My Beginning II: Scott
By: Pi-Zero

A lot of swallowers will tell you it’s all about size. Let me tell you, it’s not about size, though that certainly makes it easier. As clichéd as it is, it’s not about size, it’s how you use it.

You want to know what’s it’s really about? You want the secret to it all, the one true thing that lets a man stuff a squirming guy full bodied down his throat, digest him, and leave nothing but a useless pile of turd the next day? Here it is: power.

Yeah, yeah, I know, big shock right? “But size has to play into it!” I’m hearing you thinking, well you’re half right. There’s a reason most swallowers are big guys, just like there’s a reason so many of them are athletes, power. The thing about making another guy your next meal is you can’t just want it. You have to *know* that you can, that you *will* take this guy and make him a living, squirming, hamburger. You have to believe in your deepest heart of hearts that this is your *place* in the world, you are a predator, born to devour those beneath you, and everyone’s beneath you.

And that’s why there’re so many athletes and big dudes who are swallowers. Big guys think they own the world, so it comes more naturally, the utter belief in their position as top lion on the savannah. Athletes are trained to fight for it, to dominate their opposition until there’s nothing left, and what could be more dominating than chowing down on a guy, taking what you need, and shitting out the rest?

Small guys like me learn young in life that they aren’t top dog, they’ll never be top dog. But every once in a while, one of us decides we’ve had enough of this shit. Like the comparatively small wolverine – known to take on bears and win – we figure out that the aphorism about “the size of the fight in the dog” really is true, at least under certain conditions. It will never cease to amuse me when some big guy, used to doing the biologically impossible and greedily glutting himself on his gym buddies insists on the impossibility of someone like me swallowing him. It’s all in the mind, my friend, all in the mind. I *know* I can take him, I know it’s *right* for me to take him. I may be smaller, but I am a *predator* damnit, and those that don’t eat, get eaten, law of the jungle.

Besides, it’s fucking *fun.*

So, it wasn’t until college that I… oh… yeah… the rest of the story. Hmm… well. I suppose I should have waited for the soliloquizing about the powers of intelligence and planning until after this part of the story. This is not an elegant story of careful planning and brains over brawn, no this was… dirty. Not one of the bits of my life I’m proudest of… but it was one of the most fun.

So back to the continuing story of my voreventures! Ok, yeah, that was a terrible joke, shut up. You can imagine, perhaps, how I felt after I woke up and discovered I really had devoured Mark and made his body mine… like I really had to take a dump. So… suffice it to say that first time I clogged the toilet. Duh, light dawns on Marblehead. I felt SO dumb, of course I’m gonna have to go after eating what was it, 150 pounds of meat? Well, we can’t all be brilliant all the time.

So the next few days are sort of a blur. I was, shall we say, preoccupied with other thoughts. I think I spent most of the next week daydreaming and reliving eating Mark. I dreamed it every night, imagined it while jacking off every night. I wanted to do it again. The problem of course being that I didn’t know then what I know now. I had no idea if it had been some impossible fluke, a juxtaposition of the planets or some other rot like that. But I couldn’t get it out of my mind, the power, the domination, the control. And so, that’s how it happened.

Preoccupied with thoughts of Mark yet again, I was walking out behind the school, taking the long way home across the athletic fields and through the woods. I was crossing the… well it wasn’t a large school so it was the all purpose football, soccer, and everything else field. There, sitting on the edge of the hill facing away from me, was a familiar profile.

It was, of course, Scott. I had been so preoccupied with Mark (or the lack of him I suppose) that I had completely forgotten about Scott. Suddenly it hit me, Scott was the only one other than me that knew I had had a fight with Mark. Scott had been unconscious when I ate Mark, but that was irrelevant, he knew I was the last person to be with Mark before his… disappearance.

Scott had to vanish, permanently. I stood there, watching him for a second, before my stomach grumbled. I realized I was salivating. All doubts flew from my mind. I could do this. Never mind that Scott was another 20 pounds heavier than Mark, a full buck seventy, and therefore thirty pounds more than I weighed. Never mind that he was fit and pretty buff. I would have him, I would stuff him down my throat and feel him squirm inside me.

So I charged him, checking him from behind and smashing him down the hill and into the grass. He yelled of course, “Who the fuck do… shit… it’s you! What the fuck did you do to Mark? And what the fuck was with the jizz on my fucking face?!”

I sat on his muscular chest, grinning down at him, my heart racing and adrenaline pumping, “Mark? Oh yeah, him. I *ate* him, Scott, and when was done, I was so horny I came all over you.”

Scott jerked his head back, “You what? But there was no blood! You’re fucking crazy! Get the fuck off me you whackjob!”

I smiled wider, “I ate him, Scott, I stuffed him whole, alive, and squirming down my throat and into my gut. He was fucking delicious, and now the shit’s nothing but that, shit. And I’m gonna eat you too, Scott. I bet you’ll taste even better, you’re in such good shape, and you’ll squirm so nicely in my stomach. And so much good healthy protein! But first, let’s get you warmed up a little, shall we?”

I shifted my weight, letting him squirm out from under me. Thinking back, that was one of the dumbest things I have ever done. He could have kicked me in the head and killed me, he could have run and been faster. I was young, and stupid, one of my “youthful indiscretions” as it were. Scott took off running, but my adrenaline was positively roaring in my ears and I swear I was shot from guns. He got about fifty yards before I took a flying leap and tackled him from behind.

“You’re fucking toast now, Lunch!” I laughed, like a fucking idiot maniac. I was so high on my own damned adrenaline nothing could bring me down. He started flailing and yelling, “You fucking crazy motherfucking asshole!” and suchlike things. I ignored him, and those curses turned into a shriek as I made another incredibly stupid move, I grabbed his head and shoved it bodily into my mouth.

Now, if you’re a big guy like Tim or Gregg or Tank, this is not a stupid move (assuming you’ve double checked no one’s watching, something I also didn’t do) because really, you can outpower the guy no matter what. If you’re a guy like me, this is a dumbass newbie move (which is, of course, what I was at the time, a dumbass newbie). Scott was not completely worn out and tenderized like Mark had been and his arms weren’t even kind of pinned. And lest you forget, he outweighed me by a hefty thirty pounds.

I, however, wasn’t thinking about any of that logic crap, and just grabbed his head and stuffed it in. Dumb move, but fun. Nothing quite like the look on a dude’s face as his entire view becomes nothing but your drooling mouth and all he can breathe is your nasty breath. Luckily for me, though I didn’t think so at the time, Scott panicked and just started flailing. I got one hell of a black eye and a bruised chin (not to mention some bruises on my arms and chest), but Scott didn’t put up any truly concerted fight.

It should have been so much harder than downing Mark. But this time I knew what I was doing, I knew what my goal was, and the adrenaline ripped through my body like a rogue storm. Pain tore through my lips as I grabbed Scott under the arms and *yanked* him towards myself, cramming him down my throat and forcing my lips over his broad shoulders, squeezing as hard as I could to fold this big guy in half.

I didn’t even notice the pain; I was in another fucking world. Any of you who’ve played a sport and run/swam/swung/worked straight through an injury, barely noticing will know what I mean. Imagine the rush that takes, and then multiply it. Yeah, that’s how I was feeling, pain did not *exist* for me at that moment.

I crammed my mouth down over his broad shoulders, the taste of his sweat and fear filling my mouth. Only one thought entered my brain, “MINE.” I pulled him up into a sitting position and pushed down harder, trying to force him down my throat faster.

As I said, I never should have tried it. And it never should have worked. But like I said, mind over matter, man. And at that moment, my mind was intent on making Scott food. I can’t tell you how long it took, or how lucky I was not to be discovered while I was working on him. I was full to bursting when I managed to stuff his delicious, meaty butt into my mouth and paused to chew it thoughtfully for a minute.

I must have looked ridiculous, like some mutant frog that’s taken on a dragonfly too big to actually fit into its mouth. But like the frog, there was no fuckin’ way I was giving up. I didn’t know if I would explode or not, but I didn’t care. Scott was gonna be MINE. I grabbed Scott’s ass and shoved as hard as I could, forcing him slowly in.

Inch by inch I forced Scott into my stomach, stretching it further and further beyond reasonable limits. Finally, I felt his feet sliding reluctantly down my throat, freeing me to breathe normally again. I looked down, amazed not so much at how huge my stomach was, but how small it was. It was stretched, no mistake about it, but it’s amazing how small a man can squeeze, if made to.

I could feel and see Scott squirming inside me, muffled sounds barely escaping the thick layers of bone and muscle between him and the outside world. I belched and felt him squirm harder, and then relax a little, “DAMN, Scott, you were fine. FUCK yeah!” I belched again, and again, removing what little air there was in my stomach.

Again, I dragged myself home. By the time I got there I was high as a fucking kite. You want adrenaline? Testosterone rush? Eat someone. Imagine the adrenaline rush from grinding your opponent into the ground. Now double that to make it a life and death situation. Now, take one of those, and cram him down the throat of the other one. THAT’S how much adrenaline and testosterone I had coursing through my veins. I had to change the sheets when I was done. My entire room reeked of sweat and cum. I don’t know how many times I came, but my body ached from it when I was done.

So that was my second meal. It was one hell of a piece of dumb luck, but one of the hottest times, because it was all out of the blue and I COULD have lost. It wasn’t, I’m a little reluctant to say, quite the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. No, that would come later. But at the time, I was pretty fucking proud of myself. Now there was no one to tell what happened to Mark, ‘cause I’d eaten them both.

It was also shortly after that that I realized I’d gained ten pounds of solid muscle from eating those two. I smiled when I noticed that, there were fringe benefits to this new diet of mine.

The End