Iâve been itching to get eaten. There's nothing i'd love more than to become part of a bigger man, to get melted down and used to build his muscles and gut.
So, when I spotted this guy standing in the baseball dugout, I knew he had to be the one.
I mustered up the courage to come up to him after a couple minutes. I tapped his shoulder, but his eyes barely broke contact with the field.
"What's up, man?" His voice carried a note of irritation, clearly not wanting his focus to be interrupted.
In a mix of darting eyes and a shy tone, I asked him to eat me. Begged him, really. Swallow me up and digest me. Pack me away in that belly he had poking out and make it bulge even bigger when he's done with me. Melt me down til i'm unrecognizable.
I guess I didn't realize how much he was interested in the game, because it seemed like he barely registered my words. He gave me a fleeting glance before responding.
"Uhh...sure. Gimme till 7th inning."
I excused myself and went back to my seat on the bleachers, counting down the minutes. Though, I forgot how slow baseball could be...and the bleachers were pretty comfortable. My eyes drooped, and eventually shut.
...I was suddenly jolted awake when I felt a hand gripping my wrist and dragging me.
"Ya wanna get mulched or not, man?? Come on. We only got 5 minutes."
I eventually gained back my balance, following my soon-to-be predator. His grip on my arm remained tight as he guided me to a more secluded area, away from the ongoing game.
Before I knew it, I was pressed up against the wall, the bearded man close up in my face. We were eye to eye, his face hardened and tough as he leaned over me. A musky, cedar-y scent hit my nostrilsâthe manâs scent. I breathed slow and heavy, taking it in.
âSo, you really wanna be eaten?â
I nodded, smiling.
âThis better be what you really want, man. Cause thereâs only one way out, and itâs not the way you came.â
A warm feeling started to pool in my stomach, and I sighed. This was all I wanted. I nodded, and the moment I did, something changed in his eyes. He smirked, and his grip on my shoulders tightened.
âWell, then, I guess Iâll give you what you asked for.â
His smile got wider, wider, widerâŚand suddenly, my whole world went dark.
I was packed away in the manâs stomach in two minutes flat. It was pretty impressive, actually, how quickly he ate me. Never underestimate a guyâs commitment to his game.
Before I could start to orient myself, I felt a hard whack hit my back, and some rubbing. My predator was enjoying his catch.
He belched thickly and licked his chops. âAhh, that was nice. Iâm glad you offered yourself up for me, meat.â
I did my best to thank him, but between the gurgling and the layer of fat between me and the outside world, it was lost.
Not that my captor cared. He took a moment to enjoy his meal, pushing in the bulges of my head and feet popping out.
He did his best to pull his shirt over his new size, but the shirt barely stayed down over his chest. The man sighed, patting the belly again.
âAlright. I have to get back to the game now, so you just sit still and digest like good food ought to.â
I was happy to oblige.
My world bounced as my captor lumbered back to the field, doing his best to balance while carrying another 150 pounds on his midsection.
A few onlookers gawked at the manâs sudden change in size, but most were unbothered, much more worried about the game than its spectators.
I relished in the comfort of the warm belly as long as I could, eventually passing out due to the lack of air inside. My predator groaned and belched constantly, his gut working in overtime to melt me down.
I was slowly digested over the course of the game, leaving nothing but an extra three inches of fat around the manâs belly.
We were just hanging out in his apartment like any other Friday nightâpizza boxes on the coffee table, controllers in our hands, trash-talking each other over the latest fighting game. My best friend Mike had always been the bigger guy: tall, broad-shouldered, with a soft, heavy beer belly that he proudly showed off whenever he lifted his shirt after a big meal. Iâd teased him about it for years, but tonight something felt⌠different.
He kept glancing at me with this strange, hungry look while we played. Then, right after I beat him for the third time in a row, he paused the game, set his controller down, and said quietly, âYou know⌠Iâve been fantasizing about this for a long time, dude. Swallowing you whole and turning you into nothing but belly fat⌠and eventually pushing out whateverâs left.â
Before I could even ask what he meant, Mike lunged. His strong hands grabbed my shoulders and yanked me forward. In one smooth motion, he opened his mouth impossibly wide and shoved my head straight between his lips.
Everything went hot, wet, and dark instantly. His tongue slathered over my face, tasting me with slow, deliberate licks like I was the best thing heâd ever eaten. I tried to pull back, yelling, âMikeâwhat the fuck?! Stop!â but the words were swallowed up by the slick, rippling flesh of his throat. He gulped hardâGLURKâand my head slid down into the tight, muscular tube.
The pressure was crushing. His throat squeezed and pulsed around my shoulders as he swallowed again and again, each powerful gulp dragging me deeper. I felt his hands gripping my waist, lifting me off the couch so gravity could help him. My chest disappeared next, the wet heat sliding over my torso as my arms were pinned uselessly to my sides. I could hear his muffled moans of pleasure vibrating all around me.
âMmmph⌠fuck, you taste even better than I imagined,â his voice rumbled through the fleshy walls, thick with satisfaction.
My stomach slid past his tongue, and then my hips. By now his belly was already swelling dramatically outward. I could feel the way his gut stretched and bulged as more and more of me packed inside. My legs kicked wildly outside his mouth, shoes flailing in the air, but he just tilted his head back and took another long, greedy swallow. My thighs vanished, then my knees, until only my calves and feet were left twitching between his lips.
One final, wet GULP and my feet slipped inside. I was goneâcompletely sealed away inside my best friendâs stomach.
The inside was pitch black, unbearably hot, and incredibly tight. Thick, slimy walls pressed in from every direction, kneading and massaging my curled-up body. The air was thick and acrid, already starting to tingle against my skin as digestive juices began to pool around me. I pushed out desperately with my hands and elbows, feeling the soft, stretchy flesh of his belly bulge outward in clear imprints of my limbs.
Outside, I heard Mike let out a long, satisfied groan. âOhhh fuck yes⌠all of you, right where you belong.â His big hands rubbed slow, heavy circles over the massive, sagging dome of his gut. I could feel every pat and rub through the walls. âMy best friend⌠turned into nothing but belly food. Youâre making me so full and round, dude. Look at how huge my gut is now."
His stomach responded with a deep, wet groooaaannn, the walls contracting tightly around me and sloshing the rising acids higher up my body. I kicked harder, screaming and pounding my fists against the churning sac. âMike! Let me out! This isnât funny!â
But my shouts only came out as faint, muffled gurgles from the outside. Mike chuckled, the sound vibrating pleasantly through his belly. âSorry, man⌠no can do. You feel way too good in there. All that squirming is making my stomach work overtime. Youâre gonna digest nice and slow for me, break down into nothing but nutrients and waste. Then Iâll push you out as a big, satisfying logânothing left of my best friend but some shit Iâll flush away.â
He leaned back on the couch, and I felt the heavy weight of his belly settle over his lap, my curled-up form shifting inside with the movement. Another loud gurgle rolled through the chamber, followed by the wet sounds of digestion picking up speed. The tingling on my skin was turning into a burning itch as the acids rose.
Mike kept talking to me, voice lazy and content as he rubbed his swollen gut. âYou always joked about how big my belly was⌠now you get to live in it. Permanently. Gonna turn you into more of this soft, jiggly gut."
I kept struggling, thrashing as hard as I could, but the walls only squeezed tighter in response, coating me in more thick, churning slime. His hands pressed down firmly on the bulges I made, pushing me deeper into the digestive soup.
The gurgles grew louder and wetter around me. I was trapped, helpless, and slowly breaking down inside my best friendâs warm, greedy stomachânothing more than food for the guy Iâd trusted most, soon to be disposed of like any other meal.
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. Reedâs Spartan was ducking in and out from behind the central column, lobbing plasma grenades up toward the catwalk. The sound effectsârifle bursts, shield recharge whines, that heavy thunk of a grenade going offâbounced 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. âLucky,â 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 Clintâs 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 Reedâs aim when a low, rolling growl cut through the game audio.
GroOoOwLl.
It wasnât the TVâit was Reedâs stomach, loud enough that Clint glanced over with a crooked grin. âDamn bro, you seem hungry as fuck.â
Reed smirked faintly, gave a little shrug without taking his eyes off the screen. âI know, but for some reason Iâm not craving anything in particular.â
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 hadnât 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. âLetâs see⌠we got Chipotle,â he muttered to himself, thumb flicking past. âNah. Had that last week.â Another scroll. âFive Guys⌠mmm, skip.â He paused on Red Robin for a second, squinting like he was almost tempted, then kept moving. âOutback Steakhouse? Ugh⌠skip.â
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. Reedâs shirt had ridden up a little from all the stretching, showing just the start of a soft curve at his middle. It wasnât 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.
Without really thinking about it, Clint leaned over and put his hand over the phone screen. The scrolling stopped.
Reed glanced sideways at him. âWhat?â
âYou can eat me, if you want,â Clint said, like it was just another casual suggestion between rounds.
Reed let out a short laugh and shook his head. âGet outta here.â
Clint didnât move his hand. His eyes stayed on Reedâs face, steady. âIâm serious,â he said, his voice a little quieter now but not joking. âYouâre hungry, and I have no problems with it.â is what he said, but what he really meant was âI want to be in your hairy belly.â
Reed blinked at him for a long second, then smirked and shook his head. âBro, you gay as fuck for that,â 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. âYou know what youâre getting yourself into?â
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. âAlright. Iâll give you a demo.â
Before Clint could say anything, Reedâs 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 Clintâs knees bump the coffee table. Reedâs beard brushed Clintâs forehead for a second, and then his mouth opened wide right in front of him.
The heat hit firstâa wave of stale air that carried the sour tang of old beer, meat from lunch, and the faint bitterness of coffee. Reedâs tongue flexed inside, slick and pink under the yellowed light from the lamp, the back of his throat twitching as he exhaled straight into Clintâs face. The smell clung, warm and humid, filling Clintâs nose before he could turn away.
HhhhuuuUuurrRRRpphhhh
The burp rolled out mid-breath, wet and deep, vibrating right against Clintâs skin. The sound was loud in the small room, the gust of it making Clintâs hair shift. Reed didnât let goâhe kept his grip firm, forcing Clint to take the whole blast of it.
Then Reedâs tongue slid out, rough and damp, dragging from Clintâs 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 Clintâs jaw.
âYou sure thatâs what you want?â
Teron Commission (I)
ââââââââââââ
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. Reedâs Spartan was ducking in and out from behind the central column, lobbing plasma grenades up toward the catwalk. The sound effectsârifle bursts, shield recharge whines, that heavy thunk of a grenade going offâbounced 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. âLucky,â 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 Clintâs 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 Reedâs aim when a low, rolling growl cut through the game audio.
GroOoOwLl.
It wasnât the TVâit was Reedâs stomach, loud enough that Clint glanced over with a crooked grin. âDamn bro, you seem hungry as fuck.â
Reed smirked faintly, gave a little shrug without taking his eyes off the screen. âI know, but for some reason Iâm not craving anything in particular.â
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 hadnât 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. âLetâs see⌠we got Chipotle,â he muttered to himself, thumb flicking past. âNah. Had that last week.â Another scroll. âFive Guys⌠mmm, skip.â He paused on Red Robin for a second, squinting like he was almost tempted, then kept moving. âOutback Steakhouse? Ugh⌠skip.â
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. Reedâs shirt had ridden up a little from all the stretching, showing just the start of a soft curve at his middle. It wasnât 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.
Without really thinking about it, Clint leaned over and put his hand over the phone screen. The scrolling stopped.
Reed glanced sideways at him. âWhat?â
âYou can eat me, if you want,â Clint said, like it was just another casual suggestion between rounds.
Reed let out a short laugh and shook his head. âGet outta here.â
Clint didnât move his hand. His eyes stayed on Reedâs face, steady. âIâm serious,â he said, his voice a little quieter now but not joking. âYouâre hungry, and I have no problems with it.â is what he said, but what he really meant was âI want to be in your hairy belly.â
Reed blinked at him for a long second, then smirked and shook his head. âBro, you gay as fuck for that,â 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. âYou know what youâre getting yourself into?â
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. âAlright. Iâll give you a demo.â
Before Clint could say anything, Reedâs 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 Clintâs knees bump the coffee table. Reedâs beard brushed Clintâs forehead for a second, and then his mouth opened wide right in front of him.
The heat hit firstâa wave of stale air that carried the sour tang of old beer, meat from lunch, and the faint bitterness of coffee. Reedâs tongue flexed inside, slick and pink under the yellowed light from the lamp, the back of his throat twitching as he exhaled straight into Clintâs face. The smell clung, warm and humid, filling Clintâs nose before he could turn away.
HhhhuuuUuurrRRRpphhhh
The burp rolled out mid-breath, wet and deep, vibrating right against Clintâs skin. The sound was loud in the small room, the gust of it making Clintâs hair shift. Reed didnât let goâhe kept his grip firm, forcing Clint to take the whole blast of it.
Then Reedâs tongue slid out, rough and damp, dragging from Clintâs 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 Clintâs jaw.
âYou sure thatâs what you want?â
âI told you already,â Clint said, voice steady now. âThatâs what I want.â
Reedâs eyes narrowed, but the corner of his mouth tugged into a grin. âWell shit. I figured saying all that would scare you off, but it seems your mindâs made up.â
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. âGet here,â he said, voice low, direct.
Clint hesitated only a second before moving. He climbed across the cushion and lowered himself into Reedâs lap, straddling him carefully. The older couch springs creaked, his knees pressing against the cushions on either side. Reedâs thighs were solid under him, the denim of his jeans rough against Clintâs legs. His chest brushed Reedâs, 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.
Reedâs hand came up, steady on Clintâs side. âSo,â he said, tilting his head, âyou want head first, or feet first?â
Clint didnât blink. âHead. Iâve already smelled the worst of it, remember?â 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 Clintâs head forward with both hands, lowering his open mouth until beard bristles brushed across Clintâs 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.
Clintâs face disappeared between Reedâs 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 Clintâs head as it pressed further into the heat of his gullet. His beard rubbed down over Clintâs 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 Clintâs collar. With a heavy swallow, his lips stretched wider, sliding over the slope of shoulder and pulling both arms in tight against Clintâs chest. His throat jumped visibly, each convulsive gulp working the bulk down.
Past the chest, the slide grew easier. Reedâs tongue curled and lapped along Clintâs 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 Clintâs 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 Adamâs 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 Clintâs 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. âWhew,â he said, voice rough. âThat was all you, buddy.â
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 Reedâs belly. âItâs hot in here⌠tight too. Feels like youâre hugging every part of me at once.â There was a low laugh that turned into a groan. âI⌠kinda like it. Never thought Iâd say that, but itâs making me hard as fuck.â
Reedâs stomach gurgled loudly, the sound wet and deep, rolling under Clintâs words. He tilted his head back and smirked, rubbing over the bulge of his hairy gut with slow circles. âYouâre really okay in there?â he asked, his tone carrying a half-mocking concern.
Clint panted, his cheek pressed to the slick wall. âYeah⌠yeah, Iâm good. Itâsââ
âDonât really give a fuck,â 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. âIâm gonna take my sweet time digesting the fuck outta you. And even if youâre fine now, you wonât be in a little while.â
Inside, Clint shivered at the words, his breath catching. âThatâs so fucking hot,â he said, voice tight with arousal. He pushed outward again, almost like he was trying to press into Reedâs hand from the inside.
After less than an hour, Reedâs 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. âItâs⌠itâs starting to sting, man. Feels like Iâm sitting in a hot bath.â His kicks pushed faintly against Reedâs 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. âYeah? Belly finally getting to you, huh? Told you it wasnât just a nap in there. Thatâs my gut putting in the work.â 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. âItâs tight, bro. Like⌠harder to breathe now.â
Reed leaned back into the couch, letting his hairy stomach stretch out in front of him. âThatâs âcause youâre getting packed down. My belly donât mess around once it decides youâre food.â He smirked and gave a small bounce of his gut with both hands, making the contents slosh and bubble louder. âYou wanted this, remember? All you, bro.â
Clintâs laugh was shaky but real. âYeah⌠fuck⌠still hot though.â
Reed chuckled, low and satisfied, the sound rumbling through his chest and gut alike. âGood. Keep squirming. Makes the job easier for me.â He rubbed over the writhing bulge again, teasing. âBy the time Iâm done, nobodyâs gonna believe you were my buddy. Just another meal sitting in my hairy gut.â
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. Clintâs 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. âMidway point, buddy. Bellyâs got you working down nice.â He patted his gut hard, the noise inside slopping back like a pot of stew.
âUh, you know youâre not coming back out by now, right? I canât hear you much in there, but I just thought Iâd let you know.â
Inside, Clintâs 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.
The belch dragged on, thick with moisture, breaking into smaller gurgles as it tailed off. Reedâs 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. âTold you Iâd take my sweet time,â he muttered, giving his gut a slow rub. âAnd I did.â
Mack wished his son had listened to him, really he did. âTrust me, you wonât like itâ heâd warned the boy, âItâs not at all like youâre imaginingâ heâd said again and again each time his son had asked. And what shouldâve been the biggest deterrent of all: âItâs a one way trip, once youâre in my tank youâre not coming out again.â Heâd say in a very serious voice, âYouâll be digested in there like any other food, and believe me, itâs not a pleasant process.â
Still, the foolish boy hadnât been daunted. He continued to beg his dad at every opportunity, going on and on about how he wanted to end up inside his popâs big hairy belly, and how he loved the idea that heâd be adding to his fatherâs waistline. Damn, the kid was acting like it was a ride at fucking Disney land instead of his dad swallowing and digesting him. No matter how many times Mack told his son exactly what would happen if he swallowed him alive, the boy just wouldnât listen, claiming over and over that he was totally fine with what would happen to him once inside his fatherâs hungry gut. Finally, on the night of his 18th birthday, and with the assistance of a fair amount of alcohol, Mack relented.
Half an hour later, Mack looked down, shaking his head sadly at his massive gut as it bulged and shook with his sonâs attempts at struggling within. He could clearly make out his boyâs cries, telling him heâd changed his mind and begging his father to let him out. Stupid, stupid kid⌠Mack had warned him so many times that it wouldnât be anything like heâd imagined in all his strange fantasies. No doubt the boy had expected a pleasant, warm slide into a nice stretchy stomach, where the walls were pillowy and soft and they hugged him lightly while he drifted off to sleep. The reality, which Mack had tried to explain to him, was much harsher. The poor boy really had no idea what he was in for when heâd begged his father to eat him. Mack could tell right away that heâd been shocked by the sweltering heat of his dadâs insides as he started to swallow him, shifting a bit uncomfortably in his tight throat, and the boy definitely hadnât been prepared to be stuffed into his foul smelling, churning gut, which did stretch, but only enough to accommodate the kid, and even then just barely. The muscles of Mackâs stomach walls were far from soft as they squeezed him tightly in a painfully crushing and almost suffocating embrace while the acrid air stung his eyes and burned his nose and lungs with each breath. All the while the slick liquid that had been spreading over his body as his fatherâs gut churned over him was beginning to cause his skin to itch and burn.
Mack knew the exact moment his boy was experiencing all of this and came to the conclusion that his father was indeed right, that this crushing, acidic, disgusting chamber wasnât anything like heâd imagined. It was, as his dad had said, a hellish and a terrifying place to spend your last moments. Thatâs when the boy had started to squirm and shout for his dad to let him out, at first in a sort of âHey dad, I guess I donât like this after allâ kind of voice, fully expecting Mack to release him and to receive a stern lecture about listening to his dadâs warnings. It was only when his father had informed him that, no, he wouldnât be coming back out and that heâd be digested just like heâd warned him, that the boy really started to panic.
Mack watched his gut bounce and shake as his son thrashed and begged for release inside the fleshy prison. No doubt his powerful stomach was already starting to work on him, the muscular clenches of his stomach walls becoming rougher and more powerful, and the itching sensation most likely at the point where it transitioned to a painful burning sensation as his acids did their job. He sighed, rubbing over his bulging belly as his sonâs cries became more desperate and his struggles intensified and became frantic, and decided to take pity on the foolish kid. No, he wouldnât be letting him out though, his sonâs fate had been sealed the moment his head had slipped past his fatherâs lips, Mackâs gut had claimed the boy and he was just a meal now, family or not. Mack would however, give his son a small bit of mercy; Usually heâd enjoy his mealâs struggles for as long as they lasted, but it was his own son in his gut this time. Yes, heâd be digested just like anything else he put in his belly, but Mack didnât like the idea of his boy suffering unnecessarily, so he pressed his hands the squirming, fleshy dome of his gut and pressed down. He felt all the air heâd swallowed down with his son rush back up his throat and erupt from his mouth in a massive, and very satisfied, belch. âUuuuuuurrrrrrp!â
Moments later, all was still within his gut. It was far from quiet though as it gurgles and churned loudly over the motionless form of his kid. Mack laid back, one hand idly rubbing over his gurgling belly as he let out another soft belch that tasted slightly of his son turned meal. Mack slept soundly through the night as his stomach did its job, the bulges the boy made becoming less defined, rounding out, and his massive hairy belly slowly shrinking as the hours passed and his son was efficiently digested.
Ryan had one knee hooked lazily over Daltonâs thigh, the other leg stretched toward the foot of the bed, toes curling faintly against the sheet every time Daltonâs fingers moved just right. His back was half-propped into the headboard, shoulders rolled down, chin dipped, mouth parted in a breath that wasnât steady. The slow push and curl inside him drew a low sound out of himâhalf laugh, half groanâand his stomach shifted against the back of Daltonâs hand with each flex of muscle around those fingers.
Dalton was sitting cross-legged beside him, hip against hip, leaning in enough that his shoulder brushed Ryanâs bicep. His wrist was turned inward, thumb riding the outside curve of Ryanâs thigh as he worked those fingers in deeper, knuckles pressing a fraction before slipping past. He could feel the way Ryanâs body answered himâheat tightening, then loosening again as if testing how far heâd let himself open. âGod, youâreââ Dalton broke off to wet his bottom lip, the pad of his thumb brushing higher without thought, ââyouâre swallowing me whole in there.â He was timid in the way he said it, finger-deep and still shy.
A low hum came from Ryan, head tilting back until it bumped the wall. âMmh⌠you say that like itâs a bad thing.â His eyes flicked sideways to catch Daltonâs, that tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth before a sharper inhale cut through it. The motion inside him sent a pulse rolling through his gut, his hips giving a small, betraying lift toward Daltonâs hand.
Heat radiated through Daltonâs palm, and the bedframe creaked when Ryan shifted, pulling one knee up and out to give him more room. The new angle made it easier to work his fingers in a slow scissor, and the slick pull around them had him exhaling through his nose like he was trying not to grin too hard. âYouâre making this too easy,â Dalton murmured, voice sinking lower, the tip of his middle finger dragging along that spot again just to hear the sound it wrung out of Ryan.
âMmhââ Ryanâs breath hitched, shoulders twitching with the effort not to tense. âYou like it easy. Donât lie.â His abdomen tensed under Daltonâs knuckles, a rolling contraction that made his hips rock once, shallow, as if testing Daltonâs grip on him. The pressure dragged another quiet noise out of him, this one ending in a laugh. âCareful⌠I bite.â
Daltonâs thumb smoothed along the inside of Ryanâs thigh, his other fingers still buried, slow and deliberate nowâpulling back enough to make Ryanâs body chase after the touch before pressing in again. He watched every shift of muscle in Ryanâs belly and hips, the way his breathing caught on the in-stroke. âBitingâs fine,â he said under his breath, leaning close enough that Ryan could feel it against his jaw, âas long as you donât spit me back out after.â He said, blissfully unaware that Ryan could, and actually might, swallow him up.
That earned a huff of air from Ryanâamusement, arousal, something in between. His head turned just enough to meet Daltonâs gaze again, eyes hooded, the faintest roll of his hips welcoming the next curl of fingers deep inside.
Ryanâs smirk deepened, and the squeeze around Daltonâs fingers changed, pulling instead of just holding. The slow clench tugged Daltonâs hand in further, the base of his palm pressing against Ryanâs heat before he even realized what was happening.
Dalton blinked, mouth parting. âWait⌠hold on, youâreââ His words cut short as Ryanâs hips rolled forward, and the pressure at his rim dragged him in another inch. The muscles inside him were working in steady, hungry pulls, coaxing him deeper without giving him a chance to pull back.
âRelax,â Ryan murmured, the warmth in his tone a tease, not a comfort. He shifted on the bed, bracing one hand behind him as he leaned into Daltonâs trapped arm. âYouâre already halfway in. Might as well see how far I can take you.â
Daltonâs pulse jumped. He tried to brace against the mattress, but Ryanâs other hand caught his shoulder, guiding it forward toward him. The wet, tight pull climbed over his forearm, sliding higher toward the bend of his elbow.
âRyan, wait, youâre seriousââ
A low chuckle rumbled out of Ryan, and he tilted forward until his mouth was close to Daltonâs ear. âMmhm. Dead serious.â His hips pressed back again, and Dalton felt his bicep slide past the slick ring of muscle, the squeeze now gripping his upper arm in firm, rhythmic pulls.
The shift was suddenâRyan pushed down and forward, bending Dalton toward him as the ring of muscle stretched wider, swallowing the swell of his shoulder. Daltonâs other arm was pinned awkwardly to his side as the pull worked him in, inch by inch, the heat clamping and sucking him upward into Ryanâs body.
âBreathe in for me,â Ryan said, almost kindly, before sinking down further. The tight muscle flexed again, pulling past the curve of Daltonâs shoulder and trapping him deeper inside.
Dalton made a muffled sound against Ryanâs lower back, trying to turn his head, but Ryanâs grip on his hair was steady. âShh. Youâll fit,â Ryan said, his voice low with amusement. The steady, wet suction kept working up Daltonâs neck toward his head, the deep, hungry clench intent on pulling him the rest of the way in.
Ryanâs grip on Daltonâs hair loosened just enough to let his head tilt, lining him up with the slick, stretched entrance. The heat pulsed once around his neck, then pulled, swallowing past his jaw with a wet pop. Daltonâs gasp was muffled immediately, his face sliding into the tight, steaming channel as Ryan pushed down from above, feeding more of him inside.
The curve of Daltonâs chest followed, ribs compressing under the pressure, his pinned arm sliding in alongside him. Ryan rolled his hips in slow circles, coaxing the next few inches with steady, greedy contractions, until Daltonâs waist was pressed tight against the ring of muscle. His legs kicked once against the mattress, but Ryan only chuckled under his breath and sank lower, drawing him in up to the thighs.
âAlmost there,â Ryan murmured, palms braced to either side of his own hips for leverage. The muscle around Daltonâs knees gripped and pulled, the squeeze rippling down his calves as they disappeared one after the other. The last of himâankles, then feetâslid through in a slick rush, the sound deep and wet in the quiet room.
Ryanâs anus clenched once, holding everything in, then relaxed. A puff of air pushed out around the rim, the skin still stretched and warm from the strain, the loose ring flexing and releasing with a soft, breathy sound. His shoulders dropped, the tension in his back easing, and he let out a long, satisfied exhale as the stretch settled into a full, heavy warmth deep inside.
âFuuuuuuck, you filled me up!â
Ryan shifted against the headboard, both hands braced on the curve of his belly as muffled words pressed through the heat of his gut.
âUhhâuhh Ryanâuhh itâs⌠so tight in hereâŚâ Daltonâs voice came thin and pressed, every syllable swallowed by the wet walls pressing in on him. His breath stammered inside, the sound small compared to the steady churns rolling through Ryanâs midsection.
Ryan let out a crooked laugh, sliding one palm down to squeeze the swell of his own ass. His fingers dug into the cheek, spreading it slightly, feeling the stretch still lingering around the hole that had just devoured an entire man. âYeah, no shit itâs tight,â he muttered, rubbing in slow circles, enjoying the give of flesh beneath his palm. The ring flexed faintly as he touched himself there again, a ripple traveling back into the heaviness of his bowels.
âMmhâuhh⌠whatâsâwhatâs gonna happen to me?â Daltonâs words pushed through again, faint, timid, muffled with little pauses that betrayed how much space pressed into his chest. âLike am I gonna justâunghâ⌠stay here?â
Ryan tipped his head back and barked a short laugh, half disbelieving. âI donât fucking know. You think I take whole guys up the ass on the regular?â He gave his cheek another firm squeeze, smirking at the absurdity of it even as his body pulsed warmly around its new passenger.
The truth was it hadnât been planned. Fingering had slipped into something hungrier, stranger. An impulse sparked by heat and chance. He hadnât sat down thinking heâd swallow Dalton whole with his ass. But each inch had gone deeper, easier than expected, and somewhere along the way he decided not to stop, but rather actively suck him in. Why stop at a finger or two? He thought.
Ryan shifted his weight forward, one hand sliding lower until his fingertip brushed the loosened rim. He pressed gently, circling, feeling the warmth still pulsing there, the softness stretched wide from use, it felt like he just took a good morning shit in reverse. The finger dipped inside, slick and pliant, and he groaned softly at the sensation.
âBest guess?â he said, circling again, letting the fingertip glide deeper. âYouâll probably get digested. Just donât know how long thatâs gonna take. Could be hours, could be days.â He pushed a little further, testing, the rim squeezing weakly around his finger. âGuess weâre both gonna find out together.â
Little did either of them know, it would take much longer than that.
Ryan shifted deeper into the bed, his knees sliding apart as his hand worked at himself again. One finger stayed buried, circling slowly at his loosened rim, and the other hand wrapped around his cock. His swollen gut pressed heavy against his wrist, Daltonâs curled outline shifting faintly beneath the skin as he moved. Ryan groaned low in his throat, grinding the head of his cock against that bulging pressure. âFffuck⌠you feel so damn good in thereâŚâ The bed rattled with the rhythm of his hips, every roll pushing Dalton deeper into the slick, churning heat of his bowels.
A faint voice vibrated up through him, muffled but audible. âUhh Ryan⌠youâre⌠still touching yourself while Iâm⌠stuck up your assâŚâ Daltonâs timid tone trembled with humiliation, every pause stretched out, swallowed by the wet squeeze surrounding him. Ryan laughed breathlessly, teeth bared, his voice rough as he pumped himself faster. âYouâre not here to help me out, arenâtcha? Someoneâs gotta do it,â His gut clenched, the finger at his rim slipping deeper.
His hand rubbed up and down, then up and down, then up and down again, faster and more inconsistent, then with a sharp groan his cock twitched hard. Hot release spilled across his belly and chest, streaking upward as his entire frame shuddered, his cries tangled with half-laughs.
When the waves finally ebbed, Ryan slumped against the headboard, chest heaving, sweat sliding down his temples. He dragged his hand down his stomach to smear away the mess, muttering under his breath before hauling himself to the bathroom. A quick rinse at the sink and a splash of cold water across his face steadied him. He reached for his clothes where they had fallen in a careless pile earlier. Black slim-cut jeans, worn soft at the seams, hugged his thighs when he pulled them back on. Over his shoulders he shrugged into a fitted olive bomber jacket with quilted lining, unable to zip it around the new bulging mass on him, so his plain white tank stretched upwards. He looped a leather cord necklace with a dull silver tag back around his neck and tightened the strap of his battered black watch. Last came the boots: dark brown, scuffed leather with side zippers, that he tugged on firmly, standing straighter as the weight of the outfit settled back on him.
On the way back home, Ryan carried the weight of Dalton low and heavy in his gut, every step measured so the jostling didnât leave him doubled over. Even the drive on the car was more than uncomfortable, as his gut was pushing up against the steering wheel with the safety belt stretched over it. Wow, this shit was not made with a guy who anally shoved another guy whole in mind⌠he thought as it pressed tight.
By the time he kicked off his boots at the door, exhaustion had caught up with him, the strain of holding someone whole inside him settling in his spine. He stripped down and eased himself into bed, rolling carefully until he found a position that let him breathe without the pressure cutting into his ribs. One arm hooked under the pillow, the other draped across the rounded swell of his stomach, and he shifted onto his side so the weight pooled low and steady. With a long exhale, he let the mattress take most of it, his gut pressed against the sheets in a way that kept the ache down to a dull throb.
The first night ended with Ryanâs belly stretched taut, Dalton still shifting inside him and mumbling whenever Ryan adjusted his sleeping position. By the time the sun came up again, the gut hadnât gone down much at all. Ryan stood in the bathroom mirror, rubbing over the heavy dome with both palms and sleepily muttering, âYawn⌠damn, are you even getting digested in there?â
A tired groan pushed back through him. Daltonâs voice was muffled and worn down. âUhh⌠I⌠I couldnât sleep at all⌠itâs so hot in here⌠please, I want outâŚâ His pauses dragged, weak and hesitant, like he was forcing each word past the noise surrounding him.
Ryan smirked, leaning one shoulder to the wall, giving his gut a light pat. âYou told me I can bite as long as I donât spit you out. Sounds like youâre still holding me to that.â The teasing edge in his tone came easy, even as Dalton whimpered faintly at the reminder.
The second day passed in much the same way. Ryan went about his usual routine, tugging his jacket on and heading out, his belly swaying with every step and his hole a lot less sore. The weight never really lightened.
It meant he had to keep moving like normal, only with the added weight of the consequences of his actions. He still had to get groceries, stand in line at the corner store, carry the bags back with both arms while his gut bumped against the handles. He still had to sweep the floor and do the dishes, bending forward carefully so the pressure didnât knock the air out of him. Even laundry was a task, squatting down to load the machine while his stomach pressed heavy into his thighs, making him grunt every time he straightened back up as if he catapaulted into his mid-40s.
It was a good thing he had no work that week, and as the day went on with his gut not getting any smaller, he only hoped a week was enough time.
At night, when he sat down to eat, every sip of water sent a cool rush downward, and maybe Dalton caught some of it second-hand. Ryan noticed the squirming quiet down after he drank, as though the guy inside had managed to drink along with him.
Now a few days after he sucked him up his anus, there was finally a change. The bulge looked a little softer, not as hard-packed as the first days, though it was still almost the same size. Ryan pressed his fingers into it, shaping the mass like it was pliant dough. Inside, Dalton still mumbled faintly, words half-swallowed by the gurgling churn, but at least he was still conscious. Ryan snorted, rubbing his gut with lazy circles. âYou love sticking around, donât you? So high-maintenanceâŚâ
Another day rolled by, bringing more noise than before. Long, drawn-out sloshes, liquid churns, deep rumbles that made the couch vibrate when Ryan sat down. The mass in him had become less distinct, just a softer, shifting swell that moved with his steps. Dalton still answered weakly when Ryan prodded, but his voice was faint, slipping into silence more often than not.
By the fifth day in, the replies stopped altogether. Ryan poked at his gut a few times that morning, waiting, but there was nothing. No voice, no squirming. Only the wet kneading sounds and the rolling shift of what remained. He raised his eyebrows, sighed, and muttered, âGuess thatâs that, then.â
The following days were rougher on his stomach than the first stretch. On the sixth and seventh days, his gut stayed loud and restless, filled with gassy growls and thick, wet gurgles, the kind that echoed in his bowels when he bent over. The mass inside had broken down into something looser, something his body was steadily absorbing. He could hear it, could feel it: every long glorp and bubbling churn soaking Dalton into him a little more.
By a little over a week, his belly was much smaller but still stuck out, softer than before, like there was a cushion beneath his skin instead of a solid weight. The noises had slowed to long, lazy rolls, but there was still a bearing there, a last little bulk refusing to vanish completely, maybe the hardest part of him to digest: his skeleton. He sat on the edge of his bed, one hand kneading the small remaining swell, which was still a little hard.
Eight or nine days on, Ryan rubbed the last bit of mass between his palms, his gut almost back to normal size, even the remaining mass softening,
âSo⌠you ready to come out the same way you went in?â
The big-bellied bear I was dating was an absolute magnet for chasers who wanted a large man to worship - itâs how he landed me after all.
I didnât have an issue inviting any of these these hot, skinny lads over for a threesome. In fact, it was actually my job to find them for my lover, who didnât put any effort into speaking to a single one. What these twinks didnât realise was that I was forced to do this to satiate my boyfriendâs appetite, otherwise I would become the dominant predâs next meal. Tonightâs had just been finished off and was now kicking and screaming within the confines of my boyfriendâs gut, who was sweating and panting after the effort it took to devour another man.
âDamn, heâs hitting just the right spot. Come here before he makes me blow my loadâŚâ I assumed the regular position he always wanted me in, lying face-down on the bed and letting him slide his huge member deep inside me before resting his squirming belly on my back. Since this wasnât for my enjoyment, there was no fucking involved. He instead just waited as the pleasure of his feisty prey massaging his prostate grew stronger, focusing on that feeling until it made him fill my hole with his warm load.
âThatâs a good little cum-dump, you did well finding this one. Heâs still fighting in there, so youâd better help me relax now.â He lay with me pinned to his side, my arms stretched around him as I gently rubbed the underside of his massive belly. Of course, this wasnât just a nice cuddle between partners. I was being reminded what would happen if I failed to serve him, listening to the whimpering of the man inside his stomach as it gurgled and churned him into nourishment.
âUgh fuck-â Brad groaned, his gut letting out a disgusting whine that made him feel utterly sick. The pledge he had downed a solid week ago was still, well⌠mostly solid. His partially digested body bulged out of his gut obscenely, and no matter how many enzyme supplements he took, the little shit just wouldnât digest. While this was uncomfortable for Brad, it was more so for the pledge clinging to life inside his hellish gut. The boyâs body was mangled and blistered, skin melted off towards the bottom half of his body. His blonde hair had fallen out ages ago, and the whites of his eyes were burnt by the caustic acids spewing from every disgusting fold in the sweltering gut. The boy wheezed with each breath, his throat raw from the acids. Every bone in his lower half had been dislocated, their splintered forms puncturing his rapidly softening skin like a knife in warm butter. With a piercing *GrrRrlLgle* the sphincter below the boy slowly opened, siphoning the bubbling soup of half digested flesh towards Bradâs waiting intestines. More and more of him drained away with a disgusting slosh as the boy awaited his torturous death within the darkness of Bradâs putrid gut. To make it even worse, the boy smelt and felt slimy globs of half chewed food fall upon him every few hours. Pizza, fried chicken, ice cream and Busch Lite, the ravenous frat boy was not just satiated by ending the life of one boy. No, he had to consume more, and really show the pledge how little he meant to him. As the pledge slipped in and out of consciousness, he wondered if Brad even knew he was still alive, and if he even knew his nameâŚ
*boOUurRrrrp*
Brad let out a disgusting belch, the scent of acid and half eaten pizza filling the air. The slimy folds contracted around the boy even tighter, squishing more of his semi-liquified body into the intestines. Now the acids poured down on the boy, slowly melting into a soup of meat, bone, and other half chewed foods that continued to rain down. He managed to choke out a whine before Brad groped his gut, feeling something hard in his gut. This had to be the boyâs legs (or what was left of them), and with one fatal squish the boyâs lower half gave way and collapsed into gorey soup. âFinally,â the gluttonous frat boy chuckled, his gut beginning to pick up steam as more of the boy filtered into his lower intestine.
*UrrRrrAaAPpp*
Brad buried once more, this time not only tasting the meaty essence of the boy, but smelling the interior of his hard-working tank. Pizza and beer mingled with the rotten flesh and metallic hint of blood. Another deafening gurgle gave Brad the satisfactory knowledge that his gut was finally getting to work on the unfortunate pledge.
Speaking of unfortunateâthe pledge was even more so wishing for the release of death. His body had been overturned by the kneading of Bradâs gut, combined with the playful groping coming from outside. His reddened face, flesh peeling off, had suddenly been submerged beneath the repulsive soup of acid, boy meat, and miscellaneous foodstuffs. And now, the sphincter to Bradâs intestines was about to engulf his head. In one fell swoop, the pulsing sphincter ushered him towards the small intestine, closing right on his neck and beginning to choke the little air he had in him. Normally, this sphincter never allowed solids to pass, but the tired and over-worked gut just wanted to vacate itself of the stubborn freshman. The boy twitched as he was pushed into the dark and constrictive tube, trying to scream for any help. In less than a minute his wish was granted, and the boy went still as he was finally snuffed out. Brad could only groan as his gut let out a string of groans, and he felt an ache come from his gut. He pressed down on his gut once more, a squishy crunch blaring out and an ensuing fart sneaking out from between his hairy cheeks. It smelled to high hell, but at least it alleviated the pain in his gut, only because he had unknowingly decapitated the pledge. His half digested head, caught in an eternal cry, now bulged out his small intestine, which created a barely noticeable lump in Bradâs lower gut. His headless body continued to stew in Bradâs tank, more slimy globs of pizza and beer raining down as the frat boy continued his night out, oblivious to the rancid, organic freak show he helped to create in his biological torture chamberâŚ
Be careful what you wish for. If you watch your boyfriend eat some fruit on the balcony and tell him, "I wish you were eating me like that," a passing fairy or genie or angel might just hear you and snap their fingers. Next thing you know, you're a slice of watermelon and your boyfriend is sinking his teeth into your juicy flesh, sending you down to relax in the sauna of his stomach as you churn and churn and churn, neither of you sure if you'll turn back or if you'll experience what all other food does
"Your head is gonna be right here, and I'll hold your head as you jerk off and digest," my uncle says as we chill on the balcony of the beach condo.
To be honest, it is tempting, but I've got plans, you know? "I'll pass," I say.
My uncle laughs. "No, I'm telling you what IS going to happen. Your choice is about whether or not you're going to enjoy it." He licks his lips. "Because I promise you, I'll enjoy the fuck out of churning you either way."
"Well, baby bro. Know this isn't how you wanted your 20s to end, but it's how I want them to end: shrinking you down and sending you to the swimming pool in my stomach. Bright side: you'll never hit 30 now."
Ever since they started giving everyone reformation vaccines, vore became legal and normalized. So of course, browsing Zillow and the like turns up a whole bunch of guts, cocks, and asses. Honestly, looking at this one, I'm pretty tempted to call this handsome ass my new home...
Hey man I wouldnât joke about that around me if I were you, yeah itâs all âman I wish some dude would eat me so I donât have to do this jobâ or whatever but donât go saying that out loud. I told I was a pred in confidence because I thought we were boys and you just were curious but now I think you just want me to tank you⌠did you just fucking blush at that? Dude donât try to play it off you just blushed at that! Well shit man never knew Iâd be friends with a gut slut, well not for much longer I guess, how bout you come over here and get a good whiff of my pits and you can tell me how much you want to be my muscle and fat, god dude youâre pitching a tent just from that? Fuck itâs gonna feel so good churning you down man, youâre getting downgraded from friend to food and you can whack off or whatever while I keep doing my job and you just stew away in my gut. Fucking nice man
âHa! Is he already just dead meat in there?â Jim rubbed over Jackâs massive gut. He tried to press inward, but the manâs stomach was bloated so tightly he could barely press in an inch.
âBuraAAaaap!-- Heh, ya know olâ Jackâs gut treats these boys without mercy. Theyâre never more âen food fer me, and yer friend was no different.~â Jack grinned and moaned as Jim continued to worship his fag-melting stomach. âWhy donât ya be a good fag now and got on yer knees for daddy, boy.â
âHaha... W-what?â Jim looked Jack in the eyes. There was no semblance of sarcasm in the predatorâs tone. âBut Iâm not--â
âI said on yer knees, boy!â Jack grabbed Jim by the wrist and pulled him close before taking a long lick up his neck and letting out a pleased growl. âI wanna use that pretty lil throat oâ yers before ya join whatâs left of yer friend and yaâll are my morning dump tomorrow.~â
Ben was a mutual friend of my partner, who I only ever met when all three of us decided to do something together. Heâs the type I assumed would never want to spend time alone with me based on how different we were; a masculine, extroverted hunk wouldnât want to be seen with my shy, scrawny self.
When my partner went away on a work trip, I plucked up the courage to ask Ben if he wanted to hang out. To my surprise, he invited me over immediately, and seemed quite eager for us to spend some time alone. It was even more evident how comfortable he was when he answered the door, shamelessly shirtless with his rippling muscles and bloated abs on show.
After Ben led me inside, he insisted I get more comfortable by stripping off myself. I was a little nervous, but Iâd have done anything he told me if it meant a chance to spend some time with him. I took off everything besides my boxers and threw them aside, but before I could sit down and relax, he ran over and grabbed hold of my waist all of a sudden. He shot me a cheeky smirk before opening his mouth and releasing a raunchy belch right in my face, which was only the beginning of what he had planned for me.
Benâs mouth remained wide open and dripping with saliva as he brought it even closer, slowly engulfing my head before gulping it down his throat. I discovered that his internal muscles were just as powerful as the ones I could see from outside his body, forcing me through his gullet and into his hot, gurgling tank. His tongue explored my body thoroughly while he swallowed me, and when the moment came to finish me off, he grinned and tickled my toes as they slipped past his lips.
I could hear Ben laughing as he watched his full gut barely squirming, his abs holding me so tightly that I didnât have enough room to put up any fight. He couldnât help but tease me while his stomach dealt with me like it would with any other meal.
âYouâre such a moron, you really thought I wanted to hang with a loser like you? Nah, I just wanted a chance to finally eat you without your boyfriend finding out what happened to you!â
I got stuck in traffic on the way to meet a friend for a hiking trip, so I told him to set off on a slow walk with the promise that Iâd be able to catch up. I tried to text him when I arrived an hour late, but didnât get any response. I blamed it on the bad signal out in the countryside, and started walking with the hope that we would eventually bump into each other.
The first person I met on the path wasnât my friend, but another unfamiliar hiker who must have set off between us. I assumed he was on some kind of fitness journey, given his round belly that was even bigger than the backpack he was carrying. The stranger greeted me with a friendly smile and chatted to me as we both continued strolling, completely distracting me from the fact I was supposed to be rushing to meet someone else.
When I eventually remembered my friendâs existence, I thought it wouldnât hurt to ask the man if heâd spotted him. The man laughed and lifted up his shirt in response, slapping his round gut a couple of times before he answered me. âSounds like that must have been the tasty lad I met earlier. Heâs all digested by now, which now you mention it, leaves me looking for another snack to keep my energy up!â
In the brief moment I spent staring at his huge belly in confusion and horror, he reached out and grabbed my shoulders, making sure I had no escape once Iâd processed what was about to happen to me. I struggled in his grip as his gaping, drooling maw came closer to my face, his hot breath washing over me as he forced my head down his throat. A sickening moan of pleasure rang through my ears while his tongue slithered around my neck, getting a good taste before he started to swallow his prey.
A few powerful gulps was all it took for my entire body to sink down his gullet, curled up tightly within his stomach. He gave his stuffed gut a smack when he felt me trying to fight my way out, stealing what little air I had with a deep belch. I soon settled down and began to stew away inside him, merging with the thick, nourishing soup that my friend had already become.
"You're such a sore loser, Tom," John teased, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "I can't believe you're actually letting me come over to your house to 'make it up to you'."
Tom smirked, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, you're going to make it up alright. Just remember, you're not the king of the football field in my house."
John rolled his eyes, stepping through the doorway into Tom's home. The sudden zap of electricity took him by surprise, sending him reeling into a dizzying descent into tininess. The room swirled around him, and he barely had time to process the sensation of his muscles shrinking, his bones popping into a smaller frame, before he landed with a thud on the polished wooden living room table. His heart raced in his now-tiny chest as he looked down at himself, the fabric of his shirt now baggy and hanging from his minuscule body. The tabletop was a vast, unfriendly landscape of glass and scattered magazines.
Tom's laugh boomed in his ears as the jock sauntered over, his towering figure casting a shadow over John's new, diminutive form. John's stomach lurched as Tom picked him up between two fingers, his skin rough and warm. "Looks like you're going to be the perfect size for what I had in mind," Tom said, a hint of malice in his voice.
The sound of the TV flipped on echoed through the room, and John's gaze followed Tom's movements as he plopped down on the couch. The fabric swallowed him whole, making him look like a giant. Tom's sneaker-clad feet hit the table with a thud, and John realized with horror that his fate was to be a toy for Tom's amusement. The smell of sweat and grass from the football game lingered on those massive appendages, and he could feel his cheeks redden with humiliation.
Tom's father's heavy footsteps approached, the thud of his boots on the floor making John's heart sink even further. The man's shock was palpable as he took in the scene, his eyes widening when they landed on John. But instead of the concern John had hoped for, the bear of a man looked... intrigued. He set down his briefcase and took a seat on the couch, his belly jiggling as he settled in. John's world tilted as he was transferred from Tom's hand to the giant, hairy foot that was now just inches from his face. The coarse hairs on Tom's father's foot tickled his nose, and he couldn't help but gag.
"What the hell, Tom?" his father bellowed, his eyes never leaving John. "What have you done to him?"
Tom leaned back, his grin widening. "Oh, just a little magic I picked up. You know, to keep things interesting around here."
John's eyes darted from Tom to his father, searching for any sign of mercy. The older man's expression shifted from shock to something... darker. The grin grew on his face, matching his son's. "Well, if he's going to be a plaything, might as well make sure he's put to good use."
The room grew quiet as John's fear turned to dread. He was trapped on the table, surrounded by two giants with malicious intentions. The only thing separating him from them was a thin layer of sock fabric over Tom's foot, and it was clear that wasn't going to last long. He watched as Tom's father leaned in, his breath hot and pungent, and whispered, "Welcome to the family, little guy."
Without warning, Tom peeled off his sock, revealing a monstrous, meaty foot. John's eyes widened as he took in the details: thick calluses, a maze of hair, and toes that looked like they could crush him with ease. The foot descended closer, and John could feel the heat radiating from the giant's body.
The father leaned over, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and hunger. "Let's see if you can handle a real game of football now," he said, his voice a rumble that seemed to shake the very air around them.
John's heart was racing as Tom's father positioned his massive foot above him. The toes looked like fat, swollen sausages, and the sole was a landscape of wrinkled skin and coarse hair. John couldn't help but notice the size of the man's foot in comparison to his own tiny body. It was humiliating, terrifying, and oddly... exciting. He knew he should be fighting, screaming, anything but the strange mix of fear and arousal that was coursing through him.
Tom's father's foot hovered for what felt like an eternity before it came down with a gentle thud. John braced himself for pain, but instead, he felt a strange comfort, the foot enveloping him in warmth and protection. The sensation of the rough, warm skin on his body was overwhelming, and he couldn't help but let out a little gasp. The father's toes curled around him, holding him in place, and John felt the pressure increase slightly, a subtle reminder of his powerlessness.
"You like that, don't you?" Tom's father said, his voice low and teasing. "Being so small and helpless, just a little toy for us to play with."
John's face burned with embarrassment as he tried to wriggle away, but the giant's toes held him firmly. He couldn't deny the odd thrill coursing through him, his heart racing from a mix of fear and excitement. He was trapped, at the mercy of two men he had known all his life, yet now they were giants, and he was nothing but a tiny plaything for them to torment.
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