My Beginning
By: Pi-Zero

Some people say that origins are important, so I suppose I might as well tell you how this all started, how my life changed and how I got to my position today as one of the most respected members of our “special” little community.

As you can see, I’m hardly the biggest bull in the pasture. Hell, some girls are bigger than me. So how’ve I managed to not only stay alive but prosper? Well for starters, I may be 5’5” but I’m one fuckload stronger than I look. No, it’s nothing quite superhuman or anything, I won’t be putting my fist through metal girders any time soon, but though I’m built like the gymnast I am, I don’t look like no bodybuilder, now do I? That’s right, 5’5” and a measly 170 lbs and I can lift over 300. Yeah, one of my friend’s once told me I’m built like a brick shithouse, well it’s a damn small brick shithouse. Now that’s hardly going to keep me alive, much less anywhere near the top by itself, now is it? Bunch of those guys out there could lift that without breaking a fucking sweat.

No, brute strength sure hasn’t kept me alive. One of those walking tanks like Greg or Tim would barely be able to rough me up they’d be laughing so hard if it were. No, as much as I’d love to be able to just take guys down the way the big boys do, I’ve got to rely on other methods. I suppose if I wanted to wax arrogant, I could claim that my way is more elegant or more skillful, or some other shit like that. Ha. Elegance amounts to a steaming pile of shit, literally. Skill? Skill get’s a big ol’ gassy fart, nothing but hot air. The fact is, however you do it, you do it. My method works for me, and theirs works for them, and well, we’re all smart enough not to test who’s method is better.

Now I’m territorial, but I’m not one of those guys to go looking for a fight. This is an overpopulated planet, and there’s more than enough to go around, I say, just stay off my turf. Most of the guys who make it for any length of time work the same and I’ll tell you why. We know our hunting grounds; we know our limits (even if they’re fucking hard to reach). Those guys that go looking for trouble, well; they get what’s coming to ‘em. If I’m gonna meet some big ass guy who thinks he can take me down, I’d sure rather it be on my turf on my terms.

So I guess I haven’t let loose my secret yet, have I? Ok then, the answer is brains. And I’m not talkin’ brains over brawn or any of that shit they feed you when you’re a little kid getting the crap kicked out of you. No, I mean I’ve spent years learning exactly how and when to use my brawn to kick the shit out of other guys.

Yeah, I said kick. If I’m lucky, I can totally get the drop on some guy and there’s no need for fighting, but I can’t count on that alone, that whole, half the size of the big boys problem again. So yeah, I’ve practiced several martial arts, mostly kempo, kickboxing, and aikido as well as my gymnastics and diving sports (which help more than you’d think), and yeah, I’ve used them.

So, I suppose I should tell the story of how this all began shouldn’t I, now that I’ve rambled on about other crap? Well ok. I guess I should set the scene. I come from an ideal home, great little bro I rarely fought with and wonderful parents. My whole family’s a bunch of academics, in one way or another, yes me too, so shut up. Something my Dad used to say has shaped an awful lot of the hunter I am today, “Pick your battles,” with the unspoken rejoinder, “and if you pick them, win them.”

Outside of this life, I’m a normal guy, a nice one at that. I’ve got plenty of friends (yes real friends I’ve had for years, now shut the fuck up) and in general people like me. Unfortunately, this was one of my problems when I was younger. You see, I was popular… without being popular. Let me tell you that don’t fly with the “cool” kids. You can’t be popular without going through their channels, and well, I didn’t.

So therein lay the rub, I was pretty well liked, except by the popular kids, and as we all know, they’re the ones with the power. So despite being well liked and one of the best defensemen on the soccer team, I was always something of an outsider. This suited me fine compared to the option of having the shit kicked out of me ever other day like my friend Eric. I was a small, scrawny kid, but fast, and smart enough to know who not to tick off. So I survived while some others failed. Fast forward to high school, where it all really began.

Sophomore year. I had survived freshman year because I had befriended a few seniors who were well known for being tough as nails, but then they graduated. Luckily, by that time I had started swimming butterfly, diving, and doing gymnastics. So I was bulking up fast. I didn’t really notice it until I looked in the mirror one day and barely recognized myself. I liked what I saw, so I worked harder, took up kempo and started spending time in the gym, still avoiding the big jocks who practically lived there.

But the honeymoon of freshman year was over, and being a regional high school, there were kids who didn’t play by the rules I had known, and didn’t want to leave me alone. I tried to play nice, but they wouldn’t have it. For a while I tried harder to fade into the background, but I had lost that ability, for with all the working out and coming into my own, I had also become much more noticeable with my toned body and ready smile. Little did they know I had no interest in the bevy of girls who followed me around except as friends (though I think the girls all knew).

Though I was trying not to get into trouble (constant reminders from my parents about what that could mean for my career loud in my head), trouble came to me and I started to build up a burning, churning resentment towards the guys doing this. And then, one day at the beginning of junior year, the carefully erected house of mirrors that kept it all in was shattered.

It had been a long practice at gymnastics, I’d been working on a floor routine that regularly kicked my ass, and then I was spotting, helping, and demonstrating some moves on the uneven bars for one of the girls. I was fucking exhausted, and I still had to bike the few miles home.

The locker room was silent, as it always was at this time of the night. We practiced until almost nine; even the wrestlers using the pathetic high school gym had gone home. My locker was swinging open. My stomach dropped, I never leave my locker unlocked, much less open. I opened my locker and was assaulted by a horrible stench. There were two big turds sticking out of my shoes, and all my clothes were wet, I didn’t have to guess that it was piss.

I also didn’t have to guess who had done this. Mark was one of the “popular” kids here, almost the same height as I am, just a little broader across the shoulders maybe, quite attractive and well built. And he hated my guts. He was a bully, though a relatively smart one, followed around by one or two larger guys pretty much all the time.

That burning resentment I had harbored burst into full fledged bonfire rage. Verbal abuse I could deal with, laugh at even. This… He was going to pay. I hadn’t decided how yet, but he was going to pay and he was NEVER going to forget it was me that handed him his ass on a platter. I carefully dumped the shit out of my shoes and wrapped them and my clothes in a trash bag and walked my bike home, barefoot.

That night I washed my shoes and my clothes and planned. In the morning I wore the previously soiled clothing (some notion of defiance or something) and slipped a note into Mark’s locker demanding he meet me at 4 in a small clearing near my house (though he didn’t know that) so I could, “Introduce your head to your ass and teach you the real meaning of shit.” I also told him bringing anyone else would just prove he was a coward and scared of me.

I went through the day with that rage burning hot, chewing through the food I ate at lunch to pump adrenaline through my body. No one fucked with me that day. Finally afternoon came and I raced for home. I was waiting for Mark when he stepped into the clearing. Apparently my note had pissed him off enough that he hadn’t told anyone else about it except this kid Scott who followed behind him.

“Too afraid to come alone?” I growled, somewhat startled at the sound of my own voice. It was not my normal voice and would have scared me if it weren’t for the burning rage in my stomach.

Mark was too high on himself to really notice any difference in my voice or demeanor, “He’s here to make sure nothing weird happens, and make sure you don’t run off and claim victory or something.”

I laughed, cruelly, “Rules, there are no weapons, everything else is fair game. And as for running off, I wouldn’t dream of leaving until you’re begging for mercy, if then.”

“What the fuck ever, fairy boy. Let’s get this started.” Mark sneered. He didn’t dream I could take him, and he always had Scott behind him if I could.

I smiled coldly, “After you, shithead.” And he charged, which was of course, what I wanted. He came in for a punch and I easily sidestepped, grabbing his wrist to force him into an awkward stumbling roll.

I won’t bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that I was clearer that day than I had ever been before. The fire in my gut burned all other thoughts away, leaving only the pure thought of laying Mark low. I took a few hits myself, mostly to the stomach and chest, but nothing I couldn’t handle. If anything, the pain only made me that much hungrier for the end. Scott looked like he would come help a couple times, but I glared at him across the clearing and something in my eyes warned him to stay away.

Finally, a full force strike to Mark’s chest and he went down backwards, breathing heavily, and not moving much, “Ok, fucker, you win, you happy now?”

I straddled his waist and then dropped onto his stomach, forcing out his breath, “No. Beg me, Mark. Beg me to let you up. Or maybe… since you like shit so much and all, you should beg to kiss my ass, hmm?”

“Fuck you!” He spit, “Not in a fucking million fucking lifetimes you fucking fucker! SCOTT!”

I had been ready for this, and silently thanked my sensei for teaching us balance in a kneeling position. Scott came at me, thinking me mostly helpless. I took a blow to the side of the head (which hurt like a bitch) but connected hard with his knee, dropping him. Before he could swing again I put all my strength and weight into a strike to the side of his head. Scott went out like a light. “Just you and me, Mark, so how about that begging?” I sat down harder, lying on top of him, feeling him pinned underneath me, too exhausted to fight back. The fire in my stomach raged, hot and angry, nothing left to burn. I wanted some way to make Mark truly pay, something permanent, something he could never forget.

Despite his position, Mark wasn’t giving in, “Fuck you, you fucking fairy faggot, you ain’t getting your rocks off on this straight boy. He spit at me.

I laughed, “Oh so you like spit then? Well then, how about a kiss?” I leaned down, pinning his head between my hands and licked up the side of his sweat streaked face. He hissed and writhed, but was far too worn out and well pinned to fight effectively.

Something inside me snapped. Some wall that my morals or values or cowardice had made, broke. My stomach had been empty for hours, my rage quickly consuming everything I had eaten for lunch. And now Mark’s sweat on my tongue ignited a new fire, a fire my rage happily made its own, a deep hunger that swept away rational thought, the burning in my gut demanding to be fed, now.

To this day, I don’t know how I do it. By all the laws of science and nature I myself study, it is impossible. But I am not one to claim that I know everything. There are, after all, more things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy.

The fire lit in my brain and I grabbed Mark’s head, “You’re gonna learn what shit’s REALLY about.” I wasn’t thinking, in that first moment of power I’m not sure I was even human any more. I certainly didn’t stop to question. I opened my mouth and stuffed Mark’s entire head into it.

It took Mark a second to realize what the hell I was doing, I think. Anyways, there was a pause before the real struggling began, but I still had him pinned and his fighting only made my hunger more intense. Ruthlessly I crammed my mouth down over Mark’s broad shoulders, ignoring the pain that roared through abused muscles in my mouth and throat. I channeled the pain of stretching into the hunger as I tried to fold this man in half with the tight muscles of my gullet.

I sat up, dragging Mark with me and forcing him up and further into my mouth, easily tearing the shirt from his body. My entire body was on fire, sweat pouring off me in buckets, my dick a rock hard bar of molten steel in my pants. I could FEEL him yelling and crying inside me, cursing and swearing I’d guess.

I could feel him entering my stomach, filling it, stretching it beyond all previous limits, and the feeling was ecstasy. This was power, this was domination, this Mark would never, could never forget.

I was drooling uncontrollably, the flavor of man, sweat, fear, adrenaline, and testosterone filling my mouth. My tongue licked across Mark’s tight stomach as I paused to rip Mark’s pants and boxers off, I had no interest in eating cloth.

I grabbed Mark’s waist, this was going too slow and my hunger demanded satiation, now. I pushed; forcing Mark’s kicking legs slowly over my head in the hardest deadlift of my life, 140 lifting the back half of 150 of squirming, struggling man. Groaning in pain and pleasure, I gripped Mark’s bubble butt and CRAMMED him down my throat, suddenly getting my first taste of male crotch ever. It was a flavor I would acquaint myself with later, but there was neither the time nor the desire now. Other needs were more important.

Namely, I was focused on stuffing Mark into my bloating stomach as fast as I possibly could. I grabbed his legs over and over, shoving him down my gullet, feeling him curling up in my gut, filling me. I took one last look at his squirming feet and tipped my head back, swallowing and gulping to force the last of his squirming bulk into my stomach.

Oh god. I felt so full, so powerful, so incredibly high it was like I imagined drugs would have felt… but better. I could feel every inch of Mark fighting within my bulging stomach, hear his muffled voice through the thick wall of my abs. My dick was so hard it ached and threatened to rip its way out of my pants. Gasping, I dragged down my pants and gripped my manhood. I only barely touched it, aiming at Scott, before I exploded, shooting huge wads and ropes of cum all over Scott’s face and head.

I lay back, breathing hard. I felt like I had just gone through the most intense workout of my life. I could still feel Mark struggling within me, but my stomach was forcing him into a smaller and smaller space, and his air was running out. I flexed my stomach and belched, long and loud, expelling air and tightening my stomach around Mark. Again, and his struggles mostly subsided, though not completely.

I smiled to myself and stood up slowly, looking down at Scott’s unconscious form, covered in dust and cum, “And no one the wiser, sleepyhead. You’ll never tell anyone one little guy beat two of you, will you?” I patted my stomach, which squirmed angrily in response, “And YOU won’t be telling anyone, will you, Mark? No, I think we’ll become very very close… at least what I can use of you.”

I staggered home that afternoon carrying Mark’s clothes, managing the feat largely due to the adrenaline still running through my system both from myself and leeching from Mark. I fell asleep after Mark finally stopped struggling, sleeping well into the next day, which was luckily Saturday. To my amazement, my stomach was back to its rippled form. For a second I thought I had dreamed the whole thing, until I looked to the corner of my room and found Mark’s shredded clothes.

“Heh… well looks like I finally found some use for you, Mark!” Remembering the incredible sensations of devouring a man whole and alive, completely overpowering and dominating him made me instantly hard. My stomach gurgled, emptying out the last of Mark, and I laughed, “Well stomach, I guess I underestimated your worth as a weapon. That was about a buck fifty of beef, think you can do it again? Maybe a buck seventy or eighty?” That should be about what Scott weighed. My stomach gurgled in response, and my dick throbbed.

The End