The locker room smelled like sweat, turf, and cheap body spray, the kind of thick, masculine funk that clung to everything after a brutal Friday practice. Most of the team had already cleared out—showering, laughing, slapping towels at each other on their way to the parking lot. Only a few stragglers remained, and the waterboy, twenty-year-old Ethan, was doing what he always did: quietly wiping down the benches, restocking the cooler, and trying not to get in anyone’s way.
He was small for a college guy—lean, wiry, barely 5’6”—with messy brown hair and wide, nervous eyes that never quite met anyone’s gaze for long. The players liked him well enough. He was reliable. Quiet. Easy to overlook. Easy to forget about once the adrenaline of the game wore off.
The heavy metal door to the showers clanged shut, and the last voice faded down the hall. Ethan bent over to pick up a stray water bottle when a low, rumbling voice cut through the silence behind him.
Ethan straightened fast, nearly dropping the bottle. There, leaning against the lockers with his arms crossed over a broad, still-damp chest, was Marcus “Mace” Harley—senior linebacker, 6’4”, two-hundred-and-eighty pounds of pure, sculpted muscle. A white towel hung dangerously low on his hips, doing nothing to hide the heavy bulge beneath it or the way his abs flexed with every breath.
“Uh—hey, Mace,” Ethan stammered, forcing a polite smile. “Need something? I think I still have some Gatorade in the cooler if—”
Mace’s lips curled into a slow, hungry smirk. “Nah. Not thirsty.” His dark eyes dragged over Ethan’s smaller frame like he was sizing up a steak. “Just… hungry.”
Ethan blinked. “I—I can run and grab you a protein bar from the—”
Before he could finish, Mace pushed off the lockers and closed the distance in two long strides. The air between them thickened. Ethan’s back hit the cold metal of the lockers with a soft thud as the bigger man loomed over him, one massive hand planting itself beside his head, caging him in.
“You don’t get it, do you?” Mace’s voice dropped to a low growl, warm breath ghosting over Ethan’s face. “Been watching you all season, little man. Running around in those tight shorts, bending over, fetching shit for us. Makes a guy think… maybe there’s something better you could be doing with that mouth.”
Ethan’s heart hammered against his ribs. “Mace, c’mon, this isn’t funny—”
“It’s not a joke.” Mace’s free hand came up, fingers brushing Ethan’s cheek almost gently—before sliding down to grip the back of his neck. “I’m starving. And you? You’re the perfect little snack.”
Ethan barely had time to gasp before Mace’s mouth opened impossibly wide.
The first swallow was wet, hot, and overwhelming.
Mace’s lips stretched around Ethan’s head like warm, slick rubber, the inside of his mouth impossibly humid and tasting faintly of mint from the gum he’d been chewing earlier. Ethan’s world went dark as the linebacker’s tongue curled under his chin, lapping greedily, tasting the salt of his skin. A deep, satisfied groan vibrated around him—GLLLRK—and Ethan’s shoulders slipped past those hungry lips with a wet squelch.
“Mace—fuck—stop!” Ethan’s muffled cry was cut off as the bigger man tilted his head back, gravity helping the next powerful gulp. Ethan’s arms were pinned to his sides now, his torso sliding deeper into the tight, rippling tunnel of Mace’s throat. The heat was unbearable, the muscles squeezing and massaging him downward in rhythmic, greedy pulses. GLUCK-GLUCK-GLUUURK.
Mace’s hands roamed over Ethan’s kicking legs, not to pull him free—but to shove him deeper. Strong fingers gripped the waterboy’s ass, kneading the firm cheeks through his shorts as he swallowed again, harder this time. Ethan’s hips disappeared with a loud, obscene SCHLORP, his bulge briefly outlined against the inside of Mace’s throat before another swallow dragged it down.
The linebacker’s belly was already starting to swell, rounding out heavily under his abs as Ethan’s upper body curled inside the churning sac. Mace let out a long, guttural moan of pleasure, one hand rubbing slow circles over the growing dome of his gut while the other kept feeding more of the smaller man inside.
“Fuuuuck… that’s it,” Mace growled around the mouthful, voice thick and muffled. “Slide down, waterboy. Been waiting all season for this.”
Ethan’s legs thrashed wildly in the air now, sneakers kicking uselessly as the final swallows claimed them. GLUUURK… GLUUURK… Mace’s throat bulged obscenely with the shape of Ethan’s calves, then his feet, until finally—with one last, wet, triumphant gulp—those twitching sneakers vanished between his lips. The bulge in his throat smoothed out, dropping heavily into the massive, sagging belly that now hung low and round between his powerful thighs.
Mace staggered back a step, both hands cradling the enormous, squirming orb of his gut. It gurgled loudly, sloshing and churning as Ethan thrashed inside, the clear outline of knees, elbows, and a screaming face pressing outward against the taut, dark skin.
“Holy shit…” Mace panted, grinning wide as he gave his belly a firm slap. It wobbled heavily, the contents sloshing. “You feel even better than I imagined. All that squirming… fuck, keep it up, snack. Gonna digest you nice and slow.”
He waddled over to the bench, the heavy gut swaying and gurgling with every step, and sat down with a groan. The wood creaked under his weight. Inside, Ethan was curled tight in the sweltering, acid-filled chamber, the walls already starting to squeeze and knead him mercilessly. Thick, tingling slime coated every inch of his body as the stomach acids rose higher, bubbling and fizzing against his skin.
Mace leaned back, one hand lazily stroking the taut curve of his belly while the other slipped under the towel to lazily stroke his thick, hardening cock. “Mmm… yeah. You’re mine now, waterboy. Just a bellyful of meat for good ol' Mace.”
The gurgling grew louder. The struggles inside grew weaker, slower, more desperate as the acids rose. Mace’s gut rounded out even more, smoothing slightly as the powerful digestive juices did their work. He belched loudly—BUUUUURRRRP—and a small, soggy sneaker flew out of his mouth, landing with a wet splat on the tile floor.
“Oops,” he chuckled, patting the softening dome. “Guess you won’t be needing these anymore.”
An hour later, the locker room was silent except for the occasional wet glorp and blorp from Mace’s now much softer, sagging gut. Ethan was long gone—reduced to thick, nutrient-rich sludge sloshing inside the linebacker’s powerful stomach.
Mace stood up slowly, stretching with a satisfied groan. His belly had shrunk considerably, now hanging as a soft, heavy paunch that still let out the occasional bubbly churn. He gave it a firm squeeze, feeling the last solid bits break down.
“Time to let you out, waterboy,” he muttered, smirking as he headed toward the bathroom stalls at the far end of the locker room. He dropped the towel completely, his thick cock half-hard again at the thought.
Sitting down on the cold toilet seat, Mace relaxed, one hand still idly rubbing the last bit of pudge on his middle. A low, wet frrrrt echoed in the stall, followed by the heavy, satisfying plop… plop… plrrrrrt of what remained of Ethan finally sliding out.
“Fuck yeah,” Mace grunted, pushing. “That’s all you are now. Just a big, fat load of shit and some extra padding on my ass.”
He wiped, flushed, and stood up, admiring the way his glutes had thickened just a little more, the way his abs were still hidden under a soft layer of new belly fat that jiggled when he walked. The waterboy was gone—nothing left but a faint bulge in the linebacker’s gut and a memory that would make practice a lot more interesting from now on.
Mace smirked at his reflection in the mirror as he pulled his shorts back on.
“See you around, waterboy… or what’s left of you.”
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