In A Giant's Grip

[crimsonwalker-deactivated202607]

The Roommate Tax

Jake stood shirtless in the middle of their apartment, the cool air brushing against his bare skin as he stared at his reflection in the full-length mirror. His hands slowly roamed over the massive, heavy swell of his gut — round, taut, and bulging obscenely outward. The once-flat stomach was now a thick, hanging dome of stretched flesh, sagging heavily over the waistband of his black sweatpants. Beneath the soft layer of pudge, he could feel every faint shift and squirm of his former roommate trapped deep inside.

“Fuuuuck, Ethan…” Jake groaned deeply, his voice thick with pleasure. Both palms pressed firmly into the warm, gurgling mass, fingers sinking into the yielding flesh as he kneaded it possessively. A loud, wet glorp echoed from within, followed by a desperate push from inside that made the surface of his belly visibly bulge outward for a moment before it was squeezed back down by powerful stomach muscles.

It had been hours since their last fight escalated. Ethan had been bitching nonstop about rent, about Jake’s messy habits, about how he was “sick of carrying his lazy ass.” Jake finally had enough. In one swift motion he’d grabbed his roommate, pinned him to the couch, and shoved his head straight into his drooling maw. The swallow was brutal and hungry — wet, messy gulps stretching his throat wide as Ethan kicked and thrashed wildly. Jake’s tongue savored the salty taste of his roommate’s neck and shoulders, then his chest, then those toned abs… all the way down until Ethan’s hips slid past his lips. One final, powerful gulp sent the bulge traveling down his chest and settling heavily into his stomach with a satisfying slosh.

Now Ethan was nothing but meat. A thick, squirming gut-filler.

Jake’s cock was rock hard and straining painfully against the front of his sweatpants, the red waistband of his underwear peeking out as his heavy belly rested on top of it. He bit his lip and gave his swollen middle a slow, sensual rub, feeling every contour of Ethan’s curled-up body pressing against his stomach walls.

“You’re so fucking heavy, bro,” Jake murmured, voice husky. “I can feel you… all curled up tight in my gut, getting churned up. That desperate little squirming is making me so goddamn horny.” He reached down with one hand and lazily stroked the thick outline of his erection through the fabric, while the other continued massaging his massive belly. “Every time you push out like that, it squeezes right against my prostate. Shit… keep struggling. I want to feel you melt.”

He slapped the side of his gut firmly, watching the fat ripple and jiggle. The cross necklace dangling between his pecs bounced with the motion. Jake let out a low, satisfied moan as another wave of gurgles rippled through his stomach, the acids already working overtime on his roommate.

“Should’ve kept your mouth shut, Ethan. Now you’re just a thick load of roommate slop turning into my gut fat.” Jake smirked at his reflection, turning slightly to admire how low and heavy his belly hung, the navel stretched wide. “By morning this is all gonna soften up… gonna have a nice, jiggly beer belly hanging over my waistband. Maybe I’ll wear your clothes while I digest the rest of you. Let everyone think you just moved out.”

He pressed both hands deep into the sides of his stuffed gut and squeezed, feeling Ethan compress tighter inside. His cock throbbed hard, leaking precum into his underwear as the pleasurable pressure made his knees weak.

“Mmm… get comfortable in there, roomie. My stomach’s not letting you out until you’re nothing but nutrients and a fat fucking load in my balls.” Jake gave his belly one last loving, possessive pat, then slowly rubbed circles over the warm, churning dome.

“Sweet dreams, Ethan. You belong to me now.”

----------

A day later, Jake was sprawled on the couch, his now softer, rounder gut resting heavily in his lap as he lazily stroked it. The gurgling had mostly settled into deep, wet churning. He smirked and gave the sagging paunch a firm pat.

“Time to take a nice long shit and dump what’s left of you, roomie. Gonna push you out as a fat log of former Ethan… maybe leave you in the toilet for a while so I can admire what a good meal you made.”

[misctf]

Being the youngest cop on the force kind of sucks sometimes.

Sure, I get all the boring paperwork, all the terrible shifts, and somehow every job nobody else wants. But this time it landed me a pretty unusual opportunity.

For the past few months, there’ve been reports of suspicious activity surrounding a fraternity on campus. A few disappearances. Rumors about a new designer drug making its way through the student population. Nothing concrete, but enough to get my lieutenant interested.

So naturally, someone in the department watched way too many undercover cop movies and decided the best solution was to send me in.

Apparently I still look young enough to pass for a college student.

Lucky me.

I’ve been undercover for almost three weeks now, and honestly? I’m starting to think my lieutenant got it completely wrong.

These guys don’t seem like criminals.

They’re loud. They’re immature. They’re obsessed with parties, the gym, and finding excuses to put their hands on literally anyone willing to tolerate them for more than five seconds.

Meanwhile I’m over here trying to remember I’m a police officer and not lose sight of why I came.

But being reckless, horny, and terminally allergic to responsibility doesn’t automatically make someone a criminal.

So far I’ve found nothing.

No drugs.

No trafficking.

No evidence connecting them to any disappearances.

Nothing.

I’m about ready to file my report and tell my lieutenant this whole thing was a waste of department resources.

Still…

Tomorrow night the fraternity is throwing one of their biggest parties of the semester.

Before I close the book on this investigation, I’m going to take one last look around the house while everyone is distracted.

Just to be thorough.

Just to make sure I didn’t miss anything.

After all, it would be pretty embarrassing to tell my lieutenant he was wrong…

…and then discover he was right.

I remember the day I joined the force. Dad was a cop. My older brothers were cops. But earning that badge mattered more. Academy, field training, endless exams... it took years. So when I finally pinned that shield to my chest, I thought people would finally see me as an officer. Instead I got:

"Damn, kid, just get outta middle school?"

"You ever think about growin' a beard? If you can..."

"You're twenty-seven? No way."

It never stopped. But it did come in handy for my assignment. Lieutenant James had slid a stack of files across his desk.

"Missing persons. Every one of 'em has ties to the same fraternity." Dr. Richard Peters. Christopher Saint. Paul Monroe. Different backgrounds, same house, then they vanished. "We think there's a new designer drug involved," the lieutenant said. "Brothers keep talking about being addicted, needing more, not being able to leave."

"So you want me undercover."

"You still pass for a student. Don't disappoint me."

So Officer Andrew Miller disappeared. Tyler took his place. Tyler was twenty-one, undeclared, and incapable of owning sleeves. I'd spent department time learning beer pong and fantasy football. The lieutenant's advice was simple: act young, act dumb, make friends.

Luke made the last two surprisingly easy. That first night he walked over, threw an arm around my shoulders, handed me a beer, and twenty minutes later had me doing a keg stand while everyone screamed my fake name. And you know what? I had fun. Luke wasn't secretive. Gym, food runs, parties... if I skipped an event to organize notes, he'd text asking where I'd gone. He never asked me to prove myself. He just included me.

"You'll get it," Richie told me while lifting. "Luke figures out what you need."

"What'd he figure out for you?"

"Needed to stop givin' so many fucks."

Everyone said the same. Luke gave them confidence, stopped their worrying, made them happy. Nobody knew how. And somewhere along the way, I stopped pretending every conversation was just work. One late night outside, he stared into the backyard. "Everybody wants something from me."

"That's depressing."

"I'm serious. They come here wantin' a better body, more friends, less stress."

"And you fix it?"

"Sometimes." He grew quite, "What about you? What do you want?"

"Nothin'," I lied. "Just wanted to see what you guys are about."

Luke studied me, smiling. "That's it?"

"That's it."

I didn't know it then, but that answer meant everything to him. For two weeks Luke trusted me more than anyone. By the end of the third week, he had me pledge. But by that time, I'd decided the investigation had gone nowhere. Friday night's party would be my last look before filing my report.

------------------------

Pushing open the front door, I realized I'd actually miss the place. Mostly Luke. But instead of the warm greeting from the guys like I was expecting, I got cold indifference.

"Luke wants you upstairs," Chris said, avoiding my eye.

"Everything okay?"

"Go ask him."

I climbed the stairs and pushed open Luke's door, where I found him sprawled shirtless across the leather couch, backward cap over his dark hair, staring at me with hurt eyes.

"Everything good?"

Luke sat up. "Close the door, bro."

"Luke..."

"Close it all the way." He stopped, "Officer Miller."

My hand was on the doorknob, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Luke laughed bitterly, standing up. "A fucking cop? Bro, I did a keg stand with you! You held my ankles! Two weeks ago I puked behind a Wendy's and you rubbed my back!"

"Luke, listen..."

"I bought you a Baconator!" He buried his head in his hands. "Fuck, bro! What the fuck?!"

"People are missing..."

"No one's fucking missing."

"Where..."

"You can't fuckin' mess with people like this."

I stepped toward him. "I want you to stop screwing around and take me seriously."

"Why the fuck would I?"

The question hit the exact wrong nerve. "Because nobody fucking does!" Years of swallowed frustration spilled out. "I'm sick of having to prove myself! I'm a police officer. Quit talking to me like I'm fifteen and take me seriously!"

Luke went completely still, then flashed a shit-eating grin. "Oh, bro."

"What?"

"You shouldn't have said that."

"Why?"

"You wanted something from me." He shook his head, "All my pledges get what they want."

The itch started beneath my jaw. I scratched, but my fingertips dragged across something coarse.

"Aw, fuck, bro. Here we go."

"Wait... what is...?"

Twenty-seven years old and I'd never grown real stubble. Now my fingertips scraped over coarse hair rapidly peppering my jawline.

"What the fuck did you do?"

Luke came toward me. "Dude, you did this."

My jaw cramped. Pressure spread through the bone until my teeth ached, my chin becoming heavier as the lower half of my face broadened.

"Stop it."

"You wanted people to quit looking at you like you're twelve, right?" He scraped his knuckles through the new growth along my jaw. "Heard you loud and clear, bro."

Then my chest began to hurt. The ache was deep inside both pecs, building like post-lift soreness. I pressed my palms against myself and felt the muscles swell outward, packing with new mass while my shirt tightened. My shoulders burned as they broadened, pulling the fabric taut, and both sleeves cinched around my biceps as the muscles expanded.

Luke whistled. "Damn, Ty."

"That's not my... don't call me that."

"Oh, I'm definitely calling you that." He slammed both hands against my chest, pushing into muscles that hadn't been there a minute ago. "Bro, these are getting fucking huge."

He hooked both hands into the front of my shirt and yanked. The fabric tore with a sharp rip along the shoulders. He peeled the ruined shirt away, staring at the body underneath.

"Those look like they belong to a dude people take seriously."

"Fuck... fuck you..." I groaned and winced as my biceps cramped.

I grabbed my right arm, feeling it swell, steadily thickening until my fingers couldn't reach around it. Luke wrapped his hand around the other, squeezed, and laughed.

"Jesus Christ, bro."

"Stop fucking enjoying this!"

"Why? I'm finally getting something I want too." He looked directly into my eyes. "Everybody comes to me wanting shit, Andrew. Maybe finally it's my turn, bro." He took a step closer, pressing up against me, "I want you. I want Tyler."

An intense itch erupted across my bare chest. Coarse hair pushed through my skin beneath my fingertips, thickening between my pecs before spreading outward and trailing down my stomach.

"Chest hair?"

Luke stared openly. "Damn." His hand dragged slowly across my chest, flattening the new hair before finding the swollen muscle beneath, squeezing one pec appreciatively. "Never had that before either, huh?"

"Nnn... no."

"Looks good on you, bro."

I hated the little rush that went through me. "Shut up."

"Twenty-six."

"What?"

"Twenty-six."

"I'm twenty-seven."

"Twenty-five now."

"Bullshit." I reached for my phone, but I wasn't used to my thicker fingers. The phone dropped and I got a glimpse of the dark hair now spreading over my thickened forearms, "I... Fuck I need... back-up..." the Lieuteniants's extension was... I knew it. Of course I knew it.

"Tyler."

"No... I'm... Andrew."

"Sure you are, dude."

Another wave of pressure rolled through my chest, and I groaned as my pecs swelled heavier beneath Luke's hands.

"You're doing good, Ty," he said, rubbing his thumbs through the hair covering them. "Looking real good too."

"You really think so?" The question escaped before I could stop it. Luke smiled, sending a warm flush through me. "You're messing with my head."

"Gift's doing that."

"Then make it fucking stop, bro." I froze. I heard the word echoing in my own head. "Why'd I call you bro?"

"'Cause that's how Tyler talks."

"I'm not Tyler."

"Twenty-four."

"Fuck you."

"Twenty-three."

I tried to concentrate on the investigation, but Luke kept rubbing my chest, talking to me while my thoughts blurred.

"Same shit happened to Richie," Luke said with a smug grin. "Professor dude wanted to quit stressin'. CJ wanted friends. PJ wanted med school apps to stop kickin' his ass. My gift fixes shit, bro. Gives people what they want. All they gotta do is ask." He shrugged, "Don't ask me why everybody ends up like… this." He chuckled at my confusion, "Like one of my new frat bros, bro. Really works out pretty fuckin' great for me, though."

Richie. Dr. Richard Peters. The realization hit. I'd spent three weeks lifting beside one of the missing men.

"You did this to all of them?"

"They asked for something. So did you."

"I asked you to take me seriously!"

"And I'm gonna."

His hand settled against the center of my chest, and the panic faded. Luke had been my suspect, but underneath those facts were three weeks of workouts, parties, jokes, and nights talking shoulder-to-shoulder. I knew the smell of him. I knew how his hand felt gripping my shoulder.

"Relax, Ty."

"Can't."

"Sure you can." He grinned, "Let me help ya, bro."

His mouth was suddenly against mine. My hands grabbed his dense shoulders to push him away, but instead settled on them as I kissed him back. His hands moved over my swollen arms, squeezing my biceps before sliding across my chest. Every approving touch felt... so fuckin' good. I begrudgingly tore myself away, breathing hard.

"What the fuck did I just do?"

"You kissed me."

"I know what I fucking did!"

"Didn't seem like you hated it."

"I don't..."

Luke kissed me again, and my resistance lasted seconds. My thickened arms wrapped around him while his hands explored my chest, fingers kneading through the hair before sliding up to feel my stubble.

"Twenty-two," he murmured when we separated briefly.

Our mouths locked together in a sloppy, desperate kiss, moaning into each other. Luke's palms slid down over my waist, cupping my hips, dropping beneath the waistband of my pants to grip my growing ass. He squeezed hard, kneading into the thick, muscle-packed curves.

"Bro... fuck..." I was breathing hard. Why was twenty-two bad? Something about twenty-seven. Some guy who... no. Me. Right?

"You're fuckin' gorgeous, Ty."

"You mean it, bro?" I mumbled, voice thick and desperate.

"Course I do."

So I kissed him again. His skin smelled like cedarwood and sweat, and instead of wanting space, I pulled him closer. Everything about him was addictive... the warmth of his body, the scratch of his skin, the sound of his breathing, the way his hands roamed across my hairy chest.

"Twenty-one."

Something clicked into place and Luke laughed when I pulled him against me, burying my face in his neck. I wanted him close, so fuckin' close. To feel him, smell him, worship him.

"Love you, bro," I mumbled against his skin, kissing his jaw.

"Love you too, Ty," Luke whispered, his hands sliding down to grip my heavy ass cheeks again.

The friction of our heavy bulges pressing hard against each other through layers of fabric made a low, strangled whine tear out of my throat. My hips bucked forward instinctively, grinding our groins together, and I felt his thick, rigid cock, swollen and desperate against my own throbbing, leaking length.

"Fuck… Ty, you're driving me insane," Luke gasped, a ragged, breathless moan tearing from his chest.

"Let me take care of it, bro," I murmured, a half-dazed grin spreading across my face.

Luke’s breath hitched sharply in sudden surprise as I shoved his jeans and boxers down in one fierce motion. His heavy, already-leaking cock sprang free, hot and throbbing in the dim light. Without a second thought, I dropped heavily to my knees between his thighs, my gaze locking up onto his flushed, half-delirious face.

"Ty…" he breathed out, voice cracking as my mouth closed over him.

That was when the door opened.

Richie stopped in the doorway. "Damn, Ty..."

Fuckin' Richie... Always getting in the fuckin' way, "Bruh, get the fuck out."

"Dude..." Richie grinned, "That's a rough fuckin' 21."

"Fuck you!" I laughed, scrambling to my feet, "What's the supposed to mean?"

I ran calloused hand through the thick, dark mat of chest hair sweeping across my broad pecs. People always acted so surprised by how much hair I had. Not my fault I hit puberty at like 8. Bunch of dumbasses. Besides, as long as Luke liked it, didn't really matter.

"Can't you see we're fuckin' busy, bro?" My swollen cock ached inside my jeans. I pointed a thick finger at the door, "Get the fuck out, man!"

"Hey, take it easy, big guy. Just came to see if you were ready to head back downstairs. The keg's overflowing, and half the house is asking where their favorite pledge went."

"Get lost, Richie," Luke muttered, his breathless rasp sending a fresh jolt of horniness straight to my groin.

"Alright, alright, I'm going," Richie chuckled, closing the door.

Once it shut, my gaze locked onto Luke as he fell back onto the mattress, his heavy, leaking cock completely exposed and begging for attention.

"Where were we, bro?" I murmured, laying atop him, pressing a hot, greedy kiss to his lips before trailing my mouth eagerly down his throat, sliding lower over his chest and stomach until my lips wrapped firmly around his thick, leaking cock.

[410parker]

If you were Drew, which would you choose: bigger or smaller?

________________

Notes:

- The original image for this video, “Encounter on the Trail”, is by the creative DA content creator @Datatude, who manages to bend artistry with hotness (hot-istry?). I exercised artistic license and made Matt and Drew slightly younger - they are both 23 and still in grad school — along with a few other revisions to differentiate them a little more.

- This is another installment in my DeviantArt series “Am I Small Enough For You Now?

- I used GPT 2 to revise the original image. The video was created from the revised image with Seedance 2.0 in 5 segments which I then merged together and compressed with CLIDEO.

- This fortuitous “encounter on the trail” takes place while Matt and Drew are both on summer holiday staying at neighboring lake cottages at a remote lake. Matt is a “borrowing” his uncle’s summer cottage and Drew is staying at one belong to his parents’ — being penurious grad students neither can afford a fancy resort.

- Matt is being modest about his initial height. He’s 205 cm, closer to 6’9” than 6’8”. And the uneven ground …Matt is standing a little higher… makes him seem even taller to Drew.

- Drew is 5’8” (172 cm), and at the end of the video Matt is 3’8” (112 cm).

- Matt can grow at will too, but I have the feeling he’s going to enjoy being fun-size and may opt to stay that way. 

- Drew’s words as he bends down are bit muffled, but if you turn the volume up you can hear them.

- The AI messed up the final line. Drew says “Time for that skinny DIP now.” Drew knows of a secluded cove on the lake a short distance from the cottages where the shoreline is “forever wild” forest reserve and where the two can…skinny dip…undisturbed.

- If you would like to see more like this, here’s a link to my DA Page:

410Parker on DeviantArt

410Parker is an artist on DeviantArt. I am a hobbyist who creates images and videos for fun using AI. I enjoy writing stories to fit the ima

While you’re there check out Datatude’s DA Page. Its well worth a look:

Datatude on DeviantArt

Datatude is an artist on DeviantArt. · Artworks: 12851 · Followers: 11169 · Likes: 4022

[itsmelucash]

Calendar Boy Part Three. Uh-Oh.

[runawayofplus]

Surfboards and sandals

Jake walked into the kitchen, ducking his head under the doorway, then leaned against the fridge. Trevor’s fridge was one of the bigger ones he’d seen, but Jake easily rested his arm on it with his elbow below shoulder level. “Thanks again for letting me stay over here while I’m back in town,” Jake said.

“It’s no problem, I’m glad you decided to,” Trevor said. “Just, uh, be careful with the place. You look bigger every time I turn around but all the stuff here’s still the same size,” he joked.

Jake laughed. “Nah, I think you and your stuff just got smaller, dude,” he joked back. “Last time I saw you we were both teenagers, with you years ahead of me, but I was already taller than you. I didn’t really notice just how much I grew when I lived on the coast – there were a lot of tall guys over there and I fit right in. Besides, when I regularly spent all day on the beach in my flip flops and swim trunks, mostly just replacing those as I grew, it was easy to miss how hard my growth spurts were hitting me, especially during the summers. But coming back here in my twenties, your folks’ old place feels so small and you, you just look tiny.” Jake walked up closer to Trevor as he said that last sentence, even further accentuating their height difference. Trevor normally had to tiptoe to see over the top of the fridge, but even if he stood on the tips of his toes the top of his head was inches lower than Jake’s shoulder.

Trevor desperately wanted Jake to sweep him up into his arms, to push him down and start dominating him, or anywhere between, and the way Jake was emphasizing how much bigger he was seemed to divert most of the blood from Trevor’s brain to his cock. And Jake was standing so close. Trevor struggled to think of something to say that wouldn’t give away his one-track-minded horniness.

“The beach, huh?” Trevor said. “I bet you were everybody’s first pick in volleyball, right?”

Jake chuckled. “Actually I’m terrible at volleyball. With how low the ball tends to go I’m pretty bad at making space to hit it the right way in time. Nah bro, I’m talking about surfing.” He turned around and opened the fridge door, grabbing a pair of purple cans he’d brought here and offering one to Trevor.

Trevor took the can and walked with Jake to the living room, where Jake took the couch and Trevor sat himself in a chair facing it. Jake kicked off his huge flip flops once he sat down, the left one of them not going far and the right one going across towards Trevor, landing just in front of the foot of Trevor’s chair. Jake’s can fizzed as he popped the tab, and Trevor’s did the same when he opened his.

Trevor tasted the contents of the can. A little sweeter than he liked it, with an artificial grape taste, but on top of the sweetness, not even diminished or hidden by it, the drink had a strong kick to it. “Buddy of mine back home showed me this stuff,” Jake said. He set his drink down beside him. Trevor took another sip of his, the combination of flavors seeming more pleasing on the second sip.

“First time I went to the beach after I moved out there, I saw some guys surfing and knew I wanted that to be me. I started with a board that seemed a decent size that I found at some kinda tourist-y shop and couldn’t get the hang of it at all. I tried for weeks! But then I ran across some other guys as big as me, and one of the guys was like ‘Bro, you’re using a board for tiny people. Try mine,’ so I did. And you know what? All the practicing I’d been doing on ‘hard mode’ with the tiny board suddenly paid off once I had a board big enough to balance correctly on. I must have impressed those dudes because soon we were hanging out every day. And from then on, unless the weather really sucks I try to go out on the water every single day.”

“That’s great,” Trevor said, “it sounds like things started going your way and you made some good friends.”

“I sure did,” replied Jake, “but it’s funny, if I tried to use that same board – the one bro let me try, not the tiny one – it would probably be smaller than I’d want to use now.”

“Damn,” Trevor said, “how big’s your board now?”

“The one I use now is nine and a half feet long,” Jake said, “but it’s still shaped like a regular surfboard, not a longboard. Now, I’d have no problem using that eight foot board, but I wouldn’t have the control I do with mine.”

Trevor tried to picture a board as big as Jake used now. “That’s huge. Suppose I come visit you next time, how big of a board do you think I’d need to get started?”

Jake chuckled, resting his right shin horizontally over his left knee, his enormous bare foot too eye-catching for Trevor to rest his gaze anywhere else. Jake looked Trevor over and chuckled again. “Don’t forget about your drink while you’re taking in the view,” he said.

Trevor barely caught that; his eyes had been tracing the outline of Jake’s toes. With some delay, he said, “Oh,” nodded, and took a sip. He swallowed the sip, then he tilted his head back, taking what remained of the can’s contents in gulps.

“Do you know what this stuff does?” Jake asked, holding up his can. Trevor was still staring at Jake’s toes. “Here, look at the can, Trevor.”

Trevor made a surprised sound, then directed his gaze at Jake’s can. Except where his fingers were, there was condensation around all but the very top of the can, as if Jake had opened it without drinking any. The can was purple, with a magenta logo that said ‘五疯狂’* with ‘cinq folles’ directly below in brackets; below that was some text: “You can do anything when you’re in the ZONE!!”; further down, below what were presumably Chinese and French translations of the same text: “Nootropic intoxicant intended for focused work. For your safety, avoid social interactions of any kind while using the product due to high suggestibility. Do not operate a motor vehicle or heavy machinery while under the influence.”

Trevor blinked, feeling like someone had tipped him out of his chair. He was still in his chair, but that foggy feeling of being woken up from a nap filled him, just without any tiredness. “What kind of notice is that? ‘Don’t drink with your friends?’”

Jake laughed. “Ridiculous, right? My buds and I think it’s best for drinking together. We have all kinds of fun, and it’s part of how we got as big as we did.”

Trevor visibly hung on Jake’s every word, but he was still confused by the end. “What? Does it have growth hormone in it?”

Jake shook his head. “Nah, it’s nothing like that. It makes you really suggestible when you drink it. But it’s not just that. It makes it so you can do the things you want to do, even if they shouldn’t be possible. Like growing.”

Trevor blinked. Part of his mind lightly floated, but he was comprehending the words he was hearing, he thought. “So like, you gave each other suggestions to have big growth spurts, and it worked?”

Jake smiled, his eyes drifting for a second like he was thinking back. “At first. That was slow but it seemed to be working okay. Then Stu messed up the wording and Rory grew inches in seconds, right before our eyes.”

“Wow,” Trevor said, marveling. “Do you think that would work on me?”

Jake simultaneously blinked, smiled, and nodded. “I do, that’s why I wanted to make sure you had finished yours before I told you what size surfboard I thought would work for you.”

“That’s so cool!” Trevor said with almost childish enthusiasm, his filter somewhere away with the part of him that was floating. “How big am I going to grow?”

Jake had a bit of a smirk this time. “That’s the thing. You can’t get somebody to follow a suggestion if it’s not something they want, at least in some part of themselves. We tried shrinking Stu with it as a prank but we could only get him to five foot six, nothing could make him smaller. Then we tried it on Rory and could only get him to five foot ten. They both tried it on me and they said they couldn’t make me smaller at all, except for undoing some of the extra size they’d added. We realized we’re just big dudes that want to be big. But you?” Jake snorted.

“You,” he continued, “I’m not gonna even try to grow you, but I bet I couldn’t get you much bigger than this. I’ve seen how you swoon whenever I emphasize my size over yours or even get up close enough that you can’t ignore how much bigger I am. Now, you’ve never surfed, right?”

Trevor had been reeling at Jake’s words but when it was time to answer a question, that was out of his mind, and he shook his head. “No, I’ve never surfed.”

“Now,” Jake started, “don’t get me wrong, you can do some sick stuff with longboards, so it’s not a diss on them when I say it might be easier for you to start learning with something that size. When I use a longboard it’s a huge twelve-and-a-half foot one, a little under twice my height. For you… well, I think if you stood both feet on that flip flop down there it might be about the right size to be that same length to you.”

Jake’s words all wormed their way into the back of Trevor’s mind, but a recollection of them sat oddly at the forefront. Jake was saying the length of the flip flop that he’d kicked over to Trevor would be nearly twice Trevor’s height, right? Everything felt the same to Trevor, and everything looked the same. Trevor’s feet dangled from this chair just a little, but they always did. “I dunno, man,” Trevor said, “I know we’ve had some fun joking that I’m tiny. Now, I don’t mind it at all, and it’s no joke that your feet are huge, but it seems like I’m way too big for that to be true.”

“I know it’s not the right size for you yet,” Jake replied, “what I said is it will be once you stand with both your feet on the flip flop. You can’t deny that you’re at least small enough that you could fit both your feet on something I cover with one of mine.”

That part was certainly true. Trevor perked up a little at that, his gaze going back to Jake’s toes once again. He adjusted forward in his seat, putting his feet where they blocked his view of Jake’s sandal. Up here they each covered a little more than half of it from Trevor’s sight, but if his feet were directly on the surface instead of held above it, it seemed there would be plenty of room.

“Aren’t you curious how much room there is to spare if you stand on it? I know you are, and I know the more room there is the more excited it’s going to make you. And the cool thing is, when a suggestion does something that turns you on, you can let that arousal strengthen the suggestion so you can get even more aroused, and make the suggestion even stronger. That doesn’t have to be sexual arousal, it can be any kind of excitement, but sexual arousal is the easiest to use when you’re giving someone else suggestions.” Trevor may have been the same size as always but his mind was in the palm of Jake’s hand. He listened raptly as his gaze continued to wander across Jake’s foot. “It turns you on to think about, right?” Jake asked. Trevor nodded as soon as Jake asked.

“Good,” Jake continued. “Think about how turned on you’d be if you put your heels next to each other, feet facing opposite directions, and found that the front and back edge of the flip flop were half an inch out of reach of your toes on either side.”

Trevor sighed peacefully.

“Great,” Jake continued. “Now think about how much it would turn you on if you placed your feet the same way, but instead there was a full inch of extra sandal on each side. Think about how big that foot you’re staring at would seem, to fill a sandal that big to you.”

“Mmm...” said Trevor, with a moan carefully veiled in a sigh.

“Perfect,” Jake said as Trevor’s attention hung between his words and between his toes. “Now, double that. And double that. And keep going. Keep multiplying until you find how aroused you’d be to find your feet took up negligible space on them, barely a square inch, and to find the flip flop so big that you could lie down on it and find it significantly longer than your whole body, even with your arms extended up. Now hold that in your mind, hold that feeling with the surface of your soles. While you do, think about how much easier it was to imagine each larger version of my sandal, each smaller version of yourself, with how aroused you’d become in imagining the previous one? Each should flow into the next, so you can become fully aroused, right?”

Trevor’s feet tingled. He had so much anticipation for the feeling that was waiting, thrumming, at the bottoms of them, but he had no access to the feeling there, just the buzzing sensation it made. He thought about it – if his feet touched the surface of Jake’s flip flop, the feeling would surely release into his whole body and he could bask in the intensified arousal and bliss of it. “Yeah, quickly,” he said to Jake’s question. He wanted to release his anticipation all at once, in a way that it would all come out before he even realized it was happening.

“That’s the spirit,” Jake said. “Now, when you’re ready, make sure you have all that arousal stored away in the soles of your feet, and go see how much room there is on my flip flop with you standing on it.”

Trevor stood up. He was the size he was accustomed to being in his living room, which almost felt odd considering how big he felt like he’d just been imagining everything. Jake looked at him expectantly. The flip flop was pretty big there on the floor between Trevor’s feet, but there was no way he could lie down on it. Why did he slightly doubt that then? The only way to know for sure was to step onto it.

Trevor put his right foot on it, his toes half an inch from the front edge of it, his heel just about in the middle. Nothing happened. He thought the tingling in his sole would release once it touched Jake’s sandal, but it remained instead. He couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed.

“Now the other one,” Jake urged. “Are you ready for this?”

Trevor’s anticipation returned in full force, and without looking he lifted his left foot and lined it’s heel up with his other one, setting it down with its toes toward the heel of the flip flop. He didn’t have time to look down and see how much room there was at first, so abrupt was the blast of proprioceptive distortion that set over him.

Over the course of two seconds, Trevor reeled as he dwindled rapidly. The ceiling got further away faster and faster as everything around him grew and receded out of reach, and the flip flop he had stepped onto grew vast. The change was smooth and continuous, but it seemed to get faster and faster to him as everything besides Trevor doubled in size over and over again. Over the last tenth of a second the change glided smoothly to a halt.

For a moment Trevor’s stomach quivered with nausea – it was a feeling less like the perceptual dissonance of motion sickness and more a physical response, like from the flips of a roller coaster – but it quickly abated. He looked down. All he saw was his own form and flip flop he was standing in the center of; looking down as he was, the edges of the flip flop were out of his field of view. He looked up a little, trying to take in more of his surroundings. His gaze caught on the side of the flip flop that was closest in front of him and he was stunned – it seemed at least 45 feet away from him.

Trevor turned left, tracing the edge of the flip flop as it receded into the distance. He started to notice that the toe end seemed twice as far away as the side of the shoe had when a huge column caught his eye. His eyes followed its length upward and he realized it was the piece of the sandal that went between the big toe and the second toe, with straps coming off it in either direction. The right strap extended in an arc over his head, far out of reach.

A voice that seemed hundreds of times bigger than Trevor’s whole body boomed down at him. “Wow, fuck, I think I might have overdone it,” Jake said. “I only half believed you’d get to the size I said, but you got even smaller, so I guess that feedback loop worked really well. You must be like a quarter inch tall.” Jake laughed, getting closer and putting his hands on his knees as he bent down to look at Trevor from directly above.

Trevor was so angry to see Jake laughing after he did this to him! He shouted upwards, shaking his fists and stomping his feet. He needed Jake to change him back, he demanded it.

Jake just laughed more, then he asked, “What, bro?” He snickered again. “I think you’re too small for your words to matter now.”

Trevor was furious at that and he screamed as loud as he could, again demanding Jake to grow him back. But even if Jake had held his ear a foot above Trevor, he would have been hard-pressed to actually hear what he was saying.

“You know, I’ve lost count of how many times I fantasized about doing this to you after we got back in touch a few years back, especially the times I imagined making you this minuscule. You’re so fucking tiny I could crush you with just my little toe if I decided to.” Jake stood up straight again, lifting his right foot and holding it over his flip flop so it blocked Trevor’s view of his face.

Jake lowered his foot quickly, stopping just an inch over his sandal. To Trevor, the titanic foot looked like it was over twenty feet above him and over a hundred feet wide, the big toe on its own over thirty-five feet across and closest. The big toe flicked down suddenly and a huge force against Trevor’s back overpowered him down to his hands and knees.

Jake lifted his foot out of the way, looking down at Trevor and enjoying a mild if smug laugh. “That’s right, that’s the position you should be in. It’d be a joke to say I’m like a god to you now – at this point each of my toes on its own is like a god to you. You’re going to be stuck this way, just because that’s what I decided. I could easily grow you back with a few more drops of that Wu Fengkuang and a couple suggestions, as long as you wanted to get bigger. But the size you ended up with reflected my own truest desires, so why would I?”

Trevor couldn’t believe his ears. He was a person, whatever size he was, but Jake was treating him like he was his to do whatever he wanted with. He looked up at Jake, right in the eyes, and started to stand up.

Jake shook his head slowly, cleared his throat, and made a loud plosive sound. A glob of saliva grew in Trevor’s vision as it descended towards him, with enough time before it started falling too fast to accurately see that it could start to dawn on Trevor how much bigger than him the spit Jake had just unleashed was. It knocked him down when it hit him, coating him completely and pushing him closer to the enormous column that the flip flop’s straps extended from.

“You think you’re not mine?” Jake asked. “You’re too small to be my pet, so maybe you’re just my toy. But honestly? You’re probably too small to be my toy either. A worshiper could be smaller than a toy, but it doesn’t seem like you’re one of those by how you’re acting. Honestly, it seems like you might just end up a smudge on my flip flop.”

Trevor struggled as Jake said this, each sentence filling him with a little more panic. It wasn’t just saliva covering him, Jake had hacked up a fair amount of mucus and it had started to dry almost as soon as Jake’s loogie had hit the sandal; Trevor had gotten his legs lodged in a larger glob of mucus during the impact and he worried that it would thicken or even harden around him before he could get them free.

Jake laughed again, seeing Trevor’s quivering panicked struggles. “No, I guess I should be nice. You were my friend, after all, before you became too small to matter.” He licked his left index finger and jabbed it down near Trevor, then brought it close more gently. Trevor wasn’t sure if he trusted Jake to offer him something better than the predicament he was in, but he adhered to Jake’s fingertip regardless of what he wanted.

Jake brought the fingertip close to his face and opened his mouth wide. Trevor squirmed, and redoubled his efforts when he saw the thrill in Jake’s eyes. He was stuck though, doomed to be along for the ride as Jake put his finger into his mouth. It was so warm, so dark, the only light coming into the mouth from behind Trevor. Jake’s tongue pulsed and Trevor feared it was going to lick him right off the fingertip, but it went past him, the tip coming to rest against the roof of Jake’s mouth. Then Jake scraped his fingertip against his bottom teeth, first shaking Trevor then knocking him off, so he fell down to Jake’s gums and then tumbled down into the sublingual area at the bottom of his mouth. Jake let his tongue back down, flush with his bottom teeth, covering most of the light, then closed his mouth, drowning out the rest.

Without the light, Trevor had only the sounds of saliva moving to give him any warning when Jake’s tongue pulled down into the lowest part of his mouth, instantly trapping Trevor between the floor of his mouth and the underside of his tongue. Then he abruptly moved his tongue back up to where it was level with his teeth, Trevor’s surroundings along with Trevor himself sloshing around as the pressure briefly jerked everything under Jake’s tongue upward.

Jake’s voice boomed from all around Trevor. “You might be able to last a while in there if you’re careful, especially when you grab a little of whatever I eat for yourself. On the other hand you might end up going down my throat lodged in the first bite when I go get a burger in a little bit. Maybe I’ll take you out in a few weeks and see if your attitude has changed, but I want you to spend your time in there knowing it’s a lot more likely that I’ll just intentionally swallow you and then forget all about it far before that.”

Trevor trembled in a sprawl amid the saliva under Jake’s tongue. All he could do was dwell on how completely powerless he was over whatever Jake decided to do to him. He would do everything he could survive, he had to. But by the end, by surviving, wouldn’t he become the little toy, the little worshiper, that Jake wanted to turn him into? A little part of Trevor asked if becoming Jake’s willing plaything would be so bad, and he quivered at the thought.

[* If you're curious, google translate will show the drink name 五疯狂 is just a riff on 4 Loko.]

[runawayofplus]

MINIfi - roommate's wrath

Today’s been a surprisingly good day. I was just taking it easy when Kieran messaged me on Xbox. He was typing all slow, and I thought he said his brother shanked him at first. I was like damn bro, and you’re really bleeding out talking to me on here in your last moments? Bro. But also call an ambulance, I don’t need that on my conscience. Dude was taking forever to type on his controller keyboard so I was about to go over there but then he responded “shrank*”. I was like “oh ok right and so you’re probably climbing on the controller taking forever to type, nice prank”. He’s always like that, you know?

I figured just let him do his bit so he started telling me about how his younger brother downloaded some app called MINIFi off a third party site and shrank him small enough to fit in his hand. Figured he was pretending his brother Ed must have come back or something after that because he stopped messaging. Anyway, I downloaded the app because I was curious. I got it open but kept saying “no targets acquired” on the screen. According to the description, it needed to see a person through the back camera.

I pointed the phone at the mirror, and it outlined me for an instant, then displayed, “error: reflection”. So I tried holding the phone out away from me at a selfie angle, with the phone towards the mirror so I could see in the reflection. In the reverse text that the mirror showed, I made out “error: unsafe target”. It was neat that it could recognize people I guess, but this was clearly just a prank. The help page linked through the app said something about people dropping their phones if they could shrink themselves, but there was also a premium version of the app for more than I was willing to pay that had that fail-safe turned off as one of the features. Whatever. Nice one Kieran, distracted me for the afternoon at least.

Then my shitty roommate Drew got home. When it comes to random roommates I could have gotten paired with, this dude was the worst draw. He always put stupid televangelist crap on way loud and early in the morning on the weekend, and he was openly insulting to my more obviously gay friends while being rude to me if I came home when he was with some poor woman that by then probably just hoped he’d shut the fuck up. At least he tended not to bring his friends back here, spending most of his time out with them.

When he showed up, Drew was all covered in sweat and he fucking stank, like he usually did but worse. He always threw his damn shirt on my chair as soon as he got in, but I was ready for it, hooking the sleeve with my finger as it passed me so it would slingshot over to his pillow instead. I was so tired of his shit. “Got any plans this weekend?” I asked. At this point I didn’t care if he realized I just wanted to make sure he’d be out.

“No, my friends are all going back home to see family this weekend. I’ll be here. So uh, get out of my chair.”

My phone shook with a little notification. “Your chair? You didn’t buy this chair, you didn’t bring it here, and besides, I’m comfortable.” I was so tired of living with this piece of shit, dealing with him throwing his weight around. He was a good six inches taller than me and not a day went by without him threatening to beat me up. I was pushing it but I was just so done with his nonsense.

Drew actually started to sputter a little at my response. I wasn’t interested in what he had to say so I checked my phone. “Target acquired,” stated the notification that had just arrived. He was making almost a growling sound now in response to me tuning him out. What a fucking baby. I didn’t think the app would work but I wanted to see Drew go to bits and I knew he would if I started fiddling with things on the phone screen.

As I did, he got right in my face. “Listen to me you little fucking fa–” I’d started to slide the ‘height’ down on the ‘edit target’ screen just before that part of the outburst, and he cut himself off as he realized he was going from leaning over the chair menacingly to reaching up onto the back of the chair, no longer any credible threat.

“What did you do to me?” His head was just over the level of the chair’s armrest. “Fuck you, what happened to me?” He must not have liked the way I was smiling.

“What did I do to you, Drew?” I asked it like it was a real question. Then in the space of two seconds I dragged his ‘height’ slider in the app down to 1% and then back up to 60% where I’d had it. To me it was wild enough to see him lose all his size and then grow back in that short time - to him it must have been a lot more intense - everything would have doubled in size to him at 30%, then again at 15%, then again at 7.5%, then again at 3.75%, then again before hitting 1%. He had an expression of complete bewilderment for an instant, then denial visibly took over his face. He was already telling himself he had just hallucinated that anything was wrong, that what just happened hadn’t been real. Pathetic.

Much more mockingly this time, I repeated, “What did I do to you, Drew?” This time I yanked the slider even faster to 1%, and only took it up to 55% when I grew him back. “What happened to you, Drew?” This time I took him slower down to 1% over the course of three seconds, pulled him back up to 50%, and then shot his height back down to 5%.

He couldn’t deny it now. Looking down at him in front of me on the floor, I could see his expression was one of fear and self-pity. I picked him up unceremoniously, holding his ankles between my thumb and forefinger and letting him hang upside down.

“Nothing reaches you. You’re too safe. Every time you hurt someone, you have something that tells you you did the right thing. And I bet every time you start to feel guilty you tell yourself that whoever caused you to feel that way is just trying to make people feel bad.” I was fucking furious right now - Drew as a person was bad enough to be around, but here in my hand he represented all the bullies that had tried to make me hate being gay before I even knew I was. I had to breathe for a second to make sure I didn’t crush his legs.

“Let me go you sick freak! No wonder I couldn’t stand living with you. At first I thought you were just a bitch but there was something that disgusted me about you and your friends.” Brazen for someone about the size of my hand.

“That’s what you don’t get, Drew. Not only did you make me feel unsafe, you have actually hurt me a couple times. You only felt uncomfortable. But I invite you to feel unsafe now!” I squeezed my fingers together around his ankles, just until he cried out a little. It felt weird to be doing this, normally I would never try to hurt someone like this, but it felt so right. It felt like I wasn’t just taking revenge for how he had treated me. How many people like me in his hometown had to deal with this? How many others that he’d met since then? This was for all of them, bigger than revenge.

I dangled him over my mouth and repeatedly made a loud biting motion with my jaw. I started to lower him gradually, still fake chomping as his head and arms got closer and closer to my mouth. “This is what you get for what you’ve done, Drew.”

He was fucking crying. It was hard to make much of it out but he was pleading, asking God to save him from me. I’d had a bit of a burp coming but I swallowed some extra air and then let it out right at him. He actually shook from the force and coughed, overwhelmed by the smell or at least making a show of it, his prayers interrupted. I laughed. “If you want to plead, Drew, plead with me.”

“Let me go, grow me back, take me to my friends. I’ll do whatever you want! I’ll never bother you again!” Pathetic.

I was ready for this. I put my face right up to his, where I could see his expression, and asked, “Have you ever made anyone beg, Drew? Have you ever made anyone plead for you to stop?”

He sighed. “N–” He thought again, it seemed. “Yes.”

“And did that stop you?”

I didn’t need him to answer, I could see it in his expression, if I hadn’t already known when I’d asked.

I moved him away from my mouth, letting him think whatever he wanted for a second. But he started to panic again when he heard my fly unzip, squirming in my hand. I laughed. He was a little bigger than I wanted for this so I sized him down to 2.5%, small enough to fit in my palm. Then I wrapped my hand around my cock, pinning him between the two with his back against my palm.

I started stroking my cock, rubbing Drew against the shaft with one hand and alternating between working the head, my balls, and the base of the shaft with the other. His diminutive struggles were something else, his hands and their tiny grip barely stretching at my skin but hanging on for dear life. And writhing, just writhing. Drew was for sure not having a good time, his struggles increasing again as my palm sweated and precum started to coat my dick. The idea of covering this little homophobe piece of shit in my cum, making him swim in it, making him eat it or starve, maybe even making him drown in it - it was too tantalizing, and for me to care about the well-being and comfort of this little waste was far more than would be fair to ask.

With my other hand I grabbed my phone for a second, amping Drew’s size up to 3%, then 4%. I kept my grip just as tight though, letting his growth shove him against the side of my cock. His struggles against my dick intensified and before I could even think about 5% I found myself on the edge, holding back the urge to cum that very second. I slid him off my dick, shrinking him to 1% and palming him, then holding my palm so that cum after the first blast would flow right into it.

My cum was hot, sticky, and sweeter than it was salty, and it absolutely flooded into my hand. I managed to prevent Drew from being hit and blasted away with the first shot of cum, then covered him with layer after layer of it. His tiny head popped out of the surface after a few moments. I could barely see his face but he was visibly struggling, trying to express his disgust without splashing more of my cum onto himself - it was hilarious. I grinned, taking my phone and sliding him to 0.05%, a twentieth of the hundredth of his size that I’d already shrunk him to. Then I just sorta squeezed my palm , pushing the part by my thumb closer to the part by my fingers. I could barely see his ranting flea-sized form as he struggled to stay at the surface after I shrunk him, but it was so satisfying to see him helplessly disappear beneath the surface of my cum.

Oh fuck, Kieran! This was all clearly real so he must actually be in trouble! I needed to head over there to make sure he was safe with Ed. It was time to get rid of Drew. He was already submerged in a pool of my cum, so I decided that’s where he’d end. I looked at my phone and noticed a little pop up next to Drew’s image on the app - “Would you like to try endless dwindling?” Hell yeah I would! I pressed the green checkmark by the question and carefully wiped the cum from my hand on Drew’s pillow. Would my cum be dry by the time he got smaller than my sperm? Or might they mistake him for nutrients before that?

More importantly, would Ed understand if I asked to borrow Kieran? It could be a lot of fun to play with this with someone I’d actually want to grow back.

[bandit176]

Boot to the metal!

[anon-sect]

Ken was coming in out of town to visit a best friend he had known from his college days. It was late, around 10:45 in the night. He called his friend the moment the plan had landed. He had rented a vehicle from the airport. Unfortunately, the vehicle was one of the older models that didn't come with GPS. He had to depend on his phone GPS to get to his friend's house.

His phone lost signal nearing the neighborhood his friend lived in. When he thought he was at his friend's house, he pulled into the drive way. He got out to go knock in the door.

Dave had a rough day at work. It seemed like just about everything was going wrong. He was glad he was able to get somethings right before leaving work, but not everything. Then when he got home, he got so many calls from work concerning issues that wasn't fixed. He really needed a break. He eventually turned his phone off after he had had enough calls. Relaxed in his bed at last till he heard his door bell ring around 11pm at night. He really was in no mood for any further interruptions. He put on his house Rob and went to his front door.

He looked through the peep hole to see a stranger standing there. He didn't recognize the stranger nor was he in the mood for someone showing up at the wrong house.

Ken rung the doorbell several times. "Danny, it's me, Ken. Open up already." He waited for the door to open. It was already late, and he wanted a little rest.

Dave decided to invite the stranger in to help ease his annoyance in a different way. The stranger would prove to be useful to him. Maybe the wrong house he came to, but doesn't mean the stranger has to leave. He opened the door to greet the stranger. "Sorry, wrong house." Dave paused for a moment. "But maybe I can help you find who you looking for," he added.

Ken saw he had rung the wrong doorbell. "I apologize for that, Sir. I was looking for my friend's house." He looked down and his phone still didn't have any service. Maybe the nice stranger could let me use his phone to make a phone call, he thought. "Is all right if I use your house phone to call my friend?" He asked.

Dave had the opening he needed to have a little entertainment at the expense of the stranger. "Sure, come on in." He motioned for him to enter. He made sure the stranger followed him to his kitchen, where the home phone was set up at.

Dave watched as Ken dialed his friend number. Once his friend started giving direction to his house, Dave went back to his room to get his special toy from his closet. He came back to the kitchen in time to see Ken hang up the phone. "Got the direction right?" He asked him.

"Yeah, actually, I am just about an hour away. I turned off the wrong exit. I appreciate you letting me use your phone at the late hour. " Ken spoke when he noticed the stranger holding a strange device in his hand and that it was pointed at him. "What's going on?" He asked as he saw a ray of photonic light flash from it and over his body.

"I was having a really annoying day, and unfortunately, you came in the tail end of my annoying day. I needed something to make it better." Dave smiled with a satisfying grin on his face. "And I thought to myself thst I could use a new pair of brown leather boots. A stranger at my door in late hour of the night would make a great pair. And so here we are now." He added as he saw shock and fear on the stranger's face. He didn't catch his name, but it didn't matter at this point. Footwear don't need names.

Ken felt really weird. Something was going wrong with his body, and it wasn't a fun feeling. A dizzy spell began to plague his mind. He knew he had to get out of this house. As he tried to run, he took a few steps and fell to the floor. He couldn't move from the waist down. The feeling continued all the way to his neck. He heard the strange home owner approach. He saw that he was laughing. He was enjoying this situation. The world around him grew in size just as the strange home owner did as well. "You will make a fine pair of boots," Ken heard the home owner say and laugh afterward. He soon lost all consciousness. The last thing he saw was that the home owners white feet stand next to his face.

Dave loves the way the stranger shrunk rapidly down to size. His body changed to a light brown color. His skin became like leather while his clothes and shoes merged with this body. His body then spilt in two, and both halves formed into a pair of durable brown leather boots.

Dave went outside to the stranger's car. He put in the settings for a toy car and fired at it. The vehicle shrunk down in size to about three inches. It was reduced to a plastic toy Kia Forte four-door model. He picked up the little toy and went back in. He stopped at the newly transformed boots. He had a little plan to help the stranger get used to his new owners' feet. He picked up his new boots and went back to his bedroom.

Ken consciously woke up to a feeling of being carried. He tried to move out of the hands carrying him but found that he could not move at all in his new boot bodies on his own. This was a nightmare. It was supposed to be a trip to spend a week with an old friend, but end up being turned taken and becoming an object for a total stranger. His view of sight was limited as he realized his face had become the insoles in the boots. He then smells something really foul. The light was blotted out by a large cotton object stuffed into his boot bodies. He realized at that moment it was a stinky pair of socks. He wanted to gag do badly. He was unable to remove the pair of socks due to his inability to move on his own. The home owner did this act on purpose, Ken thought to himself. He could hear the home owner climb into bed fully aware of what he had done to another human being but not bothered by it. To be tortured while the guy was sleeping was absolute humiliation.

Dave woke up the next morning looking down at his new boots. He laughed at the thought the guy that arrived at his door last night, spent the night with a pair of socks he wore for three days straight. Even by his own standards, those socks smelled horrible. He couldn't imagine being stuck smelling that all night with no relief. But the guy will soon learn that would only be the beginning of his new existence as his footwear.

Ken thought it felt like it was an eternity since he had fresh air. The foul stench was all he could smell for hours. He thought he might have gotten used to it after ten minutes, but he was so wrong. His mind couldn't sleep all night. The foul socks kept him up all night long. Suddenly, fresh air rushed in as the socks were removed and some light returned.

"Today, I decided to wear you while I run some errands and meet up with friends for lunch and dinner with my boyfriend tonight. I will see how comfortable footwear you are." Dave laughed as he put his feet into the boots starting with the left boot.

Ken saw light disappear again as a socked foot moved in and secured itself on his insole face. He endured it a second time as the other boot was secured on foot. The pressure of his face being crushed over and over was overwhelming. At least the socks didn't stink, he thought. Yet, he was in mental torture. It was painful to him with each step the guy took. He wondered if his mind could even cope with being stuck this way for however long the home owner wanted to keep him

At six hours later, Ken was mentally begging the home owner to let him go. There was starting a bit a foot sweat and a foot odor on top of the pain of the constant crushing of his face. The fact that his face was used to cushion a stranger's feet who didn't even bother to care.

Dave feet felt good, like really good. He had never worn such comfortable boots before. The insoles were very supportive of his feet. It was amazing how they would deflate and inflate with each step. Wearing boots all day the majority of the time would hurt his feet, but these boots were different. He definitely was keeping this pair around for a good while.

Ken could hear the home owner meet with others. He mentally tried screaming for help, but being boots, no one heard his plea. He was kidnapped, held hostage on the home owners feet.

Dave returned home late that night, but he feet felt like he hadn't been on them all day. A testament to how comfortable the boot insoles were. He heard his phone ring. He answered and saw it was the stranger's friend that he was supposed to visit. He told him that the guy had left his place after the phone call, and he hadn't seen him since. After he hung up the call, he wondered if his boots heard the conversation.

Ken mentally cried. Not just because of the pain of being crushed over and over all day, not because the home owner's feet was smelling bad, but because the home owner just lied to his friend. There would be no rescue. He was at the home owner's mercy.

Dave removed his boots and sat on his bed. "You did well for your first day as my boots. Your friend doesn't know you are here. Not to mention I turned your car into a toy car and your phone into a toy phone. So no one can link your whereabouts to here." He paused to let his boots really take in the gravity of his new life. "From now on, you serve my feet. I should thank you for ringing my doorbell. You unintentionally delivered unto me the best pair of boots I ever own." He laughed as he continue to change clothes to relax for the night. "By the way, if you haven't figured out already, I am keeping you like this forever, or till you wear out. When that happens I will just use my special toy to remake you. So get used to my feet, whoever you were." Dave laughed even more walking around his room.

Ken knew then his fate was sealed. He would never see his friend or his old life ever again. He was nothing but footwear for a stranger to use as he pleased.

[littleeatbig]

[size-changes]

Darren had always been the runt of the family. At just 5’8”, he lived in the constant shadow of his older brother Steve, a towering 6’4” wall of muscle who ruled their shared house like a tyrant. Steve was the golden boy—star athlete in high school and college, with a body carved from years of weights and sports, broad shoulders, thick pecs, and abs that looked like they were chiseled from stone. Darren, by contrast, was lean and unassuming, the quiet younger brother who kept to himself. But Steve never let him forget who was in charge.

The bullying had started small when they were teens—shoves, wedgies, mocking his size. But as they grew into adults, sharing the old family house after their parents moved away, it turned darker. Steve would corner Darren in the hallway, pin him against the wall with one massive hand, and growl, “On your knees, little bitch. Time to remind you who the real man is.” Darren would fight it at first, but Steve was too strong. He’d force Darren’s head down, unzipping his jeans to reveal that thick, veiny cock—already half-hard and intimidating even at normal size. Darren would choke and gag as Steve fucked his throat raw, gripping his hair and calling him every degrading name imaginable: “My personal cum rag,” “pathetic little cocksucker,” “Steve’s personal bitch.” Sometimes Steve would cum down his throat without warning, making Darren swallow every drop while tears streamed down his face. Other times he’d pull out and paint Darren’s face, laughing as he wiped the mess into his hair. “That’s all you’re good for,” Steve would sneer afterward, zipping up and leaving Darren humiliated on the floor.

Darren hated it. He hated the power imbalance, the way Steve’s massive frame made him feel tiny and worthless. Every night he’d lie in his bed, staring at the ceiling, fists clenched, whispering the same desperate wish into the dark: “I wish I was the bigger brother. I wish I could make him pay. I wish I could turn him into my little bitch.” He fantasized about it constantly—Steve on his knees for once, begging, broken, used like a toy. But wishes were just wishes… until that one fateful morning.

Darren woke up feeling… wrong. His body ached in a way that wasn’t normal. The sheets were tangled around him like a tent, and when he sat up, his head slammed straight into the ceiling with a loud thud. “What the fuck?” he muttered, his voice deeper, rumbling like thunder. He swung his legs out of bed—or tried to. His feet crashed through the footboard like it was made of cardboard, splintering wood everywhere. Darren stood up fully and the room shrank around him. The ceiling was now brushing the top of his head. He had to hunch just to fit. Looking down, his body was unrecognizable: a towering, hyper-muscular giant at a staggering 12 feet tall. His chest was a massive shelf of pecs, each one bigger than a dinner plate, veins snaking over biceps thicker than Steve’s thighs. His abs were deep-cut bricks, his legs like tree trunks, and between them swung a cock that had grown to match—monstrous, at least 18 inches soft, thick as a beer can, with heavy balls the size of grapefruits hanging low. His old pajamas had shredded off him during the night, leaving him completely naked and godlike.

A slow, predatory grin spread across Darren’s face as realization hit. The wish had come true. He was the bigger brother now. And Steve was about to learn what it felt like to be the little one.

Darren ducked through the doorway, the frame cracking around his shoulders as he forced his way into the hallway. The house felt like a dollhouse. He could hear Steve’s snoring from the master bedroom—the same room where Steve had forced him to suck dick countless times. Darren’s massive bare feet padded silently across the floor, each step making the walls tremble slightly. He pushed open the bedroom door and stepped inside, exactly like the scene unfolding in his mind: the dark gray walls, the wooden headboard, the colorful medals hanging on the wall from Steve’s glory days. There, in the bed with striped sheets pulled up to his chest, was Steve—still 6’4”, still muscular, but now looking pathetically small. He slept peacefully on his side, dark hair tousled on the pillow, completely unaware of the giant looming over him.

Darren stood there for a long moment, just like in that perfect frozen instant: shirtless (well, he had nothing on at all), his enormous body filling the room, one hand loosely at his side while the other dangled near his thickening cock. The morning light filtered through the curtains, highlighting every ridge of his abs and the powerful V-cut leading down to his massive manhood, which was already starting to swell at the sight of his helpless prey. “Wake up, big brother,” Darren rumbled, his voice so deep it vibrated the medals on the wall.

Steve stirred, blinking groggily. His eyes widened in pure shock as they traveled up… and up… and up. “D-Darren? What the—holy shit, what the fuck happened to you?!” He scrambled back against the headboard, the sheets falling to reveal his own naked torso and the morning wood tenting his boxers. But compared to Darren’s 12-foot frame, Steve looked like a child’s action figure.

Darren didn’t give him time to process. He reached down with one enormous hand, fingers wrapping easily around Steve’s entire torso, and yanked him out of bed like a ragdoll. Steve yelped, kicking uselessly as Darren lifted him to eye level. “You remember all those times you made me suck your dick, Stevie? Called me your little bitch? Forced me to swallow load after load?” Darren’s grin was feral. “Well, wishes come true, asshole. Now you’re my little bitch. And this house? It’s my cum bucket now.”

Steve’s face turned pale. “This isn’t funny, man—put me down! This has to be some kind of nightmare or—”

Darren cut him off by shoving Steve’s face directly into his crotch. The massive cock—now fully hard at over two feet long and thicker than Steve’s forearm—slapped heavily against his cheek, smearing pre-cum across his lips. The musky scent was overwhelming, pure alpha dominance. “Suck it, little brother. Or I’ll make you.”

Steve struggled, but Darren’s grip was iron. He pressed the enormous cockhead against Steve’s mouth, forcing his lips to stretch obscenely wide. Steve gagged instantly as the head alone filled his mouth, but Darren just pushed deeper, inch after impossible inch sliding down his throat. “That’s it… choke on it like I used to. Fuck, you look so tiny trying to take a real man’s cock.” Darren’s hips rocked gently, fucking Steve’s face with slow, powerful thrusts that made the smaller man’s throat bulge visibly. Tears streamed down Steve’s face, but his own cock was traitorously hard, leaking in his boxers.

Darren kept him there for what felt like hours, using his mouth like a fleshlight. “Remember how you’d call me pathetic? Look at you now—my personal throat pussy.” He finally pulled out with a wet pop, strings of saliva and pre-cum connecting Steve’s gasping lips to the giant shaft. Steve coughed and sputtered, but Darren wasn’t done. He tossed him onto the bed like a toy and climbed on, the mattress groaning and sagging under his impossible weight. The bed frame cracked but held—just barely.

“Now it’s time to break you in properly.” Darren ripped Steve’s boxers off with two fingers, exposing his ass. He spat a massive glob of saliva onto his hand and slicked up his monstrous cock, then pressed the head against Steve’s tight hole. “Beg for it, bitch.”

“P-please… Darren, don’t—” Steve’s plea turned into a scream as Darren pushed in. The stretch was insane—Steve’s hole was forced open wider than it had ever been, his belly distending slightly from the sheer girth. Darren sank in halfway, growling in pleasure. “So fucking tight… like you were made for this. My little cum bucket.” He started thrusting, slow at first, then harder, the bed slamming against the wall with every powerful stroke. Steve’s moans turned from pain to unwilling ecstasy, his own cock bouncing untouched as Darren’s massive balls slapped against his ass.

Darren fucked him relentlessly, flipping him into every position—doggy style, where Steve looked like he was being mounted by a god; missionary, where Darren could watch his face contort; even holding him in the air like a pocket pussy, bouncing him up and down on that giant dick with one hand. “Who’s the bigger brother now?” Darren taunted, pounding deeper. “Who’s the alpha? Say it!”

“Y-you are!” Steve gasped, broken and drooling. “You’re the bigger brother… I’m your little bitch… your cum bucket…”

That was all Darren needed. With a roar that shook the windows, he buried himself to the hilt and came. The first rope was a flood—thick, hot cum blasting into Steve’s guts so forcefully it made his stomach swell like he was pregnant. Darren kept cumming, load after massive load, until it overflowed, gushing out around his cock in creamy rivers. He pulled out with a wet schlorp, and Steve collapsed, cum pouring from his wrecked hole like a broken faucet.

But Darren wasn’t satisfied with one round. He made Steve clean his cock with his tongue, forcing him to swallow the mix of cum and ass juices. Then he used him again—face-fucking him until another load painted his insides, then making him ride the giant shaft while Darren lounged back against the headboard. Hours passed like this. Steve became a sloppy, cum-drenched mess: face glazed, ass gaping and leaking, body marked with handprints from Darren’s grip. Every time Steve begged for mercy, Darren just laughed and fed him another load. “This is what you made me, Stevie. Your personal cum dump. Now it’s your turn—forever.”

By the time the sun was high, Steve was curled up against Darren’s massive thigh like a pet, exhausted and utterly claimed. Darren stroked his hair almost tenderly. “Good little bitch. Welcome to your new life.” The 12-foot giant smiled down at the broken man who used to rule him. Revenge had never felt so good—or so fucking huge.

[gul-dukat89]

Picture source: internet

Danny boasted at making the final score over his rival on the basketball court. Rick gloated over him so many times on how much he had beaten him that it got annoying. He just wanted to humiliate him so badly. He had made a bet with him that the winner reserved the right to make the loser do whatever he wanted. Rick took the bait feeling confident that he would win. This time he was so wrong about the outcome. Danny smirked proudly before his rival.

"Okay, you finally have beaten me." Rick reluctantly spoke. "What is it that I have to do for you?" He asked, since he did agree to the terms of the victory.

"That is actually the fun part for me." Danny smirked again. "You don't have to do anything but be useful until you are all used up." He added as he opened up his TF Pro Max app. He put in the setting for a stick of deodorant.

"What do you mean by that?" Rick asked him, feeling a little confused at what he meant.

Danny pointed the phone camera at Rick without offering any explanation and hit the flash option. Instantly, Rick was gone. In his place was a blue container holding a stick of deodorant. He picked it up off the court ground and held it proudly. To see his arch rival reduced to something so useful was very satisfying. He walked over to his bag and dropped it in. He couldn't wait till the morning to start using his new stick of deodorant.

Rick was so confused. He couldn't move or speak. He did find that he smelled really good for some reason. Wherever he was, it was dark. He could feel like a hand was picking him up and tossing him somewhere, but not sure where. It felt like an eternity of silence when light finally came. He saw Danny looking down at him. The thing was that he looked giant in size compared to him.

"You are probably confused at the moment. But I turned you into a stick of deodorant for me to use up at my leisure." Danny paused, still with a smirk on his face. "By the way, you smell so good. I know I will smell good as well thanks to you." He laughed.

"NOOOOOOOO!" Rick mentally screamed. He didn't want to be stuck like this. "Change me back, please! I don't want to be used up." He continued to scream, but no words came out. "Please don't do this!

Danny lifted up his arm and started rubbing his new deodorant into his arm pit. It felt so good to rub his arch rival under his arms. He knew that his new stick of deodorant would run out eventually, but that was Rick's problem. He would just go out and buy a new stick of deodorant in its place.

Rick could feel parts of himself being rubbed into Danny's arm pits. Each time he rubbed, more of himself was being absorbed into his arch rival's body to make him smell good. He was powerless to change his fate. It felt degrading and humiliating that he was used to make another man smell good while he gets used up like a common object.

After he was done, Danny recap the small container. There was still a lot of Rick left over to use up. He loved the way Rick had him smelling. "You're one damn good smelling deodorant." He laughed as he continued to get dressed for his day.

TWO WEEKS LATER.......

Danny rubbed the last of his new stick of deodorant into his arm pits. There was nothing left to be used. There was a small bit of sadness. He had gotten a lot of compliments about how good he smelled. "Damn, I really hate to see you all gone. You really had me get a lot of attention on how I smelled, but oh well. You were just deodorant after all." He said as he discarded the empty container into the trash can in his bathroom as though it was a common object. He walked out without a second thought.

The final remains that were left in the container only wept as the treatment got worse for him. He was tossed away like common trash after it no longer had a use. He was human at one time. Being discarded as such was so degrading. Yet, this was his fate thanks to that bet he made. His rival would continue on with his life while he would be tossed away along with the rest of the trash that now surrounded him.

[gul-dukat89]

Picture source: @blaumaavi

Clark finally saw light for what felt like he was in darkness for hours. The top of the box was removed that he had been trapped in. He wasn't sure what happened, but he last remembered being at the gym locker room. The locker room grew in size. A massive hand scoped him up and placed him in a box and sealed it shut. When the box lid was removed, he was surprised who was staring down at him. It was the employee he had fired a month ago for trying to blackmail him. He had thought he was done seeing him after evidence was shown of what he tried to do.

"Well, look at you now." William smirked. "Last time we met, you had the power. Now, it's a complete reversal." He laughed at the frightened tiny man.

"William?" Clark paused as he saw that William was giant size compared to him. He figured he must have been at most 5" tall now. He was way smaller than his size 14 foot. He was in a powerless situation. "How has it been?" He asked, hoping to garner some kind of sympathy to let him go. He remembered having police escort him out of the building and being proud of that fact.

"You should know. I have been struggling to get a really good paying job." William picked Clark out of the box and placed him on the floor in front of his giant feet. "Had you done what your master told you and things would have been different for both of us." He added.

"You know I couldn't have done it. I would have been in trouble." Clark pleaded. "Besides, I only worshipped your feet a couple of times."

"It was enough to make you my boy." William continued. "I told you what would happen if you didn't obey like a good boy. Now, you see." He smirked as he hoved his foot over Clark. He slowly lowered his foot on top with enough pressure to pin him down but not crush him. He felt the tiny figure squirming under his massive socked foot. He laughed at the futile attempt to escape from beneath it. He lifted his foot.

"I can get you rehired, okay. Just put me back to normal size." Clark begged, realizing that his fate was now in the hands of the employee he fired a month ago. He just toyed with him under his foot. He could have easily crushed him if he wanted to, completely ending his life. "Or I could give you at least $10K." He also offered, hoping for some sign of mercy.

"You don't get it, tiny slave. I said there would be consequences for not obeying your master." William paused. "You now live as a tiny slave and toy to service my giant feet. Let me show you what not obeying me will cost you this time." He smirked as he slammed his other foot on the floor next to Clark. He saw him jump with fear.

Clark felt the floor shake from the massive stomp. He realized that if he was under that foot, his bones would be crushed instantly. Even if he survived, he would be in extreme pain from broken bones.

"Now, who am I, my tiny slave?" William asked with his arms folded.

"Master William," Clark responded with fear of being crushed under his giant master's foot.

"And who are you?" William asked the next question.

"Your tiny slave and toy, Master William." Clark responded, scared to anger his now giant master who he had thought he had escaped by getting him fired.

"Now you see your fate is forever to be at my feet, my tiny toy slave." William raised his foot and lowered it slightly towards Clark. "Worship your giant master's foot, like a good little toy." He smirked with his arm folded.

Clark saw he was once again powerless, but this time on a permanent basis. William had all the control and he had none this time. There would be no escaping his master this time around. He either obeyed or saw his life end under his master's massive foot without the slightest empathy. He reached up and started kissing his master's socked foot. He also licked the sock even though it tasted nasty. He had to please his giant master if he wanted to live at least.

"Good boy." William laughed as he enjoyed seeing his former boss just a toy at his feet.

[gul-dukat89]

Picture source: @feeturemen

Danny was tired of seeing his cousin Hank and his boyfriend Andy coming over to the family gathering. Hank would bring Andy to every one of their family gatherings. Some in the family was supportive of his life decisions, while others just didn't bother to pay any attention to them whatsoever. Yet, he noticed that Hank and Andy would come anyway despite a mixed family reaction to them.

Danny decided that the last family gathering would be their last appearance at one, at least to everyone else. They would still be at the family gatherings, just no one else would know about it.

Three days later, while at another cousin's house, Danny pulled Hank and Andy to the side. "I am really proud of you, Hank. You really don't hide who you are despite some of the family not wanting you here." He said with a hidden motive behind his smile.

"Thanks, cuz." Hank paused. "I know some feel disappointed, but that's their problem, not mine." He held Andy's hand tight while looking his boyfriend in the face. "I am happy with who I am and who I am with. That's all that matters to me." He added.

"That's awesome. Do you mind if I take a picture of you and your boyfriend?" Danny asked. He had the app on his phone already opened and set.

"Cool with me, Danny." Hank paused. "I am glad you aren't like some of the others around here. You really accept Andy and me." He added.

"I appreciate that as well." Andy added to the conversation as both of them stood close together with their arm around each other's shoulders.

Danny held his phone camera towards the two of them. "You two will make a fine addtion to my sock collection, a very durable addition." He said as he hit the flash option. He didnt' want to give them the opportunity to even ask what he meant about it. One flash later, there was a pair of white socks on the floor where they had once stood. He scope them up off the floor and into his pocket. He had not worn socks today because he ran out of socks to wear. They would come in perfect for that use, he thought to himself. His feet were a little sweaty in his sneakers since he didn't wear any socks. He hoped they didn't mind musky and sweaty foot odor. That thought amused him. At least they will still be together, he also thought to himself as he went to the bath room to try on his new pair of socks.

Andy found himself unable to move or speak. "Hank, what happened?! I feel strange." He said, but no words were vocalized and it seem like no one heard him. He remembered Hank's cousin mention something about his sock collection, but was unable to ask a question about it. He felt a hand picking him up with ease and being stuffed into a pocket. His body felt strange and soft, even foldable. He only hoped he wasn't what he thought he was.

Hank realize too late what had happened. He felt his body feel cotton like and soft. He had no voice and no control over movement. He knew exactly what had happened to him. He had heard of some TF app that was populer online. He just never expected to be the victim of it.

Danny took off his shoes and saw how sweaty his feet looked. He smirked down at the socks in his hands. "Hope you boys like feet. If not, you will get used to it. You belong to my feet now." He laughed in a low voice. He put both socks on his feet and put his shoes back on without a second thought. He tied his sneakers and went back out to join the rest of the family. If anyone asked about them, he would tell them he last saw them outside walking around.

Hank couldn't believe what had happened to him. He believed Danny that he accepted him. He had no idea that his first cousin would literally turn him into a sock. He could only assume that his boyfriend was also a sock. He himself had a foot fetish and like having his feet worshipped on occasion, but his boyfriend was always reluctant. This was something totally different. He was now wrapped around a foot, his cousin's sweaty and stinky foot. To make it worse, the sneaker smelled even more foul than the foot he was on. Being walked on felt like a mountain crushing him over and over without death. All of that combined made this feel like a nightmare. "Someone help us! Danny turned us into socks! Help!" He mentally begged, but saw he was powerless as no one heard him since there was no way to vocalize his thoughts and pleas for help. He could only imagine his boyfriend was feeling worse since he wasn't fond of feet at all.

"NOOOOOOOO! Change me back now! Please!" Andy mentally pleaded, hoping the owner of the foot he was on would change his mind. He wanted to puke so badly. He barely touched his boyfriend's feet, let alone kiss or lick it. Now, here he was, literally on his boyfriend's cousin's foot. It was sweaty and had a musky odor. The sneaker only personified that odor even worse. Being crushed like a common sock felt so degrading and humiliating. He silently wished for death that would never come. He could hear the voices of others, but had no way to call for help. He was at the mercy of Danny's foot, and there was nothing he could do about it.

While Danny sat at the bar, he wiggled his toes in his new socks. These two boys make great socks, he thought to himself. The notion of keeping them just like this was present in his mind. He took out his phone and opened up his app. He then deleted the revert data. He thought about telling his socks that they were permanent, but who really speaks to their socks. They were just socks now, nothing more nothing less. Yet, they would be his favorite pair to wear after all. He made them super durable. They would last on his feet for many years to come. That thought amused him as he listened to the other relatives and wiggled his toes in his new socks.

[anon-sect]

Picture source: internet

Anonymous requested story

Kelvis was in shock at what his friend had asked him. They had been friends for over ten years. Murilo has asked for odd favors before, but this one really was strange.

"Are you really serious? You really want to shrink and swallow you like a snack?" Kelvis asked, wanting to be sure he really heard him right.

"Yes, exactly that." Murilo said, showing the shrinking device he brought with him. "So, will you do it?" He asked with pleading eyes, looking at his best friend.

Kelvis didn't know what to think about it. He never had a friend to ask to be shrunken and consumed as a snack. "You do realize that if I was to do this, you might never come out the way you came in?" He clarified the consequences if he really wanted this to happen.

"Honestly, why would you want it anyway?" Kelvis further asked, wanting to know why Murilo would be so willing to be his snack so badly. "Is it some kind of death wish?"

Murilo thought about it. "I have had an interest in macro ever since I saw the anime 'Attack on Titan.' The thought of being at the mercy of a giant as he eats you has been a fantasy ever since then." He paused. "So, I want you to fulfill my fantasy." He added, hoping his best friend would say yes.

Kelvis thought really hard about it. He could tell by the way Murilo was looking at him, he was practically begging him for this fantasy. "Are you really sure you want this? Once I eat you, there is no going back."

"Yes, for the last time, yes! So will you do it?" Murilo pleaded, knowing full well that once done, there would be no changing his mind.

Kelvis took the shrink/growth device and put in the setting for 1.5" tall. He pointed it at Murilo. "Don't say I didn't warn you." He hit the red button on it. As the ray of light touches Murilo, he rapidly shrunk in size. It took about a couple of minutes, but he saw a tiny 1" best friend down on the floor at his feet. He had to admit, the power play of seeing him so tiny and at his mercy was a strange and yet enjoyable feeling.

Murilo was excited. Seeing Kelvis look like a massive giant was everything he had imagined it would be or even feel like. The adrenaline was a rush, knowing he was truly at his best friend's mercy. He saw Kelvis's massive fingers pick him up off the floor and hold him close to his face to be examined.

Kelvis placed Murilo in the palm of his hand. A strange sense of dominant power flooded his imagination, while looking down at 1" Murilo in his hand. "I am strangely enjoying this. Thanks." He spoke to his tiny best friend.

Murilo found Kelvis voice very booming. Being tiny really was a totally different experience. It was also one he was enjoying so much. "You're welcome, so please eat me." He spoke.

Kelvis could barely register his tiny voice, but he knew what Murilo wanted. "As you wish, but I want to savor the taste before swallowing." He smiled. "I hope you don't mind. Even if you do, you can't do anything about it, tiny snack." He added a smirk on his face.

Murilo got even more excited to see Kelvis call him a tiny snack. He watched as his best friend opened up his mouth and dumped him inside. Once inside, he was trapped in darkness as Kelvis played with him with his tongue, sucking on him as though he was a piece of candy in his mouth. He was being drenched as all that saliva soaked him from head to foot. Kelvis continued to savor him for what felt like an eternity, sucking on him with delight.

Kelvis found the salty taste of his friend quite interesting. The more he sucked on the tiny in his mouth, the better he tasted. After a good few minutes, he decided it was time to make the tiny's dream come true. He swallowed him. As he felt him going down his throat, something happened. He felt the tiny stop moving and lodged in his throat, making it hard to breathe.

Murilo felt like he had stopped moving. "What happened? Are you alright? Oh no, are you choking right now?"

Kelvis began to panic as breathing became more difficult. With each cough, he was losing air. With Murilo lodged in his throat, he was killing him. He needed to swallow him fast. He quickly grabbed the closest drink near him. He picked up the Coke Cola bottle and began to guzzle it, hoping to force Murilo into his stomach. There was no need for both of them to die at the same time. He soon felt the tiny loosen up and slide down. He felt relieved taking in more air with a loud belch.

Murilo landed in his friend's stomach at last. His dream was fulfilled. He was eaten and swallowed by a giant. He wondered what could possibly go wrong in his fantasy become reality. He felt his flesh starting to sting. It was painful. He quickly realized it was the Coke soda that was corroding his flesh painfully. He then saw more Coke come splashing into Kelvis stomach. His flesh began to burn making his fantasy become a nightmare. His friend belched, more oxygen escaped the stomach. It was becoming extremely hard to breathe. Combined that with his flesh stinging and burning made this fantasy a painful experience at the mercy of his friend's stomach. "Help! Help me!" He screamed, hoping his friend could hear him and get him out of his stomach.

Kelvis finished off the rest of the Coke bottle, belching for more air. "That's better." He said, while patting his check and stomach. He put on a smirk. "I have to say, you were tasty though, Murilo. I hope you are happy there, because there is no getting out just like I said." He went to sit down and watch some TV while letting his stomach make quick work of the tasty snack he just had. He almost felt bad, but Murilo wanted this end. He was completely unaware of the torment his friend was enduring while he was simply watching TV.

Murilo saw that the stomach had completely muffled his pleas for help. Kelvis didn't hear a single word. He could barely hear the muffled sounds of the TV. The fact that his friend was simply relaxing and watching TV while he was suffering his stomach felt so degrading. His fantasy was a complete nightmare he wanted to escape alive at least.

Murilo soon could not fight for life anymore. He sank beneath the stomach acid that was also degrading his flesh. He soon lost all oxygen as his body sank further, ending his life without a care. His body is now slowly being broken down to nutrients to be absorbed by his best friend's body. He simply reduced to nothing but a snack and resource for Kelvis's body.

Kelvis let out one large belch. Unknown to him, he belched the spirit of his former friend, expelling it from his body while Murilo's body was being decomposed for the nourishment of his own body. He smiled at that last burp. He looked at the shrink/growth ray next to him. "I think I need another snack like that. Tiny's are very tasty." He laughed.

[mmvwriter]

Fat-gic the Snackening

(Vore-Adjacent, M/M, I need me a voracious nerd... Also technically my first story with an anthro predator I believe. Human Prey )

“UuuuurrrhhhURb…” The air in between my roommate and I became practically unbreathable as he released a belch from the side of his mouth, made from a combination of pizza, beer, and the poor guy who DoorDashed it for us. Don’t try and say I am complacent in both his horrible tipping strategy and his appetites, I tried to warn the kid but he didn’t think my five-dollar tip was adequate. The second time he knocked to complain, Raymond opened the door and well… that was about forty-five minutes and two Magic the Gathering rounds ago. That mutt’s stomach could probably digest metal but fortunately for robot kind, Raymond preferred his meals made of fur or food.

“Dude…” I looked up from my blue sleeved cards, trying to create some variety of ineffective fan to get that rancid digestive air moving. I knew Raymond’s strategy; distract me with his nasty habits or hairy belly so he could take the whole game.

“My b,” He glanced over the glasses that sat at the end of his muzzle and smirked. Raymond slowly sat back in his chair which made a quiet creaking noise while the reinforced chair held his weight. His thick tail shot out from just below his waist and brushed behind him as he thought strategy. That was one of the many habits I had picked up from being a roommate to Raymond for over a year now.

“Just play your damn turn,” I looked up from my cards and watched him start moving his swamps and forests to tap.

“So with that five mana, I am going to cast my commander, ‘Ygra, Eater of All.’ All other creatures are food now. Then with Savvy Hunter, I am gonna sacrifice two foods… put four counters of Ygra… and draw a card.” I stared at his board and how things were starting to snowball. “I pass my turn. Hurry up before ya get ate,” Raymond grinned and slapped his belly like a seal. Its mass shifted up and down, churning and loosening another blech that told the fate of its last occupant.

“Shut up, I should’ve have told you about her… I knew you’d do too much.” I tried to keep my mind on the game but Raymond picked up his belly and sat it on the table. He hiked up his shirt and wobbled its grey furred happy trail, clearly attempting to distract me (and succeeding).

“Wub wub wub…” He squished his belly into a heart and smiled, “Don’t board wipe me, you’d make me and my belly sad.” The dark grey fur grew like a whole separate beard just on his underbelly and the same was true for his chest, the curly dark ringlets wrapping around his hands as he scooped and cradled his belly. Raymond was a dense and hairy bastard but wasn’t always so open about his appetites. The shift happened somewhere between me catching him swallowing someone from his DND group as part of some kinky role play thing and me accidentally admitting I liked fatter guys. From that point on, he used his gut to tease me. I’d never admit that I would maybe consider hooking up with him but I can’t let his nerdy ass know that.

I say that as the person that got him into Magic. Seeing as I was getting my ass kicked actively , it was safe to say that my protégé had surpassed me. I thought it would be cute to suggest this commander considering his… habits… but I didn’t expect him to fine tune it so well and so quickly. The loss I was about to take was not the first against this ‘vore deck’ he had created.

“I will just play a land and pass…” My hand was full of spells that were too expensive and just lands, which would’ve been fine except I was about to get ate by Raymond’s deck. This lack of advancement on my board could’ve caused some anxiety considering I had blue land open but Raymond knew that if I had anything, it would’ve been done already.

“Awe, you’re making it too easy,” Raymond said as he pulled his gut from off the table. He used his mana to sacrifice his squirrel tokens for food, eating them for food and gaining fifteen life, and also boosted up Ygra. It only took commander damage to win the game. Raymond grinned victoriously as he sat his hand down and rubbed his belly, “I agree Ygra, squirrels are tasty.” He patted his belly before gathering up his cards. “Shit buddy, our last two games at least had a struggle. Done durdled while you got ate.” Raymond stood from the table and stretched his arms above his head, a visible hard lump settling into the underside of his gut.

“I simply can’t compete. You’re too in sync with that damn deck,” I sighed.

“Heh, no way! I always got someone in my belly when we play so while I pop off and win, you just watch my belly for free,” he raised his palms, “am I wrong?” I thought about it for a moment and then nodded.

“Not for free always, I pay for the pizza sometimes…”

“Oooh, yeah speakin’ of which,” Raymond slid off his shirt and walked over to my side of the table. I felt the soft fur that grew over the dense pudge touch my arm with a little nudge from Raymond, “How about I DoorDash us some ice cream and you can rub the next delivery guy into burps as a consolation prize?”

I say again, I am not complacent with his habits. Raymond just happens to be very convincing and that big, hairy, squishy ball of blubber helps a lot… especially when someone is squirming around inside.

[mensuniform]

[dodeedodoesatumblin]

You met the man in uniform behind the construction site.

Well more like you knew you weren’t supposed to be back there and the officer caught wind of you and found you in a restricted area.

You thought he would arrest you and take you out from back here but he simply rubbed the bulge snaking in his pants and simply gave a suggestive nod as you took the lesser of evil routes and got on your knees.

He whipped out his cock as it grew to almost a footlong as he mumbled something under his breath and gave his cock a good couple shakes at you before you opened wide and put it in your mouth.

And so you sucked him off with no complaints, though it was bigger than any dick you’ve normally sucked as he grabbed you by the back of your head and pulled you towards his hips as his dick fully snaked down your windpipe.

It caught you off guard even more so after much sucking that he suddenly exploded down your throat as you sucked and swallowed down every drop of cum that went directly towards your guts as you looked up at him simply sneering in joy as he came inside your mouth.

You thought the experience was over as he pulled out, jerking himself off and shooting a couple more ropes on his face as you tried to get up, only to be held down by the officer.

You protest, figuring you did what he wanted and you wanted to leave in return but suddenly his cock expanded in front of your face as it grew to monstrous proportions, suddenly growing massive, bigger than you in a girthy flash.

You don’t even get a chance to speak as he stuffs your head inside his massive piss slit as your upper body is pulled inside.

The officer groans and lets go of you, he raises his arms behind his head and flexes his hips back forth watching you struggle but slowly get pulled inside his cock.

You struggle, unable to speak as you open wide to protest, only to get force fed cum that shoots in your direction.

The cop continued to buck back and forth as you’re devoured whole by his cock.

You bulge downwards until his nuts expand with you descending inside as he knows your fate is completely sealed by now.

Inside you kick and struggle, it’s hot and humid inside there.

You can barely move and you’re drenched in his cum.

Suddenly his nuts start to slosh up and down and you’re tossed around. Outside the officer is laid back against some of the metal beams as he uses both hands to jerk off his titanous cock.

His balls heft up and down and no sooner did he cock Vore you were you already mixing into the cum currently flowing about in there.

With a heavy grunt of pleasure did his cock expand and throb with the heavy stream of cum that shot outwards like a firehose, coating the ground in front of him with thick ropes of cum.

The ground was splattered in thick, heavy seed as you were nothing more than white patches scattered about, soaking into the dirt, grass and concrete below.

Just in time as his radio went off asking where he was.

The officer finished shooting his last load as his cock slowly shrunk down as he stuffed it back in his pants as he zipped up and made a most flimsy excuse to his attendance as he walked back to his area.

[malevoreenthusiast]

Hockey Player Hunger

Woah! I'm not dead! I got this idea pre heated rivalry if you can believe it. I've been gone a pretty long time, huh? I'm a little rusty, so please go easy on me. :) More stories soon, perhaps?

Wyatt crashed into the locker room, taking his furor off the ice. He unequipped his gloves, chucked his helmet into a locker, and wrestled with his jersey, muttering profanities under his breath as the meshed fabric struggled against his sweaty shoulder pads. He, or rather, his team, had just fucked up the first game of their tournament. The defense was too far up their own asses to help him get through the other team and the goalie was way off in La La land letting in an embarrassing amount of shots. His team was too slow to work together and keep up with Wyatt as he did little more than slap a couple pucks into the other team’s net whilst the gap between scores grew wider and wider. Exasperatedly rubbing his face in his hands, Wyatt ruminated on every move he had made that game, meticulously scrutinizing his form and plays. He had been exceptional. He was a star. His team just hadn’t supported him in the way he needed.

This all would’ve been at least manageable if it wasn’t for the other team constantly chirping at him. They saw how hard he was working and taunted him, getting under his skin and into his head as the third period buzzed in. Wyatt tried his best to remain focused during shifts, but when the shitty ref had called a penalty on him for a dirty hit, the college athlete could do nothing but seethe as his team slowly lost him one of the most important games of the season—the first game in their collegiate tournament, a place where NHL scouters ran rampant.

This wasn’t the first time Wyatt’s anger had drowned out any semblance of tranquility. In fact, he had a college-ordered therapist to help him learn to calm down when his anger got too intense. The last time he felt this mad, the opposing team had a player sent to the hospital and Wyatt couldn’t play in games for the rest of the season (which wasn’t the end of the world, as it happened to be the season’s penultimate game). He tried the coping strategies his therapist had given him to try and quell his ire: counting the tiles in the floor, breathing in through the nose, out through the mouth, imagining himself in his happy place. 

That last one was, unfortunately, a little problematic, as Wyatt’s happy place wasn’t so much a geographical location as it was a state of being. That state of being, like every other guy in his family, was fullness. Wyatt pictured himself with a rounded bulge of a gut, filled with a helpless preyboy. A soft smile played at the athlete’s lips as he could almost feel the phantom struggling of a poor, hopeless soul inside his belly. The young man spread his legs and readjusted his grip on his hockey stick as the memories of past prey flooded through him and reminded the young hunk that he hadn’t eaten in quite some time. In his breezers and chest protector, Wyatt slowly felt the edges of his anger subside. This was zen for him. The rest of his team would still be out on the ice for a team meeting and some cooldown skates for a while longer, and since he had the special privilege of being the best damn player on the ice today, he got to throw temper tantrums and recollect his sanity in the locker rooms before anyone else did.

At least, he thought he was alone. A nearby noise prompted Wyatt to shoot a glance towards the showers. Through his squint, the hunk saw the water boy—an interning student that he had never bothered to learn the name of. Thinking to himself that he couldn’t be given just one moment of alone time, the frayed edges of the athlete’s calm came loose. Wyatt’s anger surged forward, and a flash of hatred marred his face. He thought he got the space and quietude necessary with being the best, but apparently, he wasn’t even afforded that. With a sigh that rivaled storms, Wyatt yanked off his skates and stomped over to the waterboy, who sheepishly noticed the impending hockey player and instinctively shied away at the confrontation.

“Hey,” Wyatt sneered, assessing the man before him. The water boy was short, a little lanky, and clad in some suspiciously tight clothing. He had neatly sectioned off braids that framed his handsome, soft featured face. 

The waterboy looked up at Wyatt, trying to keep his eyes off of his chiseled body, though that was a challenge even the most well-built man would fail. The star player’s shoulders easily eclipsed his own, and their height difference was the kind one would see in a young adult fantasy novel. 

“You’re in my space,” Wyatt deadpanned. It was common practice to give the waterboy a hard time, sometimes literally. Wyatt knew exactly what he wanted to do with the little prick that disturbed his meditations. Overall, he was a pleasant guy; really, he was. But sometimes, just occasionally, every little thing made Wyatt one second away from punching a hole in the wall. It was why he was so great at hockey.

“Oh, sorry, I just…” the intern awkwardly began shuffling away only to be clapped on the shoulder hard by Wyatt’s hand, calloused from years of practice in the rink. He looked scared, his slight tremble revealing his knowledge of how angry hockey players typically vented their frustrations after a loss. The water boy didn’t know Wyatt swung that way, and to confirm, he glanced down at the larger man’s breezers to check for a growing bulge. Strangely, Wyatt didn’t seem to be sporting an erection at this stage, which most other players did.

“Can you help me for a minute? It’ll be real quick.”

“Sure, man,” he sounded eager to please, but the young intern was just relieved he wasn’t going to have to suck another massive, unwashed hockey player’s cock. His jaw still hurt from the goalie’s shaft pumping in and out of him before the game.

Wyatt paused, letting the tension build, then gave the small man a gleaming smile, showing off and humbly bragging that through all these years of hockey championships, he still had all of his teeth (it didn’t matter that a couple of them were fake. They were still very pretty). The concrete floor below them made a sound of running water through the pipes as Wyatt led the poor intern, most likely starting his first year of college, back to his seat on the bench.

The two sat down together, with the stronger hunk stretching his legs far out enough for the water boy to sit in between them, which he did obediently. Wyatt ran a hand up and down the guy’s torso, feeling the familiar hardness of muscle underneath the shirt.

“You play hockey, too, bro?” A hand pressed on his chest and forced the intern to lean back against Wyatt’s glistening six-pack and pumped chest.

The water boy shifted awkwardly, trying to create distance between himself and the star player. He had thought this wouldn’t be a sexual favor, but clearly, Wyatt liked to be a little more sensual with it.

“Uhm,” he inadvertently pushed his ass against Wyatt’s groin in trying to scoot away. He definitely felt his enormous member perk up since he had approached him. “A little bit… My dad’s the assistant coach here… and said I could get on the team next year when I enroll here… maybe?” Wyatt’s hands started roaming all over the small man as he spoke, hungrily grasping at him like a plant absorbing nutrients. The water boy’s speech was awkward, and a small blush warmed his cheeks. He had sort of thought about this—dreamed of it, really—but to have this happen so suddenly and after such a bad loss? It was thrilling. 

The smell of rubber and dried sweat cut through Wyatt’s enticing body odor, much to the smaller man’s chagrin. He shifted again, and this time he definitely felt something hard pressing against his backside. A shudder made its way through the water boy. He’d heard rumors about Wyatt’s size, but if what he was feeling against him was real, he had no idea how rumors could actually underplay him. Even more scary, he had no idea how something that enormous could fit in his mouth, let alone his ass. 

“What’s your name, man?”

“It’s…uh… it’s Matthew,” he whimpered. Wyatt’s hands continued roaming up and down his torso, groping hungrily at his body like it was a piece of meat. 

Wyatt’s stomach let out a low growl, though it matched the same rumble of his animalistic groan, masking it. “Mmm, Matthew. You said you wanted to join our team next year, yes? How about you get some quality time in with your future captain, then? I could really use some relief after that game…”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Matt’s breathing was heavy, eager yet extremely nervous for how Wyatt was about to handle him. He was entirely at the mercy of this larger man, and he wasn’t sure whether that worried him or turned him on. Maybe it was both. 

Two calloused hands made their way to Matthew’s tight shorts, squeezing his ass possessively. Wyatt shifted his breezers down, letting his cock that had been pushing up past his bellybutton fully spring free. It was hot, heavy, and throbbing up Matthew’s back. He leaned down and nibbled on the shell of Matt’s ear, kissing it open-mouthed and giving himself a taste of the man before him. His savory, salty flavor was electrifying, causing Wyatt to lean back and groan. 

Gripping Matt by the hips, Wyatt supported him as he pushed him into a standing position. Matthew dared a look backwards to actually face the behemoth of Wyatt’s cock. He needed to make an active effort not to gasp. How the hell did he hide something so fucking huge? How was he going to be able to walk after this at all? The worry and awe must’ve been obvious on Matthew’s face because Wyatt wrapped a large hand—which didn’t even cover a quarter of his member—around his dick and chuckled. 

“Pretty nice, huh?” A glob of precum slowly seeped out of its weeping tip. 

“It’s… wow, that’s big.” Matthew’s eyes traveled down the immense shaft, focusing on the hockey player's giant balls that rested between his muscular thighs. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll make it fit.”

Matthew gulped and felt his body being pushed back downward, Wyatt readying himself to plunge into his newfound hole. He was maybe lowered by three inches before he already was met with a monstrous, leaking cock head. Thank god Wyatt’s dick was leaking this much, lubricating both cock and hole; otherwise, Matthew was sure that taking his cock would be genuinely impossible. Reflexively, Matt clenched his ass, afraid to take this much cock at once. The biggest dick he’d taken before—ironically, also a member of the hockey team—was less than half this size. 

Wyatt tutted at Matt’s hesitance. “Come on, Matthew. You want this as much as I do, right?”

The smaller man sheepishly nodded in response, trying to relax. He felt Wyatt’s hand wrap around his lower stomach, pulling him closer once again, this time breaching his hole. As Wyatt entered into Matt, he groaned obnoxiously. Again, his stomach growled loudly, not obfuscated by his other noises this time. Matt didn’t think too much of it, as he was preoccupied with trying not to split in two from the sheer monster Wyatt hid between his legs. 

“Fuck me, you’re so fucking tight for me,” Wyatt breathed out. 

Matthew wasn’t tight. Not even close. In fact, just that morning a defenseman had stretched him loose to let off steam before the game. Matthew’s hole was still open and abused from earlier in the day. He wasn’t tight so much as Wyatt was just insanely big. A slick, wet sound signaled the excruciatingly painful process of Wyatt pulling Matthew to take all of his cock. At about halfway down, Wyatt had to pause, gripping one of Matt’s shoulders and biting his lip. 

“Fuck. You feel so good on me. Holy fuck. Just—Just give me a minute. Haven’t done this for a while,” Wyatt managed to say, trying his hardest not to come. His face was contorted in pleasure, panting as he shifted under Matthew. 

Seeing how needy Wyatt suddenly looked, Matt felt a sudden urge to push the hockey player a little bit. Biting down to stop himself from crying out in pain, he slid himself down Wyatt’s shaft more, feeling the rock-hard cock continue to ravage his insides with zero effort. A thin veil of sweat formed all over his body as the Herculean cock twitched inside of him. Every throb, every vein, every minuscule shift could be felt by the smaller guy as Wyatt tried his hardest not to burst from feeling himself be so tightly and warmly stimulated. 

Matt smiled lightly to himself, happy to see how much Wyatt was enjoying his ass. His own cock was hard just from watching him shudder in pleasure. Matthew tried to push himself down further, but a hand squeezed his hip in warning, holding him in place. 

“I said,” Wyatt growled, “give me a fucking minute.”

Matt froze, suddenly worried that he had gotten too eager. He held his breath while Wyatt seemed to take up most of the air in the room with his heavy breathing. Through nervous eyes, Matt watched the hockey player’s muscular chest rise and fall as he tried to calm himself before spilling into the water boy. They stayed in that position for what felt like an hour, which gave each man enough time to get used to each dizzying sensation the other was giving them. 

Finally, Wyatt’s breathing seemed to grow more even, his eerie calm restored. With his iron-grip wrapped around one of Matt’s hips and one of his shoulders, the captain of the hockey team let out a soft grunt, stilling his movement, and pulled down, hard. A loud slap of skin-on-skin contact was the first sense Matthew’s brain registered. Then, a flood of firery pain rushed in. Wyatt had just slammed his remaining length into him, or rather, he had just impaled Matt on his remaining length. Without any preparation, Matt opened his mouth to scream in pain, but he suddenly found his throat completely dry. He looked down and saw a very stretched bulge in his abdomen, signaling where Wyatt’s dick was throbbing inside of him. He now sat squarely on Wyatt’s lap, a place he’s sure he’s dreamed about before, albeit under much more romantic circumstances. His insides felt entirely alight with pain, but he clamped down on his words, unable, and perhaps unwilling to say stop. His own cock was still painfully hard through all of this, so he can’t say he didn’t want it. 

“There we go,” Wyatt growled in Matt’s ear, rubbing over the bulge his dick was making on Matthew. “You feel so fucking good around me. So tight for me. Tell me it’s the best dick you’ve ever had.”

Horrifyingly, Wyatt’s hands began roaming all over Matt’s body as Wyatt whispered into the back of his neck. If he wasn’t tearing up in pain, he’d begin to worship his future-captain, trying to pleasure him as much as he could. Matthew was too scared to move for fear of ripping himself apart. A small whimper escaped him, which, fortunately, Wyatt seemed to deem as an acceptable answer. Unfortunately, that made his hips start moving with lust. 

The hockey player gripped Matthew by his sides, lifting him up with ease. The bulge in his stomach lessened for a moment, only to be replaced a moment later as Wyatt pulled him back down onto his lap with a soft plap. A string of pleasure-fraught profanities tumbled from Wyatt’s mouth, showering Matt with praise like roses at a curtain call. His heart raced, unsure if he would be able to survive this inhuman cock he found himself pierced on. The idea occurred to him that even if he wanted to get off, he didn’t know if Wyatt would let him. Even worse, Matthew liked that. As the hunk began using him as a living fucktoy, the guilty thought invaded his mind like a fog: there was no place else he’d rather be. 

His pace quickened, and along with it, his ferocity. Within minutes, Wyatt was beginning to come undone. He began slamming Matthew down on his shaft while moaning about how good he fit around his cock. At the same time, he instinctively thrust upwards, reveling in the feeling of Matthew’s guts literally rearranging themselves to accommodate Wyatt. The hockey player’s breathing became more and more ragged, filling the ambience of the locker room with obnoxious sounds of gratification. As his composure quickly unraveled, Wyatt began to use more force, more pressure on his living fleshlight. Gripping him hard enough to bruise, Wyatt’s aggression kicked up a notch as his climax neared, going far too fast for Matthew to handle. He opened his mouth to speak, but was immediately met with two rough fingers reaching into his mouth, stopping any protest he might have vocalized. Matthew swirled his tongue around Wyatt’s digits, wishing he could feel the heavy weight of his cock in his mouth instead. This was probably for the better though, as Wyatt’s dick would definitely have popped Matt’s jaw and maybe done permanent damage to his throat. Instead he was going to have permanent damage to his ass, which wasn’t ideal, but fuck if it wasn’t hotter than anything he’s felt before. 

With increased fervor, Wyatt began panting in between a rapid piston of thrusts, “Fuck yeah, you gonna let me cum in your ass? You wanna take this big fuckin’ load?”

Matthew let out a pathetic whimper in response, and his body was lifted up violently, the cold air sending electric shivers throughout his spine. Wyatt wove his arms under Matt’s armpits and laced his fingers behind his head, putting him in a masterlock position. Wyatt pounded into his toy, screaming out profanities as his cock throbbed to even greater proportions in anticipation for an egregious climax. The slapping sound as Matthew was viciously pumped into started ringing in his ears, almost making him faint from the pure overstimulation. Just as the edges of Matthew’s vision were going blurry, Waytt shouted, bottoming out inside of him.

A warm, fuzzy feeling started pooling in Matthew’s stomach. Wyatt’s arms had wrapped themselves around Matt’s chest, holding him in place as he hung his forehead on Matthew’s neck, hot breath adding to the intensity Wyatt’s fucktoy felt. The warm feeling in his gut bloomed into a strange discomfort, tangible in a way he hadn’t felt before. Languidly dragging his eyes down, Matthew watched in shock as his stomach started ballooning outwards. Wyatt’s load was responsible for the paradoxically euphoric and uncomfortable feeling. His burgeoning lean gut swelled until he looked heavily pregnant, Wyatt grunting light threats about not letting Matthew spill a single drop. Somewhere along the lines, Matthew must have also came, judging by the streaks of white, hot jizz contrasting his skin along his torso. Wyatt fucked him so good that he didn’t even realize how hard he came, either, earning a huff of laughter from the abused bottom.

Wyatt, blissed out and debauched, felt his stomach growl again, complaining that he hadn’t already gotten on with the main event. The star hockey player sat both of them back down on the bench, flowering Matthew with light kisses and lots of tongue as they slowly came down from the high. With his cock still lightly throbbing inside the water boy, Wyatt murmured something into the back of Matt’s head, arms still wrapped possessively around him.

“What? Sorry?” Matthew tightened his face, still trying to form one coherent thought after that life-changing fuck.

“You taste really fucking good.”

Matthew hummed, unsure what kind of innuendo Wyatt was trying to make, and still way too exhausted to try to piece it together. He leaned back into the larger man, pushing his braids back to let his entire flushed face feel the mildewy locker room air—an unsatisfying reprieve for how on fire his body felt, but it was a relief nonetheless. He tilted his head back, eyes shut and content. He heard a popping noise behind him, and in an instant, his entire world shifted.

Wyatt engulfed his prey’s head entirely, wrapping his lips around Matt’s neck lightly. His tongue ran over his sweaty skin, coaxing out the salty-savory flavor like he’s done so many times before. His cock stiffened slightly, still being warmed by Matt’s gaping hole. Wyatt’s throat bulged out, and his flat six-pack pleasantly grumbled, aware of what was about to transpire. Wyatt twitched, bringing his arms up to feel what was happening around his head. Cutting him off, Wyatt clamped down on Matt’s biceps, bunching up his shoulders together, and took a beefy gulp, sentencing his prey’s head to bulge out his throat. The feeling was euphoric, and Wyatt’s anger eased up, if only a little. Taking his anger out with sex and then filling his gut up with the hookup was simple, easy, efficient. His brothers and fathers taught him how to do this when he was of age, and the habit stuck with him even now, even through his mandated therapist.

Wyatt pushed Matthew up into his mouth, feeling his torso begin to slide down his tight, wet, beckoning throat. With dawning pleasure, Wyatt could feel his stomach’s valve stretch wide as his prey’s head entered his stomach chamber. There wasn’t much in there, as he usually didn’t have much more than a smoothie and some protein bars before afternoon games, which meant Matt would get the place all to himself. A calloused hand patted the side of the hockey player’s growing belly, smacking it with much the same sound as his earlier thrusts made. The feeling was sparking even more intense desire within the athlete, and his cock was again fully erect, pumping precome into his prey with need. He chuckled warmly, the vibrations of his chest sent a buzz throughout Matt’s now half-engulfed torso.

The predator lifted his prey’s body upward, off of his needy cock and into the air to allow a slow, sinking swallowing process. Wyatt’s lips widened around Matthew’s come-bloated belly, proud of himself for the cream filling he cheffed up for his prey. Resonant gulps ushered more of the water boy’s body down into Wyatt’s still expanding belly. A pair of shoulders and arms spilled into his gut, followed shortly by a chest painted in cum. His tight abdominal muscles adhered religiously to the body that stretched his belly out. Wyatt pressed his hand roughly where Matt’s head is, rubbing it brutally as his frantic squirms began to heighten, the reality of the situation beginning to become apparent.

Unfortunately, the snake-like devourment continued without hindrance. Wyatt relaxed his throat, letting it bulge even further with Matt’s gut, putting his attention towards slurping down his muscular pair of legs. If it wasn’t clear that he played hockey before, Wyatt immediately recognized the very developed set of quads on his meal, revealing that he truly was devouring an incoming prospect for the collegiate team. In recognition of this, Wyatt crammed Matt’s thighs down his throat in a brutal motion. The idea of extinguishing a future team member’s chance was exactly the kind of cruelty Wyatt needed to get his catharsis. Plus, his dad was the assistant coach, so as team captain, Wyatt wasn’t about to let nepotism influence the team composition.

The rounded gut sat heavily on Wyatt’s lap, weighing down his still hard cock. He bucked his hips lightly, stimulating his eager shaft against the hard weight of his growing belly. Most of Matt was already tucked inside the athlete’s stomach by now, but there was still a small amount of the guy left on the outside world. Eager to finish him off, Wyatt opened his throat, letting the slimy noise of Matt’s calves and feet join their final resting place along with the rest of his body. The persistent bliss Wyatt felt was exactly what he needed to quell his anger, other coping methods be damned. Looking down beneath the swell of his pecs, the hockey player rubbed gently over his gurgling belly, thankful that Matthew made for such a good stress-reliever, meal, and cum-dump all in one. 

“Fuck,” Wyatt moaned out, leaning his head back and lazily rubbing his actively moving gut. “Just keep squirming for me, man. Make your captain feel good—UUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP! That’s it, just like that.”

Wyatt would allow himself to float happily in bliss for just a few more minutes before cleaning himself and the floor up. It appeared that when he lifted Matt off his cock, he had accidentally let a disgusting amount of semen spill from his hole. Just as the initial waves of pleasure began winding down, he heard the telltale noise of the locker room door swing open. A heavy pair of footsteps grew louder as a voice called out to him.

“Yo! Cushy,” Wyatt’s nickname alerted him that a teammate had come to check on him. “Coach wants to see if you’re alright, and he also wants me to tell you to get your ass back on the ice for cooldown skates.”

Wyatt’s eyes shot open, recognizing the voice as anger rushed back in him like it never left. Indignant and petulant, he stood up to meet the person who was calling him back on the ice with fury. Of all people, they sent Sparky—the goalie—to come grab him. The very same goalie who had let in an embarrassing six goals in their first tournament game. He, of all people, came to check on Wyatt after his pathetic performance? He wanted to check in on him? Could they not have sent anybody else?

James Sparkman turned the corner to find the row Wyatt had made his mess in, stopping instantly and freezing in shock. “Wyatt…what the fuck did you do?” His voice was slow and measured, taking in the sight of his captain’s lowhanging, swollen gut as obvious handprints bulged out the skin that usually was tight against his abs. Right under it, his enormous, hard, leaking cock hung down like a third leg, throbbing for stimulation.

There are certain obligations one must make when becoming the captain of a hockey team. Time, surely, is one of them. You need to be the first on the ice and the last to leave. Observational skills was another, as a good captain was able to find flaws in his teammate’s play and correct them. One other obligation a captain must have is emotional maturity. The captain should always be the first to line up for handshakes and the morale booster at the end of a bad loss. Wyatt was, up until today, a really good captain. He could handle most things. He made sure never to let his anger show too openly in front of his teammates (except for when he got into brawls on the ice, but that was just standard hockey), he made sure to watch them closely and help them when they falter, and he was happy to lead the team in drills and warmups every single practice.

Something he could not handle, however, was his sorry excuse for a goalie judging Wyatt for something that was invariably his own fault. Wyatt’s plays had been flawless. As first line center, he scored a hat trick—in a tournament, no less. Sparky, on the other hand, had let in even more goals than Wyatt had scored. So, for his terrible goalie to come in and start ordering Wyatt around like they were anywhere remotely on the same level—Wyatt was not too keen on listening to what James had to say.

“Dude…Cap…pull yourself together, man. It’s just one loss. We’ll get ‘em next time.” Sparky still looked horrified as Matthew pleaded for his life inside the captain’s belly. His eyes raked over his naked captain, debauched, fists clenched in rage, and eyes narrow and cold.

“...Pull myself together,” Wyatt spat the words as if they were poison on his tongue. He drummed his fingers on his belly, ruminating for much less time than he should’ve about how he was going to ‘pull himself together.’

“Yeah, just…I’m gonna go tell Coach you need another minute. Let…whoever that is out and get back on the ice.”

The goalie turned to leave, grimacing as he did so, wondering if he’ll ever be able to get the sight of Wyatt’s toned, naked body with a grotesquely bulging gut and rock-hard dick out of his mind. Probably not. Wyatt hid his anger well, so for it to show so openly was quite the shock. Before James could take a step towards the door, a pair of hands seized his shoulders. He didn’t even have the time to look back before a greedy mouth opened wide and plunged his world into darkness.

Absolutely fuming, Wyatt yanked his goalie towards him, forcing him against his huge belly. Goalie pads and all, the irate captain swallowed once, twice, three times in rapid succession, paying zero attention to how foul his teammate’s gear tasted. This time, swallowing his prey brought him no reprieve, but he still felt the urge to tank him out of pure principle. The synthetic leather almost made Wyatt gag, but the idea that his goalie was screaming and thrashing about in terror was too delicious. He funneled the large man down his throat with one frustrated grunt after another. 

Much to his delight, Wyatt’s belly stretched even further, filling the captain with a deep, much-needed satisfaction. His stomach felt heavy, gurgling and churning its contents hard. Wyatt pulled the goalie pads past his lips, grimacing but too stubborn to stop for even a moment. His belly let out a whining groan, unaccustomed to stretching its sphincter muscle so wide to let such a bulky figure in. Wyatt just patted his gut for a moment, thankful that he had the ability to handle lazy fucks who let in six goals for their first tournament game. 

Inside the belly, James was disoriented and wildly flailing his arms, feeling himself smack into the other occupant inside his captain’s gut. Widening his eyes, he recognized instantly the face of the assistant captain’s son. Still in a panic, he squirmed and struggled as hard as he could, pressing his gloved hands to his ears in attempts to drown out the disgusting, slick sounds of Wyatt’s happy belly as it gently tenderized its two human meals. With horrifying clarity, Sparky felt he was able to move his legs again, meaning only one thing: his team captain had swallowed him whole, pads and all.

Wyatt heaved a massive sigh, jostling his behemoth belly around and chuckling. Hefting up the weight and dropping it back down, the hunk was very proud of himself for downing such a hulking guy with so much speed. His gut complained noisily, upset that he had forced the meal in so quickly, but overall still happy he got to fill his belly further.

Crashing himself against some standing lockers, Wyatt appreciated his belly’s noises and took a minute to rub over it lustfully. Staring down at the titanic gut, his pecs rose and fell with his deep breaths, slowing his heart rate. Now would be as good a time as any, so Wyatt began holding counts for his breath, trying to quell his pounding chest and calm his anger. Ideally, he would have done this before swallowing a teammate and water boy whole, but those are just miscellaneous details he and his therapist could worry about later. 

Wyatt’s breathing exercises, surprisingly, helped the college athlete calm down a little, though that may also be in part to his gurgling belly happily bloating beneath him. As his goalie struggled inside of him, he felt the crass urge to expel some of the air he was kicking up with all of his resistance. Pounding his chest with his fist, Wyatt let out a rink-shaking:

bbbbbbbBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBRRRRuuuuUUUUUUUUUOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!

A tense ding rang out in the emptied locker room as Sparkman’s goalie mask flew out of Wyatt’s wide-open mouth and slammed into a locker. He snorted and smacked his gut on the side, proud of himself for such a manly belch, and hopefully, smug in his torment of his ass goalie.

“Fuck you, dickhead. How’s it feel being in my gut? Think I’ve pulled myself together enough? Huh? What’s that? Can’t hear you over how much you’re squirming. Just settle in there, Sparky…you’re not going fucking anywhere.”

Both of Wyatt’s hands roamed the obscene belly bulge, feeling the undulating imprints with smug pride. He moaned obnoxiously and belched out the side of his mouth, drunk on his belly’s fullness. After a noxious fart, Wyatt devolved into a fit of giggles, amused by his belly-fillers’ torment.

“Ah, god—BBEEELLLCCCHHHH—Coach is gonna fucking kill me. God, though, was it worth it.”

Wyatt is so lost in his haze that he didn’t register the locker room door opening once again several minutes later. This time, he was fully exposed to the man who just walked in, staring at the star player rubbing his gut with a deeply sickening look of fondness in his eyes. He observed his still-hard cock, snaking up the curve of his gut, and the discarded rag that Wyatt had gotten from Matthew to clean up his mess. The intruder’s eyes flicked briefly to the goalie mask Wyatt had just dispelled from his squirming gut. When his gaze returned, Wyatt was staring right at the assistant coach, his smug look crumbling to guilt, gray eyes scanning for any reaction from Matthew’s father.

A wave of guilt coursed through Wyatt’s body, suddenly faced with an authority figure he needed to obey in order to continue playing hockey. He whipped his hands away from his belly, wanting to appear less hedonistic than he absolutely was. Still, a symphony of wet, obnoxiously braggadocious gurgles came from the man’s belly, singing out how happy it was to have not one but two delicious morsels tucked away in its chamber. In order to try and calm down his assistant coach before he took action, Wyatt numbly opened his mouth to stutter out an explanation, but he was cut off with his coach’s accusatory finger pointing at his bulging gut.

“Is that…Is that my boy in there?” His voice broke with emotion as he asked.

Wyatt decided to keep his tone carefully neutral, “Mmm, yeah. That’s him in there.”

His coach brought a hand up to cover his mouth in horror. Seeing his star player with his gut full of his own son must’ve been quite terrifying. It couldn’t have been made better by the fact that, if what Matthew said was true, his coach had plans to get his boy onto the team with Wyatt within the next year, and Wyatt had…expidited the process, if you could stretch the definition of joining the team this far.

With a shaky breath, the coach nervously looked Wyatt in the eyes. He kept his voice low and stern, not wanting to anger the predator in front of him: “And that’s Sparkman in there, too?” 

Wyatt nodded with a pursed smile, running a hand along the surface of his dome as he stifled a belch.

With an exaggerated gulp, the assistant coach pushed further. “Look, son, I know there’s…no reason you need to listen to me in this situation, but that’s my kid in there. He’s a good man, Wyatt. He wanted to be a part of the team next year.”

The unspoken question hung in the air between them. The tension was thick and dense like fog. Under any other circumstance, Wyatt would listen to his coach without hesitation. However, when it came to the prey Wyatt conquered, he had no obligation to listen to Matt’s dad. There were no cameras in the locker room for obvious reasons, so if Wyatt had cleaned up after himself like he had intended, then it would be as if Matthew was just like any other snatched prey—Wyatt couldn’t be held responsible. Wyatt’s eyes shifted around his coach, not willing to heed his words just yet. His avoidance only pushed the father closer, trying again.

“Please, son. Please let my boy go. I’ll… let you be on the first line for the rest of the season? I can make sure you have more time on the ice than anyone else, just. Just please, Wyatt, let my son out.”

Wyatt’s attention snapped towards his coach at the offer. His mind could be playing tricks on him, but that sounded like a thinly veiled threat, as if he wouldn’t stay on the starting line or get ice time if he kept his—rightfully fought for—prey where he belonged. Nevermind that, he didn’t even mention the goalie he had gulped down, too, meaning he didn’t actually care about the morality of the situation. He only cared about his son, and he would use any underhanded tactics to get him out of Wyatt’s belly. Implying that Wyatt didn’t earn his spot on the first line and that his ice time was a privilege he was given rather than something he tirelessly proved himself to be worthy of made a pool of familiar rage burn in his chest.

Cocking an eyebrow, Wyatt asked, “You’ll let me stay on the first line?”

“Come on, bud. I’m sure we can work something out?”

There was nothing to be worked out, Wyatt thought. Asking a pred to release their prey was already a massive overstep, especially if the pred hadn’t done anything underhanded to earn their meal, which Wyatt never had to. Matt practically crawled down his throat. Sort of. Regardless, Wyatt was under no pressure to listen to his coach order him about anything other than hockey and team dynamics. Plus, if the bullets of sweat his coach was dripping were anything to go by, he knew this too. Threatening him for something he had no dominion over was spineless—it was pathetic. Matthew was food. That’s it.

“Suck my dick,” Wyatt scoffed, unable to bite back his ire.

Wyatt turned around to grab Matthew’s rag and begin cleaning up the mess, finished with the idiotic conversation. He made it several paces away before his coach, who hadn’t taken the hint yet, mumbled something then cleared his throat.

“What was that?” Wyatt snarked.

“I said okay.”

Without preamble, his assistant coach strode over to the star athlete and dropped to his knees. Wyatt hardly had time to register what was going on before he felt a plush pair of lips wrap around his wet, desperate tip. The coach’s tongue swirled around his head, causing Wyatt to stumble back and moan in a surprised delight. He didn’t mean ‘suck my dick’ literally, but fuck, his coach was talented. Maybe taking cock this good ran in the family.

Matt’s dad widened his jaw as far as he could, trying with reverence to slurp down even a fraction of Wyatt’s beast. The predator’s gut was in the way, so he had to press his forehead up against the mass of flesh, listening intently to the screaming and gurgles of the two occupants trapped inside his belly. It was horrible, and unfortunately, Wyatt seemed to notice.

“You wanna save your boy? You’re gonna need to suck harder than that, coach.”

Wyatt bucked his hips, feeling himself stretch out his coach’s throat. The man hollowed his cheeks out as best he could (though, in truth, Wyatt was so girthy that not much hallowing was necessary) and tried to relax as Wyatt tried to push himself down his coach’s tight, constrictive throat.

“God, you’re tight…just like your son.”

The coach gagged at the chirp, letting out a muffled gasp at the revelation that Wyatt had fucked his son before devouring him. He knew the star player could be arrogant, cocky, and pretentious—he deserved it. He was the best player, after all. But this was just cruelty.

Doubling his efforts, the coach tried to push past the burning feeling at the back of his throat as Wyatt pushed deeper into him. While the coach himself was never a pred, his uncle had the gene, meaning that there might have been some recessive part of him in his blood that carried it. That seemed like the most likely explanation, otherwise there would be no way he could stretch his jaw as wide as he was to take this throbbing cock.

Through immense willpower, determination, and disassociation, the coach eventually found himself sniffing Wyatt’s trimmed, musky pubes. His eyes opened momentarily, and the locker room seemed shrouded in night, thanks to the man’s belly above him, blocking out all light. His throat constantly massaged and involuntarily swallowed around Wyatt’s shaft, making the hockey player groan and hump against his coach with delight. If he just stayed here for a little bit longer, Wyatt would come, he’d get his son back, and they’d never have to speak of this again.

Unfortunately, Wyatt’s dick had other ideas. As Wyatt trembled in pleasure with his coach between his legs, a warm, relaxed feeling spread throughout his hazy mind, spreading down to his dick, which twitched. Hard. Then once more, it twitched, bulging larger in his coach’s definitely bruised throat. Wyatt shut his eyes and tilted his head back in want, giving in fully to the temptation of what his body was seeking. He let out a weak chuckle, vaguely recognizing but not entirely present for what was about to happen.

The enormous cock twitched again, growing another inch in length, rounding out more in girth. The sensation, even with underdeveloped pred genes, was too much for Matthew’s father. Wretching, he gagged up the steel-hard cock. With Wyatt’s monster free, it began growing faster, curving upwards gently and shining in its layer of saliva left on it. The coach's eyes widened in horror, and he slowly backed away from the athlete, who was moaning softly and bucking his hips with infantile want. He appeared to be so drunk on hedonism that he barely was registering what his body was doing for him. 

As the coach crawled backwards from the ever-growing dick, he felt his back press up against the hard wood of the benches. He had nowhere to go, and Wyatt’s cock showed no sign of slowing down its growth. In a panic, the coach shouted at Wyatt, desperately pleading to stop this. It evidently fell on deaf ears, as Wyatt only rubbed his belly, bit his lip, and leaked more precome as his dick snaked ever closer to the coach.

Just as Matt’s dad was about to steel himself to make a run for it, he felt a pressure pushing his feet together. Looking down in abject horror at his legs, Wyatt’s cock slit had already opened up and enveloped the coach’s feet and ankles into the star player’s shaft. There was a sick, sick smile plastered on the athlete’s face as the new pleasing sensation coursed through him. Flexing his dick, Wyatt slurped up his coach’s lower legs into his human-hungry shaft moaning in sheer ecstasy.

The coach reached his hands towards the edge of the bench, trying to leverage himself against the predator and wrench himself up and free, or at least pull a part of him out of his player’s dick. Unfortunately, and, predictably, at this point, as he did so, Wyatt’s cock simply snaked up his now straightened legs, threatening to engulf the rest of him quickly. The thick, throbbing, veiny shaft squelched precum around the coach’s waist, seemingly lubricating him up before sucking down the rest of him. The coach could see the bulge in Wyatt’s shaft where his legs were. Trying to move them was futile. All of the muscles he spent years developing were no match for this one man’s greedy cock.

Wyatt’s balls had grown significantly, too, waiting patiently on the cold, concrete floor to accept the meal his shaft was eagerly working on. The man himself seemed occupied with making out with his bicep as he continued groaning like a pornstar at the euphoric, erotic feelings he was experiencing. Catastrophe aside, the man was a fucking spectacle. 

The massive cock finished the rest of the coach with relative haste, slurping him up like a snake engulfing its victim. The wasted attempts at reasoning couldn’t be heeded by Wyatt, and the struggling to break free were quickly shut down by his cock. With nothing left to do but whine and hope this would convince the hockey player to let his son go, the coach quietly, sadly, accepted defeat as his head was slowly swallowed up and wrapped tightly inside the man’s cock.

After several more minutes, Wyatt came crashing back down, realizing what he’d done. Looking down at his engorged balls, he winced, regretting immediately swallowing his coach like this. If he had his wits about him, he definitely wouldn’t have let one loss make him spiral this far. He wasn’t even that angry anymore. And, while yes, eating these three guys helped enervate that rage, he still hadn’t done the one thing that got rid of his anger better than even stretching his body with delicious prey—talk to his boyfriend. He estimated that he had about ten more minutes before his team would come back into the locker room after cool downs, so he had to be quick.

His phone rang three times before Luca picked up. Wyatt got to admire the sweet, blond, wavy hair and adorable pair of glasses he featured in his profile photo as the call waited to be answered, and he could feel his heart melt just by thinking of him. He didn’t have a good excuse for why he waited this long to call him, except for maybe that he wanted to act like a child before actually solving the problem. But, he was here now, and surely that counted for something, right?

“Hey, baby.”

“Luca!” Wyatt practically cheered.”I miss you, my love.”

“I miss you too. I saw the game. That was a great goal in the second period. I’m sorry about the loss, but you were killer out there,” he waited a beat before continuing, “and fucking sexy, too.”

Wyatt chuckled, already feeling the permanence of his anger dissapate “Thank you, sweetheart. I—BBBBBBBBBBBBBBuuuuuuuuuuoooooooooooOOOOUUUUUURRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPP!”

The predator cringed as he gave himself away. He looked down at his belly, biting his lip in a half-hearted attempt at regret. He didn’t really want to explain to Luca about his outburst, but it wasn’t exactly like that was a normal belch that just anyone could produce. Luca seemed to know that, too. 

“Wyatt,” he deadpanned, voice tinny through the phone speaker in the acoustics of the locker room. 

“…Yeah baby?”

“What was that?”

“Okay, Please don’t be mad—” Wyatt mumbled into the phone, guilt layering into his voice like mud. 

“Wyatt.” Luca warned again. “Tell me what happened.” His voice wasn’t angry, so to speak, but it was certainly stern, which was almost worse. He hated the idea of disappointing Luca, but worse than that would be lying to him. 

“I…uh. I got pretty mad after the loss. So I ditched cooldowns to try and do those breathing practices Dr. Thales taught me, or, like, at least get some space to clear my head...”

“Okay,” Luca prompted Wyatt to continue. 

“And then as I sat down and started trying to do all that stuff, I, uh, I saw the water boy? And I sorta…you know.”

Wyatt felt very small as he explained his actions to Luca. As he said it out loud, he realized just how much of a temper tantrum he’d thrown. He waited to reveal the worst part of this, the guilt fastening into his chest like a lump of lead, weighing him down.

“I just haven’t really eaten much today because it’s an afternoon game, so like, I just wanted some alone time, and he was kinda interrupting that? So I, y’know…swallowed him.” After a couple pounding heartbeats, Wyatt added in a slurred mumble, “Andthegoalieandassistantcoachtoo.”

“Huh? I think you cut out or something, babe.”

“And the goalie and assistant coach too.” Wyatt spat through a miserable wince, already anticipating the scolding he was going to receive. To corroborate his story, his gut let out a particularly brutal churn, definitely picked up by the call. Wyatt delicately rubbed over his stomach, trying to quiet it down and tell it that they were both in trouble. There was a chilling silence on the other end of the call. Wyatt shifted on his feet and swallowed. “Luc? You still there?”

“I’m here.”

“Are you mad?” He sounded pathetic even to himself.

Luca took a long, excruciating pause followed by a deep breath, easing into a, “No…but you have to let them out.”

“What? Seriously?” Wyatt was incredulous.

“They’re on your team, Wyatt. One of them is your coach. I know it might have felt great at the moment, but think about what comes after this. You can’t just take your anger out on anyone and anything. It’s not healthy. You know this.”

“Mmm,” Wyatt acquiesced, begrudgingly seeing the logic his boyfriend provided.

“And you have to tell Dr. Thales.”

“Oh, come on!”

 “That’s not up for debate, my love. You need to talk about this sort of thing, or else how are you going to improve?”

Wyatt groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, detesting the fact that Luca was right. Most of the relief he felt at sentencing three guys to digestion was gone, anyway, and he’d probably just feel a bit of regret for taking out the goalie and coach the next day. He could exercise his cruelty and hunger on literally anyone else. Hell, if he went to the gym, he knew he had at least a dozen willing prey that would pleasure him and fill him up any way he pleased. Eating these guys: the goalie, who didn’t even taste good through his gear, and the coach, who he didn’t ever actually intend on eating, was definitely not the best way to handle his mood swings.

“Yeah, okay,” Wyatt affirmed. “But, uh, I think the water boy’s already kinda… I don’t think he’s in a state where I should let him out.”

“That’s okay. We don’t have to get better all at once,” Luca replied, a little too hastily. “Plus I’m taking you out tonight. I made reservations for that Italian place across from Drayden’s Bar. I wanna see you squeeze that gut into a suit, mister.”

Wyatt blushed at his boyfriend’s perversion in the midst of his stern talking-to. “You made reservations?” A love-sick expression bloomed on Wyatt’s face, entirely too fond of his boyfriend.

“Yeah—celebrations if you won, ‘you’ll get ‘em next time’ if you lost,” Luca explained.

“I love you.”

“I know. I love you, too. Now let them out and come back home so we can get ready. And do it before your team comes back. How have they not already walked in on you?”

A dawning realization that his team should be back in the locker room any minute snapped Wyatt out of his adoration. “Oh, shit! Fuck. Okay, sorry. I gotta go. I love you, talk to you soon.”

“Talk to you soo—” Wyatt ended the call before Luca could finish.

Back in the subtle ambience of the locker room, Wyatt heaved a sigh, reckoning with the fact that he was going to feel much more empty in a few minutes. Still, he at least got to keep his original meal. Before he was about to start the unappealing process of saving his goalie and coach from digestion, Wyatt’s phone buzzed with a text from Luca.

Send a pic before you let them out? Love you <3Wyatt scoffed and shook his head, eyes melting at his sweet, sweet boyfriend. He obeyed resolutely, finding a large mirror and flexing a bicep as the camera showed off his enormous, bulging belly and engorged, throbbing cock. He snapped the picture with a smirk. Just the thought of Luca wanting this already redoubled Wyatt’s arousal, meaning jacking off until his dick spit up his coach was going to be a breeze. He quickly began working at it, gripping his shaft with two hands, not even close to being able to wrap around his girth, and let his mind fill with thoughts of Luca and nothing else. As he quickly obeyed his boyfriend’s demands, letting out two of this three prey, he had one thought that he couldn’t stop smiling to himself with: God, how the hell did he make me so fucking whipped?

[alexalphajack]