed through them.

For a while, they just sat there listening to the faint hum of conversation around them, the sound of silverware and the ocean below blending into something steady. Caleb reached across the table, his thumb brushing over Evan’s knuckles. “Can’t believe we actually did it,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Married. After everything.”

Evan squeezed his hand, smiling. “Took us two years and four months, but yeah… feels like the best part’s just starting.”

In the midst of their romantic retrospection, a group of men walked in, five of them in total, the kind of guys who didn’t really care that they were being too loud for the setting, but not in a rude way; they were clearly having fun and feeling themselves. Their laughter rolled through the room, half from the jokes they were telling and half from the few beers they’d clearly had before getting there. They were older, probably mid to late forties, with the kind of ease that comes from knowing nobody’s going to tell them to keep it down, at least not to their faces, usually. A couple of them wore open-collared shirts and watches that caught the light, one had a baseball cap still on, and another immediately waved at the bartender like they were old friends.

They weren’t being mean, not really, just the type to make everything about their own fun, and it seemed like they were in the middle of listening to a story from one particular guy in the group. The waiters smiled politely, trying not to wince at the volume. A few heads turned, but the group didn’t seem to notice or care. They chose a table right next to Evan and Caleb’s, confidently talking as they pulled out chairs and got comfortable.

The second they sat down, one of them leaned in with his drink that he brought from outside and barked, “You did what again?”

The guy, who was telling the story, smirked and took a slow drag from his cigar, the sleeves of his black polo stretching over his arms. 

“I swallowed that chick whole,” he said, his voice calm and confident. “Like, head to toe, boobs ’n all.”

“You’re fucking insane, Marco.”

“She was a co-worker. I think she recently moved to my department, too. Gave her one hell of a welcome gift, haha!” He said, treating it casually.

“You’re forced to work with someone difficult and unlikeable? Just swallow ‘em whole.” Another one of the guys said, bantering around the content of the story.

“What about human resources?”

“What about them?” He replied, inhaling with the cigar between his teeth.

“They’re gonna keep paying a digested bitch?”

“Why, you’re worried about a dead woman being paid more than your minimum wage job?” One of the guys replied.

“I just find your story hard to believe, if I’m being honest”

Marco sighed, “You’ve been asking a lotta questions about this and that, so how about I just...” He looked at the tables around them, trying to find a suitable person. “…Show you?” That’s when his eyes laid on the couple.

“Uh oh, here goes another one!”

Marco stood up with a casual grin and placed a heavy hand on Caleb’s shoulder, his grip firm but not aggressive. Caleb flinched a little, startled, and Evan turned around fast, the color draining from his face.

“Can I help you?” Evan asked, his voice tight, cautious. His mind jumped straight to the worst possibility: that they were about to get harassed for holding hands in public by homophobic straight dudes.

Marco smiled, the cigar now between his fingers. “Yeah, actually, you can,” he said, tone light and conversational. “See, my buddy over here doesn’t believe what I told him, and I think your boyfriend might be the perfect way to prove my point.”

Before either of them could react, Marco leaned down, grabbed Caleb by the sides, and forced his head into his mouth. Caleb’s muffled yell came out sharp and panicked– “Help me!” –before the sound was swallowed too. His legs kicked under the table, silverware clattering to the floor.

Evan shot up from his chair, but one of the other men beside Marco reached out and pressed a steady hand on his shoulder, guiding him back down. “It’s no use,” the man said calmly, almost apologetically. “He’s never let anyone stop him once he starts.” Clearly he had experience with Marco’s vore shenanigans.

Marco's throat bulged as Caleb’s head disappeared between his lips. The older man’s tattooed hand came up to grab the visible outline of the face pressing through his neck, the cursive black letters of “FERN” stretched across his inner forearm as his fingers squeezed around the shape. Caleb’s panicked expression was barely visible for a second, distorted under skin and pressure, before Marco gulped again.

“Get 'em down, baby!” one of the guys at the table called out, half-laughing. “C’mon, Marco, don’t stop now!” another chimed in, clapping once like it was a drinking contest.

Marco’s jaw stretched around Caleb’s shoulders with an effortless wet glide. The black polo pulled tight across his chest as he worked the man deeper, already beginning to stretch up, his throat pulsing, his hands pressing down over the squirming chest until it sank past his lips. The group let out a round of hoots and whistles.

“He’s halfway, man!” “Fuck yeah, he’s goin’ down!” “Damn, look at those shoulders slide in, holy shit!”

“…Color me impressed.” The doubting guy said under his breath.

Across the table, Evan jerked against the man still holding him down. “Get off me! That’s my boyfriend!”

The guy leaned in a little, hand now pressing more firmly into Evan’s chest. “Then you better start lookin’ for a new one, man.”

Marco’s thick arms worked steadily as Caleb’s body kept sliding deeper, the soft sounds of gulping now mixing with the scrape of the table legs as the man’s torso disappeared below the edge. His gut had already started to swell, the black fabric of his polo rising inch by inch as more of Caleb was packed inside. His hands braced the wriggling hips, adjusting his stance slightly as he tilted his head back and pulled him in further.

Caleb’s legs kicked weakly now, knees bent and twitching before they too were forced to straighten out and slide between Marco’s lips. One strong swallow pulled the thighs in, followed by the calves, the feet now sticking out awkwardly in dress shoes, polished and ridiculous in how out-of-place they looked hanging from the mouth of a man who hadn’t even broken a sweat. At least he had them pedicured, shame they were covered.

Marco held them there, grinning around the heels, and turned his head to the guy who had called him out earlier for lying. He raised his brows slightly, gesturing with both hands as if presenting a challenge.

The man blinked, looked around at his friends who were already chuckling, then pointed at himself. “…Me?”

The guy next to him nudged his elbow. “Go push 'em in!”

After a beat, the doubter stood up, walked over with a kind of hesitant amusement, and reached for the dangling ankles. He planted one hand on Marco’s shoulder for balance, then slowly pressed on the shoes. Marco didn’t budge. The feet slid in slowly, inch by inch, the man's palm following until it was completely inside Marco’s mouth.

He felt the throat pulse, one deep, wet gulp, and the body inside shifted down, dragging his hand slightly forward before he yanked it back out with a wet squelch. Strings of thick drool stretched from Marco’s lips to the guy’s fingers, snapping and trailing down his wrist as he pulled away.

The group exploded into cheers, “Holy shit, you did it!” “That was fucking wild!” “Dude, you’re insane!” Among other spoken encouragements.

Even Marco let out a deep laugh, his belly visibly shifting as it settled into a new round shape. He slapped the guy’s shoulder, still grinning. “See? Knew you'd come around to believing.”

He leaned back in his chair and exhaled, his chest rising before he let out a deep, heavy belch. “BUUURRRPP.” He wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and smirked. “And that pretty much sums up what I did to her,” he said, reaching for his drink. “But anyways, where was I?”

“The part where she wouldn’t stop talking about the report,” one of the guys reminded him, as he took a sip out of his own beer.

“Oh right, yeah,” Marco said, snapping his fingers. “So she’s standin’ there in front of the copier, right? Paper jammed for the third time that week, and she’s losin’ it. I tell her to chill, it’s just a machine, but nah, she starts goin’ off about deadlines and respect and how nobody listens to her.”

As he talked, the surface of his gut twitched under his shirt. He paused mid-sentence, gave it a firm pat, then pressed down with his palm HARD until the movement stopped. His fingers sank slightly into the tight roundness, adjusting the weight like he’d done it before, man-handling the guy inside like an afterthought.

“So anyway,” he went on, shaking his head, “I’m tryin’ to stay cool, right? But then she calls me lazy. Lazy! Like I haven’t been the one fixin’ that damn copier since before she even showed up.”

Across the table next to them, Evan shifted, his voice quiet and shaky. “W-when are you letting my boyfriend out?”

Marco kept talking. “So I tell her, look, if you got somethin’ to say, say it. And she just stares at me like she’s waitin’ for me to snap.”

He grunted softly and leaned forward, both hands on his gut now, squeezing once, a low gurgle coming from inside. He gave it a rough shove inward, the bulge shifting and settling, then sat back with a satisfied grunt and continued the story like nothing happened.

Evan swallowed hard. “Hey?” he tried again, a little louder this time.

“Dude, give me a sec,” He acknowledged Evan briefly, “I’m in the middle of a story, don’t break my goddamn flow.” Marco’s voice rolled on without pause. “So then she starts walkin’ away, right? Real fast. And I’m thinkin’, nah, you’re not gettin’ the last word this time like she always loves to. So I-”

“Dude,” Evan said, voice breaking a little. “I’m asking when are you letting my boyfriend out?”

Marco finally turned his head, eyebrows lifting as if he’d just noticed him for the first time. “Oh,” he said, tone even and casual. “That was your boyfriend? I thought you guys were just friends.”

Evan blinked, his throat tight. “We, uh… we just got married, actually. We’re on our honeymoon.”

Marco’s eyebrows lifted, his face softening. “Oh, really? Congratulations, man! Really happy for you!” His voice was warm, genuinely so, and the others around the table chimed in too, tossing out things like “Congrats, dude!” and “That’s awesome!” between laughs and clinks of glasses to their short-lasting mariage.

Evan hesitated, his hands fidgeting on the edge of the table. “…Anyways, I, uh, was hoping you’d let him out soon?”

Marco tilted his head, expression still casual. “Sorry, I never let someone out,” he said plainly, taking another slow sip of his drink. “But hey, at least it’s really enjoyable for him.”

He stood up, motioning for Evan to come closer. Evan, confused and uneasy, stepped forward. As soon as he did, the faint sounds from Marco’s stomach reached his ears, deep, rhythmic moans, wet and low, from his soon-to-be ex-husband.

“Uhhhhnn… mmmphhh… aaahhhhn~”

Marco grinned, resting one hand over the shifting swell of his gut. “See? Told you,” he said, voice calm, almost conversational. “Pretty sure most people bust multiple times in there before they’re fully gone, men and women both.”

Marco eased back into his chair, patting the dome of his gut. “So yeah,” he said, picking up his story without missing a beat, “she’s stormin’ off, mutterin’ under her breath like a pussy. And I follow her, not fast, just faster than her pace, y’know, because I was set on doing it for real.”

His stomach let out a soft glorp as the shape of Caleb inside started to shift, smoothing out a little. One side of the bulge collapsed in slowly, the squirming becoming weaker, less defined.

“She turns the corner by the breakroom and that’s when I decide, yeah, now’s good. Caught her by the hips, popped her heels right off. Uh, she was wearin’ those little blocky ones, the kind that click loud on tile, and just got to work.”

Inside, Caleb’s muffled groans of pleasure rose and fell:

“Uhhhhhnn… ahhh~ nnnfffhh… mmmmn-ahh…”

Marco chuckled to himself, barely reacting to the sounds. His belly sloshed gently, shrinking down another inch as the weight inside compacted further.

“Honestly, she tasted like coconut lotion or some shit. Sweet as hell, she was a bitch but she took really good care of her skin, was so smooth she just slid right in. Took a bit gettin’ past the shoulders, but after that?” He made a whistling noise and mimed a smooth drop with his hand. “Straight down.”

“Ahhh—uhnnhhh… uhhhHHH—!”

The stomach gurgled louder now, gassy and low, as Caleb’s final spasms inside turned to trembling bliss. The squirming bulge tensed up, and it was evident-at least to Marco- that the guy inside has busted a nut, and Marco’s gut tensed in response and then started to shrink even faster, settling heavy against his lap.

Marco shifted in his chair with a grunt, now noticeably smaller, the roundness becoming softer, looser. He rubbed his palm in slow circles across the front of his polo, almost possessively, that it made Evan jealous he was this handy with his man.

“Anyway, she went down like a damn protein shake,” he said. “Had the hiccups after!”

He looked up at Evan, who stood there frozen, wide-eyed, and vore-cucked. Marco gave him a knowing look and said calmly, “Hey man, I, uh, I’m sure you’ll miss him and all but if you want I could also let you join him?” He said, letting out a burp, “Not now though, I’m a little full, but we can arrange for it later?”

“I… Um,” Evan said, dumbfounded, it almost didn’t seem real that he just lost the love of his life to a guy who just needed an example of what he did. “…N-No, thank you, I’m good…” Despite all of that, he was flustered, and even felt a little attraction.

He leaned over from the table beside him, giving a friendly pat on the shoulder as he said, “Sure thing, but give it some thought, yeah? And, if you’re looking for a new boyfriend, there’s a few pubs ‘round here that you can visit.”

Marco slapped his hands on his thighs and pushed himself up from the chair, still looking smugly satisfied as he talked to his group of straight men. “I know a spot nearby, called Barker’s Tap & Grill, got killer wings and they don’t skimp on the pours.” He glanced around at the guys, then nodded toward the street. “Shall we, boys?”

They all stood, finishing the last of their drinks, tossing bills on the table without looking at the total, even though half their drinks were brought in from the outside.

Evan didn’t follow. He just sat there, frozen, eyes locked on Marco’s back as the man walked away, laughing and talking with his crew like nothing had happened. And it hit him then, he hadn’t even noticed how much thicker the guy had gotten.

Marco’s khakis were pulled tight now over a clearly fuller frame, the seat of his pants rising and sinking with each step. His big, beefy ass swayed from side to side, the fabric hugging each heavy stride, while his thick thighs rubbed together. He was a much meatier man than when he came in, for sure.

[aceobserver]

(ID: ???)

I was out at the bar one night when I met this bear of a man. He approached me at the bar and bought me a drink, being pretty clear with his intentions.

He was big, strong, attentive and sweet -- all the traits I love in a man. I played coy, but I think we both knew the night was going to end in the bedroom. I didn't shy away when, after about an hour together at the bar, he invited me back to his place.

He was pretty spent after we fucked, and fell asleep within 5 minutes of laying down. I was still wide awake, so I decided to get up and explore his place.

I'll admit, I really liked the guy. I wanted to snoop a bit, see if I could vet him before I tried to get with him. I had to make sure he wasn't a serial killer, or something like that.

I was in the middle of shifting through a bureau, when I heard footsteps thumping down the stairs. I quickly shut the bureau and turned around, just in time for him to clear the stairs. I called over to him, trying my best not to sound guilty.

"Hey, you're up? Sorry, I couldn't sleep, so I've just been chilling down here."

He gave some sort of muffled response that told me he hadn't quite woken up yet. I heard his weight shift, and the floor creaked as he began to approach me.

"Do you want a drink or something? I could pour you a glass of water."

He didn't respond, and a blank, unaware look sat on his face as he continued to walk towards me. I tensed as he leaned over and clapped his hands onto my shoulders. I looked up at him, and suddenly my whole world went dark.

I did my best to struggle, but he was eating me and there wasn't much I could do about it. His strong arms kept me pinned in place, clearly experienced despite being barely awake.

Before too long I was packed away inside him, doing my best to push at the walls for any sort of grip. It was really hot inside him, like a heated blanket that was soaking wet.

The bear patted his belly a couple times, and it sounded like he was trying to calm me. I heard his muffled voice telling me not to worry, though that was all I could do.

My world bounced as I felt him lumber back up the staircase, using one hand to rub his belly. Knowing I was stuck, I began to settle into the warmth of the belly. It was more comfortable than I had expected.

The bear eased back into his bed, much more satisfied with his now full gut. Before too long, he was snoring, a hand resting on the huge belly.

On the inside, I did my best to get comfortable, and just hope that he'd let me out in the morning. I tried not to pass out, but the warm gut slowly rocked me to sleep before I even knew it.

Of course, after a couple hours, a belly does what it knows how to do -- digest.

Come morning, I was nothing but mush resting inside the bear's belly. He woke up and immediately was shocked at the lack of bulges in his middle.

"Shit. I didn't mean to melt you."

Immediately he sat up, gut sloshing as he did so. He poked and prodded at it, trying to see if there was any chance I was still alive. There was not.

"Fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. Fuck!" He slammed his fist into the mattress next to him.

All the while, the belly groaned and gurgled, working overtime to turn what was left of me into more fat on his body.

Eventually he laid back and sighed, feeling defeated.

He really needed to control his appetite.

[urfavoritewriter]

“Mate, don’t you think it’s a little too cold for you to be out here?” A guy said to you during your snowy vacation. You turned, seeing him flashing his powerful stomach right at you. “Would be hell of a lot nicer in here, don’t you think?”

This was all you could remember before your world got dark. And warm. Pleasantly warm, even, but the deeper you went, the hotter and humid-er it got. Not to mention, the more of you that went in the compactor it got, and his belly certainly didn’t leave much room for movement as you made a distinct bulge on his midsection.

“BUUUUUUUUUUUWOOOOOOORP!” The stomach squeezes you as he burps loudly, satisfied with the quick meal he’d made of you. If you had to tell the truth, your first few minutes inside of him were blissful. You were shivering, cold to the bone, and his stomach was still adjusting to your mass. However, long after those minutes passed, it became unbearably hot.

The longer you stewed in there, the more that hotness turned to burning. You skin began to stung, and you realized his stomach acids were starting to seep into your fragile skin. You weren’t sure what to make of this, but you couldn’t even kick or punch to retort. His stomach had a tight grip on you, and your voice was muffled beyond belief, although it could still be slightly heard, just unintelligble.

“Don’t know what you’re saying there buddy, but no one’s that come in had ever complained, so I assume you’re enjoying it in there!” The pred sarcastically responded, not even understanding what his prey was saying.

You knew you fucked up, and you knew this might’ve been your last fuck up. It was starting to hurt, and there was still many, many hours if not days left of this. You just hoped your predator would let you out before you became unrecognizable.

[thebigbellystories]

Mobile Jail Cell

“So, what are we going to do with him this time?” Brody asked.

“Hmm?” Mac said, looking up from the paper he was reading.

“Focus, Mac. We need to decide on what we’re doing with the kid,” Brody said, rolling his eyes. “This is the, what, fifth time? Sixth time that he’s gotten picked up for doing something stupid? He can’t keep coming back here.”

“I know, but until he gets his shit together, he’ll be spending his nights in a jail cell,” Mac said, shrugging. Mac and Brody were deputies of the local sheriff’s office, typically relegated to nightly patrols around the city and making sure anyone who’s thinking of getting up to no good doesn’t make it very far. Usually, the city was pretty quiet, but some liked to disrupt that piece for the fun of it. One such person was Tanner, known as “the kid” in the office despite being in his early 20s, who had become a bit of a nuisance to the community. He never did anything major, but when he drank too much, he liked to tag buildings, blast music as he walked down the streets, and pick fights with people who crossed his path. The Sheriff’s office didn’t see him as a threat to the community, but they did have to try to calm the situation, which usually meant hauling Tanner in and having him spend the night in a jail cell.

Unfortunately, this time, the jail cells were all full from an outside group of troublemakers who came to visit and decided to make themselves known. Now they had Tanner in a holding room, trying to decide what to do with him.

“Considering the cells are full, we need somewhere else for him to go. Ideas?” Brody asked.

“Hmm,” Mac thought. Mac, a man in his early 50s who was had a solid build, salt and pepper hair, and a short but full beard to match his somewhat short head of hair, looked tougher than he tended to be. He didn’t like coming down hard on people, especially when he knew they were more likely than not just acting out rather than trying to be a problem for everyone. Tanner fell into that category, but Mac also knew that he needed to be firm or else people like Tanner were only going to get worse. Now he had to figure out how to handle this. An idea popped into his head.

“Ok, I think I know what to do but you gotta trust me on this,” Mac said, giving Brody a confident smile.

“Uh oh, what’re you gonna do?” Brody asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ll see. I’m gonna go talk to him and should be back shortly,” Mac said, getting up and heading to the holding room. He lightly knocked on the door and then entered. Tanner was sitting at the table, head down, his drunkenness starting to subside. He lifted his head as he heard Mac walk in.

“K, I’m ready for my hotel room,” Tanner said with a smirk, proud of his joke.

“Not tonight, kiddo. No room,” Mac said, crossing his arms.

“Oh bummer, guess that means I’ll be leaving then,” Tanner said, standing up and pulling his hood over his head. “Maybe next time, sir.” Tanner started walking towards the door but Mac stood in his way.

“Not so fast. I didn’t say you could leave,” Mac said, looking down on him. Mac’s 6’ 3” height made him quite imposing against Tanner’s 5’ 9”.

Tanner looked confused. “Ok…so where am I going then? Your house?”

Mac grinned. “You could say that…” he said as he started unbuttoning his shirt. Tanner took a couple steps back.

“Wh-what’re you doing?!” Tanner asked, sounding alarmed.

“Oh don’t get any ideas. I just really like this shirt and don’t want to ruin it,” Mac said, finishing opening his shirt, his abs with solid happy trail now on display. “Now, let’s get you to your…cell.” Mac took a couple quick strides forward and grabbed Tanner, who was too stunned to react. Mac opened his mouth wide, picked up Tanner, and shoved him head first into his mouth. Tanner’s head immediately hit the back of Mac’s throat, at which point Mac swallowed hard. The strength of his swallow sent Tanner down to his chest into his throat.

Tanner began to struggle, the muffled sounds of his voice coming through the bottom of Mac’s throat as he started to come to realize what was happening. Unfortunately for him, no one was around to hear and Mac was on a mission, so down he we went. Mac continued to swallow, moving from Tanner’s chest to his stomach, his waist, and past his butt. Now just Tanner’s legs were hanging out of his mouth. By this point, Tanner’s head had entered Mac’s stomach.

“What the actual fuck?!” Tanner yelled out into the stomach cavern, the sound lightly bouncing off the walls. All the struggling and fighting he did couldn’t get him free of Mac’s mouth. He realized too late it was making things worse. Now all he could do was feel himself sliding more and more inside. His head eventually hit the bottom, forcing him to start curling into a ball, his back lining up with the walls of the stomach. It was thanks to Tanner’s entrance into the stomach that Mac’s gut started to balloon out.

Mac tilted his head up, letting gravity help send the rest of Tanner in. As he did, he gripped his stomach, feeling it swell as Tanner took up space. The fullness he was experiencing was indescribable, but he knew there was no stopping now. Tanner’s thighs and knees entered his mouth. He was getting close to the end. His stomach now pushing the size of an exercise ball, he could feel Tanner yelling and putting up a fight, though Mac’s stomach muscles were far to strong for Tanner to cause any serious problems. Mac felt Tanner’s ankles and, lastly, his feet enter his mouth. With one final swallow, Mac sent the last of Tanner into his stomach.

“Ahhh,” Mac said, his airway finally clear. His throat was still swollen but forcing Tanner down. Mac turned his head down and watched as his stomach grew, making room for all of Tanner. It took a few more seconds but, eventually, it was done. Tanner was balled up in his gut.

“Welcome to your new cell, Tanner. I hope you enjoy your stay,” Mac said with a grin, giving his stomach a pat. It immediately started to move and shake, Tanner struggling more. Still, it was useless. Mac spent a lot of time in the gym in a past life and even did amateur body building for years. There was no way Tanner was going anywhere.

Mac straightened himself up, stabilizing himself with the new found weight. His belly seemed even larger now that Mac had stretched some. He patted it, and headed out of the holding room, making his way back to Brody. He entered the room and walked up to Brody’s desk, his gut right next to his head.

“How did it g—“ Brody started to say, until he turned to look at Mac and was staring right at a gaping belly button. Brody jumped back in his chair. “What the hell?!”

“I found a space for Tanner. No need to worry about it,” Mac said, folding his hands on top of his belly shelf.

“Huh?” Brody asked, his brain still trying to understand.

“Don’t overthink it. Tanner’s in here,” Mac rubbed his belly. “No need to find a jail cell when I have a mobile one right here.” Tanner caused Mac’s stomach to shake some, causing some gurgling and glorping to emanate from it and helping prove Mac’s point.

“Dude…how did you even know you could do this?” Brody asked, staring in awe.

“Eh, long story. Let’s just say I did a lot of experimenting in college. Some habits died over the years, others laid dormant. I’m just glad something good came from the college years…other than my degree, of course,” Mac said, slightly laughing. Mac looked at Brody’s face and smiled. His reaction made all of this even better. “Like what you see?”

Brody’s face went red. “D-don’t be ridiculous. I’m just watching a freak of nature show off. Not exactly something you see everyday.”

“Aww, you sure it’s not just your mpreg kink getting the best of you?” Mac walked a few steps closer, pushing his belly into Brody’s face.

“Oh, come on, Mac,” Brody said, trying to move further back. “You’re an idiot. Besides, not sure my wife would sign off on any of that.” Brody tried to turn back to his computer, sneaking a few glances as he spoke. “Anyway, what’s your plan now? You going to give birth tomorrow or something to let him out?”

“Not exactly. I’m thinking Tanner may due with a little more incubation. Maybe a week?” Mac said, rubbing his chin with one hand while rubbing circles on his belly with the other. Tanner was still making a fuss but seemed to have worn himself out. Poor guy didn’t know that all he was doing was for naught.

“You’re gonna carry this thing for a week?!” Brody asked in shock, giving the firm gut a solid smack, causing more motion to be seen under the surface.

“Hey, careful! My abs are strong but not numb to pain!” Mac said, brushing his hand away and rubbing the spot he hit. “It’ll be fine. I’ve done worse.”

Brody raised an eyebrow. “What’s that mean?”

“Story for another time. I think I’m gonna head home. This jail needs a break,” Max said, winking. He strode over to his desk and grabbed his stuff, careful to maneuver himself to avoid hitting anything with his boulder of a belly. Once he packed up, he said goodnight to Brody, who snuck one last glance at him and blushed a slight red before turning back to his computer, and headed out.

“Alright, Tanner. This is gonna be one hell of a week. Be a good cell mate and don’t cause a stir in there,” Mac said, rubbing his belly and getting into his car. Hopefully after this week, he’ll never have to see Tanner at work again.

[voretwinkfantasies]

My best friend looks good on me

[bighungrywolf]

When a pred hears a guy saying that there is nothing he wants more than to be consumed by a superior man

[urfavoritewriter]

Stuffed

A commission from a lovely user here on Tumblr, thank you for commissioning me!

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.

[ctabear]

[vorehoundarc]

Still good in there? If you need out, just, like... tickle or something

* g u r g l e *

[bighungrywolf]

The people on the street suddenly began to feel small ground tremors, which gradually began to gain strength. Some thought it was an earthquake, but the real reason for these small rumblings became evident when they raised their eyes to one end of the street. Down that street was approaching with a firm and steady pace what could only be described as a giant man. At over seven feet tall and with a body that would leave any bodybuilder trembling in fear, all the people on the street stared at this specimen that was bordering on perfection. His bare chest (it's hard for me to think that T-shirts big enough to cover his bulk existed) glistened with sweat in the sunlight.

This man, named Hank, was jogging, listening to loud music on his headphones that helped him keep a light pace as he walked. Suddenly, he started looking at a couple of guys sitting on a bench who were gawking at him. Hank smiled at them with a smile that seemed to be hiding something, and just as he passed them, with barely a pause, he grabbed them both by the shirt and lifted them up. Before either of those two boys could say anything, Hank lifted the first of them with his two hands, holding the other under his arm, and gobbled his head as if it were a simple lollipop. Without stopping walking as he devoured this boy, Hanks began to swallow the lad with astounding ease, as if he did this every day, and just before swallowing the feet of his first victim, he looked down at the other guy he had trapped under his arm, letting him watch as his mate plunged into his maw, never to see the sunlight again, after which he licked his lips, enjoying what was left of the taste of this first prey. The other guy tried to fight back, to no avail, except to give Hank the pleasure of seeing a prey that wanted to resist him in vain. There was nothing he liked better than watching his prey's futile attempts to escape.

It didn't take long for the second guy to join his boyfriend, being engulfed by Hank's huge maw like an anaconda. The rest of the people in the street soon reacted, shouting and calling for help, as everyone tried to flee or take refuge in stores or doorways. In the chaos, some stumbled or fell when pushed, becoming easy prey at the feet of Hank, who did not take long to take advantage of these helpless targets, without stopping for a moment to continue advancing at a fast pace with his powerful footsteps down the street. There were others who tried to take refuge in stores that had locked their doors when they saw the danger in the street, leaving people outside pounding on their doors asking to get in. These were also easy prey for Hank, who quickly grabbed them from one side of the street to the other, as if they were simply popcorn. Even many of the people who had been running away were caught by Hank, who did not even bother to run, but caught up with his long strides thanks to his legs that looked like two Roman columns.

A few minutes later the street was already deserted, as Hank patted his distended stomach at the end of the street. This had been a good feast to calm his voracious hunger after jogging. Tomorrow he would have to take a new path down another street if he wanted to be able to satisfy his enormous appetite again, since with all the people he had just devoured, there wouldn't be enough prey the next day to even serve him as a snack.

[fullandtight]

Jake and his boyfriend walked up to the mirror and smiled. Olson posed, trying to hide how much Jake’s massive gut was turning him on, while Jake grabbed his phone:

“Group photo! Say cheese!”

Jake thought he felt Max kick from inside of him… when in reality, it was really what was left of Max’s half digested form sloshing and churning around inside. Both Jake and Olson looked at each other with concern. Olson placed his hand on Jake’s lower belly, feeling the movement going on inside:

“You think he’s still alive in there?”

“He shouldn’t be, don’t you remember? My stomach was like, four times as big, and I felt something snap when we were at the smith machine.”

The two men continued watching Jake’s belly grind up what’s left of their former friend…

“How about we go home and I ‘help’ you digest Max some more!?”

“That sounds like a plan~ 🤭 BUORRPPP ♨️☠️”

[thebigboysof1299]

[digestavore]

Sometimes you gotta let that pred gut hang down as the slutty preyboy you just swallowed squirms and screams before they really begin digesting 😏 that bloated stomach can really strain the back if you're not careful 😈 gotta look after your beautiful body....too many preyboys to digest

[braviks]

[hungryandveryhorny]

It's summer break, and these college men have finally reunited back home! As it happens, they're actually permanently reunited.

Every day since they'd been back, they went together to the local pool. I don't know what they expected, but they unsurprisingly caught the attention of a lifeguard... who happened to be the hungry type.

So, over just two weeks, that one lifeguard picked them all off. One by one, each of them met their ends butt naked in a hot, muscular stomach. There was only one exception, which was the guy sitting closest to the camera. He actually died in the lifeguard's wet balls, covered in globs of warm cum. But, one way or another, he ended up in the lifeguard's belly, since the horny man eventually pumped the poor guy's cummified remains down his hot throat. That's all to say that he was still reunited with his digested buds.

[voretwinkfantasies]

Last night's fan meet and greet was so fun and ... delicious

[aceobserver]

(ID: CMBigDog)

Walter stretched as he woke up, his tired body giving some small cracks and pops. He yawned, long and low, smacking his dry lips.

Groaning, he pushed himself from his mattress, slowly adjusting to being awake. He paused when he heard the familiar sound of sloshing coming from his midsection.

He quickly looked down at his gut, confused. Then...

"Oh, right."

The day before, Walter had worked as a mall Santa for his local mall. The work was harder than he had expected; He had a 12-hour shift , with only a 30 minute break, and because it was Christmas Eve, the place was packed! He had a constant line of little kids wanting to take photos with him.

At one point, a young man came up to him. He introduced himself as Alex, and said that he wanted to fuck Santa for Christmas. Well, Walter was hungry, and the boy looked tasty. So, Walter took him up on the offer.

They met in the staff room on his break, locking the door behind them so no one could catch them in the illicit act.

After a makeout session and a blowjob, Walter was starving. He grabbed Alex, wrapping him in a bear hug, and devoured him hungrily. The smooth, skinny guy slid inside him easily, expanding his belly hugely. As he finished swallowing the boy, he belched loudly, patting his gut.

"Struggle all you want, boy. No one will find you in there." He slapped his belly as Alex did his best to fight back. The gut was tight, however, and resisted his every move. He was packed in too tight.

"If it makes you feel any better, feeding Santa is better than fucking Santa. You're like my milk and cookies." Walter chuckled at his own joke. Since his break was almost over, he quickly put back on his costume and got back to work.

Work went by quicker, now-- He was in a much better mood, now that he had the nice pressure on his prostate, and he wasn't as tired, between the blowjob and his meal. Yep, Alex would keep him full and happy for the rest of the day.

For the rest of his shift, Walter belched, churned and groaned, enjoying the slow digestion of his prey. He wasn't certain really when his meal expired and started to really digest, but after a couple hours passed, a little boy poked his belly, laughing at how it sloshed and jiggled. His gut stayed active well through the end of his shift.

Not too long after getting home, he was fast asleep in his bed, a satisfied smile on his face.

The next morning, Walter admired himself in the mirror, pleased with his new size. He couldn't help but explore the new mass, giving some pats to test his new jiggle. It was likely he had gained about 15 pounds, most of that weight going to his belly and chest.

He lifted his gut and dropped it, enjoying how its content sloshed when he did. A small burp passed his lips, and he was greeted again with the musky, but slightly sweet taste of Alex.

"Well, kid, I'm glad you could spend the holidays with me." He laughed, and slapped his gut. It was nice to have another live meal; It had been a while. Definitely his favorite Christmas gift.

He paused for a moment, thinking.

"Shit, am I even gonna fit into my nice shirt?"

[thepacificshores]

[hungryandveryhorny]

Look at that body. He looks like he'd be a pred, and maybe he is, but he's definitely also prey. I know that because he's curled up in my tight stomach right now. So whoever he may have devoured while he was more than just my dinner is now going to be a part of me, too.

That's hot. I'm gonna masturbate in his gymshark underwear.