1 story

Paul Fogherty felt his stomach lurch along with the elevator as it started its way up. His whole body was suffused with that awkward tingling feeling he associated with anxious excitement, and with good reason. The elevator ride was long enough that he was beginning to have second thoughts about being there, and he had a powerful urge to just mash the button that would take him back to the ground floor. However, a deep curiosity and desire for closure kept him going.
Paul thought back to the events of the past month, in particular the night of the Super Bowl when he had gotten the guys together at his place for his big announcement. He had been keeping his sexuality a secret since high school, and his lack of stereotypically gay behavior would have allowed him to keep it that way for as long as he wanted… but, eventually, the stress of feeling like he was lying to his friends got the better of him. He wanted the freedom to be himself, and when the game was over, he got everyone’s attention and came out for the first time.
He remembered how quiet the room had gotten. Keats had looked surprised, and everyone else just seemed blank. Even Mac, his best friend, was inscrutable. Then, silently, they started getting up. Jeff and Tony just grabbed their things and left the apartment without even looking back. Keats followed shortly after, shaking his head. Mac was the last one to get up. He had grabbed his coat, walked to the door, and turned around to say the words that Paul had been hearing in his head for weeks afterward.
“Nice going, you fucking queer.”
Paul had been left alone in the room, friendless. Although he felt that Mac was a lost cause, he tried to get in touch with some of the other guys. None of them returned his calls or messages… and when he eventually learned of the nickname he had earned among them, Paul Faggoty, he stopped trying. All of his buddies had turned their backs on him when he needed their support, which made it all the more unlikely that he was now on his way to see one of them. When the elevator stopped and rattled open, Paul made his way to his former best friend’s door.
Mac was waiting for him like he said he would be, dressed in a faded shirt and old shorts. He had unexpectedly called two days before, and Paul had almost hung up on him immediately, but Mac had sounded genuinely sorry for what he and the others had done. He had invited Paul to his place that Saturday to apologize in person and tell him something really important… and now, against his better judgment, Paul was standing in Mac’s kitchen. The man himself was sitting on the other side of the counter, looking awkwardly down at the wooden surface. Whatever he needed to say, it was clearly taking him some effort.
Mac had been Paul’s friend since preschool. The two had always shared a healthy rivalry regarding classes, sports, and girls, with Paul ironically being more popular with the ladies. He was classically tall, dark, and handsome, and his extracurricular activities helped; his love of swimming and competitive diving in college had resulted in a sexy, lean frame that he maintained years after graduating. Mac had been kind of attractive, with his messy brown hair and rugged features, but didn’t come into his own until he decided to go in for football. He packed on pounds of muscle in record time, and Paul had suddenly found himself looking at his friend in a completely different way. Mac’s physique had softened since he graduated, but Paul still often found himself staring. Mac looked up, forcing an embarrassed Paul to quickly look the other way.
“You watchin’ me?”
“I’m waiting for you to hurry up and say something. You said it was important.”
Mac fixed Paul with a questioning look before sighing through his nose. Paul was determined not to be put on the defensive, even if he WAS watching Mac.
“It’s no big deal,” Mac said finally, propping an elbow on the counter.
“Fine. Then I’ll go.”
“Come on, don’t be like that.”
Mac sounded earnest enough, and Paul realized that he was being needlessly hostile. Mac had already extended an apology and invited him over, and he at least deserved a chance. Maybe just one chance, though. Paul tried to relax.
“You going on the pub crawl tonight?” he asked nonchalantly. It was St. Patrick’s Day weekend, after all. Mac’s eyes lit up at the mention of it, and Paul had trouble suppressing a smile. Mac was a funny drunk, and never missed an opportunity to get smashed.
“Yeah, with the guys. We… wanted you to come along.”
Paul looked at Mac as though he had sprouted an extra head. Although Paul had hoped for a good apology, regaining the acceptance of all his friends was NOT what he was expecting out of this visit. There had to be a catch. Mac avoided his gaze, seemingly interested in a pasta sauce stain on the counter, and Paul’s previous anger started to surface again.
“What, you want to be seen hanging out with Paul Faggoty?”
“We got weirded out, okay? We got stupid. It was a stupid reaction and we’re sorry. Come on, dude. How long have we been friends?”
Until last month, Paul thought, but he kept his mouth shut. As much as he hated what his friends had done, he hated being alone even more. He met Mac’s gaze and let out a long sigh.
“Fine, whatever. I’ll go if you want. But I don’t want to hear any of this ‘queer’ or ‘faggot’ bullshit. I’m still the same guy I was before.”
Mac rose and walked over to Paul, clapping a heavy hand on his back. The feeling of his broad, warm body nearby was weirdly reassuring.
“Of course, dude. Thanks for giving us a shot. Hey, grab a couple of brews from the fridge. No reason we can’t start early!”
Paul smirked and turned around, pulling open the refrigerator. It was packed, as usual, but the beer shelf was sadly almost empty. Only one can remained. Paul picked it up and cracked it open as he turned back to the counter.
“You drank almost everything, man. We might have to split th-“
WHAM.
~
Paul groaned and blinked slowly as his eyes started to adjust. There were blue tiles on the walls… Mac’s bathroom. His face was still wet from spilling the beer as he fell… but why had he fallen? It took Paul a few seconds to realize he was a few feet taller than he should be; just as he questioned this, he slipped down a few inches. He started to panic as he noticed that he was naked, warm, and wet, and when he finally managed to look down he immediately saw why.
Mac was staring right back at him, his mouth wrapped impossibly wide around his midsection. Paul’s legs and arms were somehow in the grip of Mac’s throat, and the big man didn’t show any indication of stopping there. One of Mac’s wide hands instantly flew up and clamped across Paul’s mouth as he started to scream, and the other hand continued pressing firmly on Paul’s back, guiding him further into his mouth. Paul tried to scream anyway, but the muffled sound merely echoed against the tiled walls; Mac had put some thought into this. He swallowed deeply, ingesting another few inches of his huge meal.
Paul noticed that his feet were not squeezed as tightly as his legs, and his heart leapt into his throat as he realized they were already in Mac’s stomach. They tingled slightly as he felt them rubbing against the ribbed stomach walls. His feverish struggles were doing absolutely nothing to shift Mac’s beefy arms or even make him lose his balance. Another gulp brought Mac’s lips to his chest, sending a chill down Paul’s spine in spite of the tight, warm throat all around him. As for Mac, he might as well have been eating a hamburger for all the emotion he showed. None of Paul’s silent pleading seemed to be getting through to him at all.
Mac swallowed again and, despite his situation, Paul became aware of the fact that he was completely, shamelessly aroused. His cock was rock hard, pressed against the hot, moist flesh of the throat and stimulated by the rippling muscles. He had fantasized about Mac countless times since he had started bulking up, but this wasn’t really an appropriate time… In spite of himself, he started bucking in Mac’s grip, desperate to relieve the sexual tension. That’s when he finally got a reaction out of the big man. Paul’s throes of lust quickly stopped when he felt the crushing pain around his chest, and he looked down in a panic to see rage in Mac’s eyes. That look, and the teeth clamped around Paul’s body, sent a clear message: no guy was going to shoot a load down HIS throat.
Paul went so limp with fear that he didn’t cry out when Mac reached up with both hands and pressed hard against his head. He just watched his shoulders disappear past the huge, stretched lips, and whimpered as his face was forced through soon after. The light from the bathroom cast shadows across those dangerous teeth and the slick red flesh, and Paul found himself sputtering as drool covered his eyes and mouth. The tongue surged around him, licking the traces of beer from his face, before forcing him into the roof of the mouth and pushing one last time. Mac worked his mouth shut and gulped mightily, sending the squirming lump of meat down his throat. His belly bulged hugely as Paul settled into his stomach, and he groaned as his old shirt started to tear at the sides.
Inside, Paul choked on the stench and acrid fumes of the stomach, his mind racing. He couldn’t believe his best friend, the man he had known almost his entire life, had swallowed him whole! What was happening? Was this a dream? What the fuck did Mac think he was doing?
But Paul did know what Mac was doing, deep down. All throughout college, he had learned to smile and keep his head down when guys randomly disappeared around campus. It was just something people did to cope. Oh, he dropped out, people said, or he transferred to a different university. But he never let himself stay too late in the locker room. He only walked around at night if the guys were with him. He watched his roommates carefully, making sure to silently get room transfers if something seemed off. The housing department never asked why.
Paul knew that Mac’s sudden muscle growth in college was unnatural, but he rationalized it as dedication to the game. The truth was inconvenient and terrifying, and he could never think so poorly of his friend. Now he was in Mac’s stomach, curled up so tightly he thought his limbs would break any second… and Paul knew exactly why. Mac wasn’t apologizing for his bigotry. None of his friends were.
~
Half an hour later, Mac sauntered into Bravo’s, the first stop on his St. Patrick’s Day pub crawl. He was a little annoyed when his old T-shirt had ripped during his meal, and more annoyed that he hadn’t been able to find a shirt that would fit over Paul. Still, this was Central City… not the place to ask questions. You could tell who was who by how they reacted: the very few out-of-towners gawked at his exposed belly, and he got a couple of grins from like-minded guys admiring his boldness. The locals just looked down and walked a little faster.
The belly came in handy for parting the drunken crowd in Bravo’s, and after knocking some people over Mac was able to make his way to the booth where Keats, Tony, and Jeff were waiting for him. There was an audible crack from below the table as Mac sat down next to Keats, and Tony and Jeff yelled in protest as he pushed the table into them with his bloated gut.
“Dude, what the fuck?” Jeff growled, trying to push the table away from him.
“Sorry. I thought it was stuck to the floor.”
“It WAS. What’s with your fuckin’ gut?”
Mac slapped the taut flesh in response, and Keats eyes widened as he heard the low, defeated moan come from within.
“I just did what Tony told me to. He said to eat before we started, so I don’t get a hangover.”
“I didn’t think you’d bloat yourself, stupid. What the hell is that, a cow?”
Both Tony and Jeff sniggered a little, but Keats was still fixated on Mac’s belly, which was bulging noticeably as its meal renewed its weak struggles. Mac didn’t seem to notice.
“Nah, man. I just thought, since we were so rough on Paul, I’d bring him along with us.”
Both of the men on the other side of the table shut up immediately and stared across at Mac’s gut. On cue, a low belch rumbled out of Mac, forcing the stomach to squeeze Paul tightly and highlighting his struggles against the big guy’s skin. They all heard the dull crunch of breaking bones, and Jeff’s face split into a wide grin.
“That’s Paul? You fuckin’ downed Faggoty?”
“Serves him right,” Tony said, taking a swig of beer. “One less queer.”
“You said to eat a lot of protein,” replied Mac. “What could be better? Hey, cut that shit out.”
Keats had poked Mac experimentally, interested in the weird bulge. “I think I hit him in the face. This is weird.”
Paul winced at the pressure on his face. His eyes was too cracked and burned for him to cry, but he would have sobbed as he was forced to listen to his former friends talk conversationally about Mac eating him alive. Just a half hour in Mac’s stomach had warped and burned his skin, wracking him with agonizing pain. He wanted to scream, to make himself heard so that someone might try to help him, but he didn’t have the strength. Mac had stolen that already. Paul twitched in pain and shock as a harsh, warm liquid poured over his tender body, searing him anew. Mac’s pub crawl had begun.
Jeff and Tony looked incredulously at Keats, who was continuing to stare at Mac’s belly.
“What, you never seen anyone do that?” Jeff asked.
“Well, I haven’t either, technically,” said Tony. “Doesn’t mean I don’t know about it.”
Keats looked back and forth between the two, confused. “Wait, so other guys do this?”
“Yeah. Mac, Jeff. Pretty much the whole football team. I could always tell when Jeff was had downed someone.” Tony took another long draw from his glass, looking impressively haughty. “He would stay out all night with his ‘study partner’, and then come back to the room with that shit-eating grin.”
“Shut up, fucker.”
Tony and Keats both laughed, while Mac swallowed some air to keep his meal going for at least a little longer. A couple of drinks in, the four men rose (shamelessly ignoring the busted table) and made their way outside, aiming for their next stop. Paul bobbed up and down as Mac walked, basted in cheap beer. It only got worse as the night continued and more drinks poured down over him. The fumes of the alcohol mingled with the smell of vomit, but after a while, as digestive muck burned a trail across his face, Paul couldn’t smell it anymore. He raged at the injustice of having to listen to the guys chatting carelessly about their lives, but after a while he couldn’t hear them anymore, the chatter and background noise replaced with a deep, foreboding rumble. Eventually, while drinks continued to mix and bubble around him, Paul even stopped feeling the awful pain. And, of course, he had long since lost his eyes in the hot, putrid gloom.
But he was still alive. The many drinks forced Mac to belch loudly (to the sarcastic applause of his friends), but he kept swallowing air into the stomach. Paul understood that Mac wanted to prolong his suffering, as punishment for daring to be gay. Paul’s body kept sucking in air in short, rattling breaths, but he wished it would just stop. Even if someone were to get him out now, what would they be saving? It wasn’t worth it. He preferred to resign himself to his fate as meat in the bastard’s belly, as long as it would just end…
And end it did. At the last stop of the night, Mac’s favorite dive, he loosed his biggest belch right into Keats’s face. The force and sound of it knocked the poor guy out cold, and Mac started laughing so hard that he forgot to swallow more air for his unfortunate meal. Paul slipped into a blissful black nothingness as Mac’s body worked even harder to digest him.
~~~~~~~
Mac awoke the next morning on the floor. He would have groaned at the pain in his head, but that would have just made it worse. He looked up blearily and realized he hadn’t even made it to his bed before passing out. He decided to rest where he lay for a good twenty minutes before a rumbling in his gut forced him to try to get up. As he stumbled into the nearby bathroom, he looked down at his belly and cursed.
“Damn it, Faggoty, you had one fuckin’ job. I hate hangovers.”
The massive bulge from last night had deflated greatly while Mac slept. Very little of Paul remained in his stomach; most of him had passed through Mac’s guts, absorbed into his powerful body along with pints upon pints of alcohol. It was hardly Paul’s fault that Mac had drunk so much, but he wasn’t in much of a position to argue.
Mac pulled his dick out of his pants, barely managing to aim it in time before a huge torrent of piss erupted from him. He swayed on the spot for a while, trying to keep the seemingly endless stream in the bowl. The pressure in his ass increased, and it got more difficult for Mac to piss as his thick cock started hardening.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, stroking it a little. “I took care of it. I fuckin’ owned him.”
Mac had barely finished when he spun around and landed hard on the seat, legs spread wide as he flexed his ass and grabbed his cock. He pumped away with both hands, ignoring his headache, while his puckering hole spread wide to let Paul back into the world.
“Yeah, man… I bet you wanted in my ass all the time. You got it, bro. Now get… out!”
A massive log snaked its way down from Mac’s flexing hole to the water, breaking off every now and then as his ass clenched. Mac had missed the way those feeders would stretch him on the way out, and how good it felt to dominate yet another guy. So many fucking guys… he arched his back and roared as he came, shooting a load straight across his chest and face as he finished taking his shit. He lay there for a while, sweating and panting in the afterglow, until the rank odor of the pile sitting in the toilet motivated him to stand. Turning back to his handiwork, Mac found a pile of shit stacked almost up to the rim of the bowl.
“Aw, sick,” he said, his mouth curling into an ugly sneer. “I knew you were a shithead.”
Mac wiped a wad of paper across his crack, clearing away some of the last remnants of Paul clinging to his tight ass. As he tossed the paper in and reached for the flusher, Mac remembered swallowing Paul in that very room… and as the water swirled and forced the pile into the pipes, he couldn’t resist getting one last childish dig at his old friend.
“Bye bye, Faggoty…”