« Last post by Ravenpair on October 13, 2019, 02:27:48 PM »
This is a commission for an anonymous patron. He gave me the following details:
-Tiny males kidnapped as pets and food
-Pics for reference for all characters.
-Cooked, fattened up in a cage, mentally broken, sexually tortured.
-Roughly as long as “Reader’s Digest…”
-Shrunk by their captor to the size of a mouse.
-Each made into a separate dish, all meat or fatty-based foods including a burger, mashed potatoes, stuffed turkey, and pizza.
-Detailed, non-fatal cooking process with screaming, begging, and struggling
-Captor is 20-25.
5 Stages of Grief
Finally. Silence. It’s funny, on TV they always make it sound like the five stages of grief/coping occur in order, each stage needing to be passed before moving onto the next. But I’ve found, based on my years of causing grief to young men everywhere, that it’s completely cyclical. One stage may lead to another, but the order is never the same. It changes depending on the meat- lad- in question. And there is always some residual emotion from past stages, which come back in waves, reigniting the whole process. I could always be more scientific, removing the variables, only having one little treat at a time so that they can’t feed off of each other’s emotions. I could plot their reactions and chart the stages. But really, this is about my pleasure… not the betterment of mankind. I do it because boys are absolutely delicious, and torturing them before they flail, dissolving alive slowly in my roiling gut, turns me on to no end. Really, their feelings are irrelevant, as only my pleasure is pertinent. If my pleasure is directly proportional to their pain… then so be it.
Take my current stock for example; easily procured (you can call it kidnapped, but I loathe the term when “procured” or “harvested” or “culled” are so much more accurate, as they are merely foodstuffs), easily shrunken to the sizes of small mice, easily stuffed into the cages in the kitchen they are currently moping in. They all had a relatively similar progression. True, the older ones were quicker to return to anger and stir up the veal. But basically it followed a standard trend.
It began with questions: “Who are you?!” “What have you done to us?!” “Why?!” “What do you want from us?!” “Do you really think you can get away with this?!” When answered, these quickly dissolved into denial: “Yeah right!” “You’re fucking crazy, guy!” After I showed them my recipe book, and a huge case filled with ‘mementoes’ (shrunken skater clothes, cellphones, book bags, etc.) half of them went to anger, cursing and threatening, and screaming: “Help us!” “Let me out of here!” “Who do you think you are?!” “You’re sick, man!” “Fucking psychopath!” While the other half immediately started pleading and begging, “Please dude…” “I’ll do anything!” “Oh God!” “I’m too young for this!” “Think of our families!” “Think of all we have to live for!” As if I could ever feel bad for creatures as useless at their current size as insects are to a child with a magnifying glass. Again, I told them how worthless they were to me, making clear all the pleasure I derived from their torment and tastes. Like clockwork that sent them all over the board. Some went back to denial, some increased their bargaining, some screamed, some cried, some cursed, some did a combination. They fed off of one another like they knew I was about to do to them. So I casually turned on the ‘training video’ and began reading my handwritten cookbook, complete with pictures. Every once in awhile I’d glance up and see one of them staring at me with wide eyes, looking at me casually planning their fates, and I’d lick my lips at their appearance, making them scamper to the other side of the cage to watch more of the film.
I had created the video over the course of a few months, after realizing my explanations were getting tiresome for me. As I say in the opening narration, it isn’t fair to me to have to explain to my food why it is going to be eaten. Nobody consoles their steak! The video does a good job of showing every single fate that may await the terrified youths. I took great pains to record me torturing with fire, knives, feet, push pins, etc. I chopped, I diced, I slowly grated, I mashed, I squeezed, I pressed, I ripped, I bit, I pierced, I punctured, I tore into, I dismembered, I disemboweled, I forced them to screw each other, I forced them to have fuck my titanic cock, I forced them to hump with my wriggling tongue and moist humid mouth, I forced them to have sex in my gaping puckered monstrous ass. I explained their slow digestion process should they be swallowed alive, (which in truth, outside of the video, I always did). The writhing is so much fun, tickling my insides, when swallowed alive. Plus, the taste of blood overpowers the tender flesh and supple, salty skin. So I always prefer to keep them alive and kicking. They saw tortures I never would have been able to commit had they been at regular size. They saw psychological tortures which were more effective having been seen than they would be if I had committed them on these young men instead. They saw forced gay sex which, to their delicate heterosexual minds- and they all were straight in this batch- were the worst of all. And they saw me eating. They saw my teeth gnash, or my lips slurp, or my tongue lick, followed by swallow after swallow after swallow. Countless bulges drifted down my throat and I captured every sound, every struggling scream, every audible gulp, every plop into my waiting stomach, every moan of pleasure. They saw me gobble up soccer teams, and suck weightlifters into my open maw like they were spaghetti. They saw their own weakness, their desperation, their powerlessness. They transitioned from male human beings into mere toys for my pleasure, and food for my enjoyment (as they weren’t even big enough to sustain me on their own). In turn they saw me transition from male human being to glowing god. They saw my control, my power, my lack of compassion, my insatiable appetite for both their torture and their bodies. When the video ended they had all reached the same stage: depression. Every one of them was in shock. Some huddled together, some shivered, some sobbed, some sniffled, but nobody spoke. Nobody thought it wasn’t real, or that they could beg their way out of this. Finally. Silence.
“Now then”, I lick my lips in anticipation, putting down my homemade cookbook, and eyeing them hungrily. “Let’s take stock of my current haul.”
I reach into the hamster cage, one of twelve holding devices set up in my kitchen, so quickly that the boys don’t even realize the door has been opened. The other cages, tanks, and jars are currently empty. I usually like keeping a stock of certain types: a jar of gay twinks, a box of Senior High School Jocks, a skater and emo assortment in a tank for quick snacking and special recipes, but having just returned from vacation, the usual cacophony of screaming- ranging from prepubescent to manly- is not to be heard. I’ve decided to inspect my new treats in age order. My fist clenches around Jensen before anyone knows what is going on, and he is dragged out with a sudden gasp from my intense squeeze. Immediately the other morsels are back to their begging and screaming and threatening, especially his older brother, who I had managed to capture at the same time. Opening my fist, Jensen wheezes for breath, all of the air having left him with my swift retrieval of him from the cage. Tiny fists pound at the closed door and I beam down with an intentionally toothy grin, ignoring the others.
Using one finger I flick the youngest snack in the chest, forcing him onto his back where he immediately struggles to get up. However, my pointer finger placed delicately on his smooth tummy has him squirming to no avail. While I begin unwrapping my treat I get a good look at him. He’s got messed up blond hair, quaffed to one side like an emo, but his face makes him look too young for that. If he wasn’t veal I’d call him almost androgynous. His pink lips are juicy and sit between two equally juicy cheeks. With sun-kissed skin and a completely smooth face, he looks mouthwateringly delectable. The lines of salty tears pouring down his plump cheeks as he begs for his mother only add to this assessment. With a popping sound I have both shoes off of his kicking feet. Immediately I go in for a sniff of his tiny socked toes. The aroma is heavenly. Not the pungent scent of the older boys, but rather sweet, almost powdery fresh. My tongue darts out and pulls both legs into my mouth, up to his knees. He panics, thinking this is it. I savor each succulent moment, and when his socks are considerably moist, I use my front teeth to gingerly suck them right off of his tanned feet. He flails around uncontrollably from the feeling of my wet tongue slithering along both soles with the tip sampling between each digit. He lets out whimpers that sound like a mixture of screams and giggles. All the while my now free hand, the one not balancing his quivering body and pressing one finger onto his stomach, is busily tearing off the remainder of his clothes, roughly. By the time his feet are removed from my mouth with an audible plop like that of a wet dick coming out of a tight asshole, trailing enough saliva to coat his entire body if I wanted to, he is left in only his underwear. Panting for breath, he begs for me to stop.
His brother and all of his cellmates are screaming at me to let him go, that I’m sick, that he’s just a kid, etc. They look up at my 25 year old body, ripped from the gym and all of the protein I eat… them… and can’t understand how such a hot-looking young God, one who would appear like a sweet dreamboat if they were average size, would revel in this kind of torture on younger men and teens. The truth is, eating younger guys, people who may still live with their parents, is thrilling. Having so much control over someone’s kid, a guy with so much to live for- there’s just nothing like it in the world. And when I hold them, and play with them, and molest them, and trap them in my gut just for my pleasure… it sends shivers all the way down.
I move my hand closer to my face, directly under my chin now. Slowly my tongue snakes out. The screams refresh now, as though the brief reprieve meant they felt momentarily secure. My finger comes off of Jensen’s stomach only to have the slithering tongue, like a cobra, push into his bare chest. I run my smooth, moist muscle across each tiny nipple, my tastebuds dancing all over him and moving slowly lower. I lap at his supple stomach, and take some gentle nibbles, jabbing at his navel and exposed muscles again and again. Finally I move further downward, my powerful tongue lifting his waistband and pushing it down a bit. He stops struggling and goes rigid. The tips of my tongue has begun slithering in between his warm asscheeks, raping his tiny brown cherry and moving further and further inside. All the while his cock’s head scrapes against the moist flat area of my tongue and I suckle his balls. He’s too young to last long, a pity, and a moment later he convulses, showering me with a taste of his sweet and salty filling. It’s just a tiny load, an appetizer for what is to come, and he lets out a long moan is my tongue pushes his underwear down past his cute little feet. I smack my lips and swallow his socks, which were still on the side of my mouth, his underwear, and his speckle of seed all at once. Then, as he continues to breathe heavily, too winded to move, I pucker my pillowy lips and kiss him on the chest, my tongue jabbing out for another taste of his salty skin. Then I do the same to his stomach. And then I wrap them around his dick. No longer hard, although he came so fast I’m not even sure if he was hard to begin with, I suckle a bit, making sure to get every last ounce of tasty young seed. The tip of my tongue slurps at his head and I suck so hard I’m worried of dragging his organs out through his slit. But he remains motionless and I deposit his nude form into a cage directly next to the first one, also suspended under a counter. He heaves heavily and I watch the rise and fall of his cute little body.
Locking the door, I look at the still screaming youths in the first cage once more. They instantly go silent, wondering who I am going to examine next. The door is swung open wide and they scatter, knowing that jumping out would only lead to broken bones and a swifter demise. They had seen in the videos what I do to snacks with broken bones. It doesn’t bear repeating here, but it is as graphic as you could imagine. My fingers move around in excitement, dancing along the shaking bodies, even though I’ve already decided who is next. Finally I grasp Jackson in my hand. His entire body vibrates as I drag him out and lock the door. Just a year older than Jensen, and a year younger than Jensen’s brother, I acquired Jackson during what I’m guessing was a date with his girlfriend.
Bringing him up to my face I scrutinize him, my breath pushing his hair back in long gales. He’s cute, pale, and skinny. There isn’t a hint of muscle nor of fat on his slender, skeletal frame. Each smooth leg looks as brittle as toothpicks and each arm equally so. His face is angelic which explained why he had the girl swooning all over him when I first saw him. His only downfall, aside from lack of meat, is his hair. It looks like his mother is still cutting it for him- stringy tufts feathered over his forehead and then off to the right, yet still somehow shorter than my own glorious locks.
My tongue lolls out of my mouth and Jackson grimaces as though a dog was just licking his face. Instead, he finds my tongue much less pleasant. The saliva is thick and sticky, plastering down his too narrow eyebrows. His tiny button nose drags over my taste buds and my rough muscular tongue slurps at each nostril- not that it’s done consciously, but rather, having such a large tongue on such a small treat forces my tongue baths to roughly penetrate every opening it passes over. I feel the breath sucked from his nose and tight lipped mouth. His body spasms from lack of air but all I can think about is how unexpectantly sweet he tastes. Almost like his sweat glands excreted sugar instead of salt.
Pulling him away I don’t wait for him to catch his breath before ripping his clothes off of his slight frame. Everything about him is little. Little hands, tiny cute little slim fingers, tiny feet, a tight tiny booty, and a tiny cock. He’s still gasping for breath, positively wheezing out all of the spit he inadvertently swallowed, so he doesn’t respond to my taunting or my thumbnail flicking his flaccid dick. I push him down firmly as he continues shuddering not from fear, or pain, or cold, but his inability to recatch his breath. Again the air is forced out of his lungs as my point finger digs into his back, pushing his smooth stomach against the tough ridges of my palm. His skin is so smooth compared to the course indentations on my rough hands. The ball of my finger caresses the arch of his back to his shoulders, petting him like a hamster. Then my tongue replaces my finger. He has tears in his eyes, coughing uncontrollably, while my tongue molests his supple frame. Each long, slow, lick starts at his pert clenched cheeks and rolls slowly up to his shoulders, alternating each time. With no warning, my next lick pierces his defences and plunges into high tight virgin hole. He stops mid-cough and screams in sudden pain and pleasure while I greedily dig in as deep as I can. His struggles merely egg me on and soon I am pushing so hard that my lips rest on his cheeks, my tongue mining into each crevasse. The suction is audible when I pull away. I lift my finger up and he moves into a fetal position with his head still down. His raw ass is still pushed up as he knees find his chest so I nuzzle it with my nose for a moment, inhaling the musky scent, before flicking it once, hard, with my thumb and forefinger, sending him soaring forward into the second cage. Jensen’s motionless body cushions his fall and I can see a huge red welt taking over Jackson’s small ass. He sniffles, clutching the younger boy like a teddy bear.
By the time my focus returns to the cage, Dillon has already figured out that I’m going in age order, and knows he is next. He doesn’t hide in a corner, as he is too scared to move. Instead he stands in the middle of the cage, shaking uncontrollably as my hand slowly reaches in, its shadow covering his entire quivering frame, and grasps him tightly. The only sound he can muster, despite the deliberately slow way I’ve snatched him, is a high-pitched ‘meep’. Like his brother, Dillon is practically a model. He’s tan lithe, without being too thin, has a beautiful head of light brown with blonde streaks in a surfer style, and a baby face similar to his brothers. His cheeks are positively pinchable, although if I were to attempt it at this size I’d yank his face right off the bone. The freckles on his face make him look even younger than he is, and the little bit of his ears visible under the mop of hair look crunchy and suckable all at once. Once my hand opens he retains his pose, unmoving aside from the quivering lower lip, the steady blinking as he stares into my gigantic handsome face, and the shaking of his shoulders. Clearly about the break down, he stands on my palm, his weight somehow feels adorable, focused on his two tiny feet. I can feel the treads in his sneakers pushing down with the smallest force imaginable. It was like having a GI Joe standing perfectly upright in the palm of my hand. Deciding that he’s too freaked out to be any fun at the moment I gingerly begin undressing him. After he’s seen what I did to his little brother and the other boy he doesn’t fight or complain. Nor does he help me get him perfectly nude. I can tell that his dick was a full inch or two bigger than his brother had they been at regular height, but his still sits flacid on the side of his thigh. I have no desire to play with him at his present state, as he’s being no fun at all, so instead I give his body a long lick from toes to the top of his head, turn my hand and do the same to his back. Smacking my lips I nod in appreciation of the peppery aftertaste. “Delicious,” I mutter. Now nude he feels even cuter. His tiny well-manicured feet can feel the blood course through my veins and I can feel his own rapid heartbeat through his soles. His feet are smooth and uncalloused, but still moist and rank from being stuck in shoes and socks. He’s been lifted to eye level so I can smell the sour sweetness of his little piggies. Yet the odor is far fainter than those of my normal morsels. Perhaps he isn’t as active physically as his lithe figure would have me believe. His shoes had been well-worn but not visibly damaged. Somehow he maintains his pleathery black Nike’s shoes in ways teen boys usually are unable to, or merely don’t care to. The smell is mild, like a provolone cheese. Lapping at them with the tip of my tongue like a puppy taking a sip of water, I find that they even taste like provolone, whereas his younger brother’s were closer to a bleu cheese mixed with a sharp cheddar, the norm for my treats. Slowly and easily I put him down in the second cage. As soon as he is out of my hands he screams. It’s a long, piercing screech that has clearly been building throughout the whole ordeal. Finally regaining his senses he begins sobbing and rushes to check on his nearly comatose with fear and disgust brother, pushing Jackson out of the way in the process, cradling Jensen like a mother to a dying child. He clutches him so hard that Dillon comes out of his stupor as well and hugs his brother back.
Melvin is the last of the veal. A full two years older than Dillon, yet the cutest of the bunch so far, he trips over my other treats as I bring my hand slowly closer and closer humming the theme from Jaws. The last few inches I lunge at him, holding his furiously struggling body firmly, and drag him out. I have to hold him by the hood of his jacket, dangling him to get a good look at the morsel. Definitely the tannest in the haul, and the tallest of the veal, he’s got the adorable face and fluffy dirty blond hair, quaffed straight up in the center, and to the side on his right, of an instagram celeb. As he dangles, swaying from side to side and twisting from his struggles, I realize that I can’t control myself. I can’t keep inspecting him, as was originally the plan, for his mouthwateringly succulent appearance demands that I taste him now. Opening my mouth like a lion his eyes go wide in fear as I maneuver him over my mouth like a bunch of grapes. Instead of prolonging his discomfort and lower him slowly, I drop him straight in, clothes and all. I was right not to wait. Sure, all the lads so far with delicious, but Melvin’s taste in practically orgasmic. My eyelids flutter in ecstasy and I moan in satisfied pleasure. His struggles only help me get a better taste, despite his clothes. While I’ve never been able to tie a cherry stem with my tongue, I am nonetheless very adept at undressing my young men in my mouth. Using my tongue, teeth, and roof of my mouth I have Melvin completely nude in under a minute. I even separate him from his no longer needed garb, spitting out the shirt, underwear, and jeans, swallowing the socks and shoes, while Melvin is stuck in one cheek. My tongue laps at the flavor all over his supple young flesh, tickles his feet, and caresses every contour of his body. I can’t stop moaning and mmming, sending vibrations throughout my entire mouth. Clearly, despite his struggles, he is also enjoying the sensation as his cock has grown exponentially. Without even trying hid needlelike dick is digging into me. Maneuvering him a bit I position him so that his firm ass is at the roof of my mouth, pushing him into my undulating tongue. He is pressed down by my pallatte again and again, fucking the spongey moist muscle. Despite the humidity and dank moistness of my cavernous mouth which must feel like being back in the womb, he is able to come within moments, dousing his seed all over the top of my tongue. I allow him to rest for a moment while I suck on his entire body. His come pools with my saliva at the back of my throat, held back by the wagging uvula, before plummeting into the black abyss below, giving him a preview of all of their fates. My roiling stomach sends up a spout of come-flavored gas which I hold in my mouth for a moment, torturing melvin, before I release it into the cages. A moment later, Melvin is also limply spit into the second cage.
Deciding to have some fun with the more seasoned and aged meat, I take out two at a time; Colin and Dylan. While Colin is the younger looking of the two, both are actually the same age. Friends from before their current ordeal, they were procured together. Colin has the sturdy rectangular face with a wide jawline one expects from the all-American boy look. He is slightly shorter than his friend, but far more fit. Clearly an athlete, his six pack, pecs, and straining muscles are visible beneath his shirt at all times. His hair similar to Melvin, albeit shorter, he is one fine looking specimen with comically gigantic feet and long slender fingers perfect for digging through my teeth as a toothpick after I eat my first morsels. Dylan is a bit lanky. His abs are also painfully obvious in his tight fitting shirt, but more from being skinny than being muscular. Yet somehow, above his abs, there is a clear definition of meaty pecs and powerful biceps. His eyes are squinty as though he is always looking into the sun, and his jaw, though not as angular as his friend’s, is equally powerful. Dylan’s hair is dark and short with a little flip at the front. Both are among the palest in the haul, and both are making my mouth water.
The two young men are squeezed in both of my hands. I can feel them struggle, as the uncomfortable grip I have on them makes it difficult to breathe. Yet they gain no traction and it only feels like a slight vibration in my fist. Satisfied with the inspection I deposit both studs in one hand where they stand on the palm, quaking in fear. Again, the feeling of their shivering, just from their little shoes touching my rough skin, felt amazing. These two young men, formerly in their physical prime, showing off their prowess to any lady who saw the two friends walking down the street, were now nearly weightless, both fitting in one hand.
A droplet of saliva falls from the tip of my lip, cascading down and exploding on both of their heads. I didn’t realize how much I’ve been drooling. Clearing my throat I give them one simple command. “Strip each other”. Colin and Dylan stare up at me, the momentary confusion after my order was given replaced with unadulterated fear. They know not to disobey me after all they’ve witnessed, both with the other captives and in the training video. Rather than plead or curse at me, they immediately turn to each other for fear of the repercussions of disappointing the giant god before them. First Cody takes Dylan’s hoodie off, followed by his undershirt, and then the process is repeated by Dylan. Normally I’d tell them to make it more sexual, but this batch of morsels seems to be more petrified than any haul/shopping trip I’ve ever taken. I’m worried that the slightest thing could set them into a comatose state; and those boys are never fun to play with. Either the heat from my hands, from their bodies being near each other, plain fear, or a combination seems to have left them both in a thin film of sweat, making every inch of their smooth skin glisten the more clothes they take off. Soon their supple bodies are completely exposed with the exception of their underwear, and skater sneakers. Clearly they noticed in the video what my favorite places to taste are.
I roll my eyes as Dylan looks up at me unsure. I give him an expectant look and he nods, resignedly, before returning to his undress his best friend from his last remaining wrappings. Colin leans on Dylan’s shoulders as the former’s shoes are untied and removed, along with the musky, sweaty socks beneath. The way Dylan’s head is bent, it looks as though he’s giving a blow job. Finally he gingerly puts his fingers into the hem of Colin’s underwear, slowly lowering them to the latter’s smooth pale feet, making absolutely sure not to accidentally graze against the flaccid dick. Even limp, Colin’s cock is massive for a boy of his size. I suppose it’s true what they say about boys with big feet, I think as I lick my lips at his ordinarily size 13 monsters. Shivering in the cold, Colin returns the favor with Dylan. Dylan’s dick is the same size as Colin’s however it is less impressive as he is currently sporting a massive erection. He looks at his disgusted friend, embarrassed by what he’s showing. Clearly something about being undressed or undressing his closest buddy has turned him on. That, or he’s a secret macro fetishist. To be honest though, I couldn’t possibly care less.
Using my pointer finger, as Colin is already kneeling down to take off the shoes of his mate, I gently pet his shaggy hair, making him stop his actions and shiver with fear. His shivering wears away as he realizes I am merely stroking him like the pet that he is. He thinks that being my toy must be better than my meal, but I’ve had hundreds of former sex toys who would eagerly disagree with that notion… had they still been around. His fear’s submission is short-lived, however, as he attempts to stand up after removing Dylan’s shoes. He finds that the pressure from my finger is keeping him on his knees in the palm of my hand, and a little bit more pressure on the back of his head clues him into what I have in mind. He struggles and screams as realization sets in, but his open-mouthed cry for help is all I need. Immediately his lips are around Dylan’s cock, and Colin gags audibly, never having had anything so large in his mouth before. He’s eager to bite down in a fit of fear and homophobia, but doesn’t want to bite off his best friend’s dick. Dylan, though initially squirming away, after finding himself unable to back away, as my fingers curled up behind his back, now closes his fluttering eyelids in sheer bliss. The other boys in both cages watch with newfound fear as they see just how twisted I truly am. After a few minutes of this excitement I find my own dick has grown to twice the size of the tallest boy. I reposition the friends into a 69 position, lying them both down and forcing them to suck for all they are worth. Dylan is having an even harder time, as after a few licks from his wet mouth, Colin’s dick has swelled to a ridiculously large size, pushing against the back of the former’s throat, bending at the end, and sliding down almost to his stomach. Having the two boys orally fuck on my palm has resulted in no small amount of precome to burst from the tip of my own cock. As I lick my lips over the young men rolling around on the rough skin of my palm, my own one-eyed monster is drooling from his own hunger.
All of the potential snacks notice it, and whimper in fear. Here’s a young guy who is older than all of them, and should want to help. Instead, he is in fact the reason for their present predicament, plans on gobbling them up, has tortured thousands of lads in a similar predicament over the years physically, sexually, and mentally, and now it appears that he is also massively turned on by that same torture! I begin absentmindedly stroking my dick. Colin and Dylan attempt to remove the cocks from their mouths so they can breathe and stretch out their jaw muscles, but I just clench them tightly together.
With my dick stroking hand I reach into the first cage and draw out the final two delicacies. They’re British twins, here on holiday, and they are the definition of twink. Both have lithe figures, with very little muscle, but with skin so smooth and pale they may as well be newborn babies. Aside from their heights, everything about them is small and cute. They’re pink feet, tiny fingers, and even their button noses and pursed lips are adorably delectable… or delectably adorable. Either way, they are both somehow straight, and so are not the least bit amused when they are put on the same hand as the wrestling best friends. The added weight of the twins, and their warmth, is a feeling quite indescribably cute. It’s like when you see a puppy that is so adorable you just want to squeeze the life right out of it. The pressure off of them finally, Colin and Dylan roughly detach themselves. “I definitely want you stuffing each other with cream filling at some point, but for now, will you help unwrap the twins?” Finn, the twin on the left with somewhat bigger biceps and a barely older looking face, opens his mouth to protest but closes it a moment later, reconsidering. Colin begins undressing Finn as Dylan peels Jack like a ripe piece of fruit. Pushing Dylan and Colin’s heads together they get the hint and begin making out, the taste of their own dicks on the other’s breath. Finn and Jack look terrified when I swivel their heads to face each other too. They’re brothers after all and would never in a million years ever have… their thoughts are stifled when they find themselves forcibly making out with one another as two other boys ripped their clothes off of them.
When they’re finished I line them up into a square on my palm, and they immediately get to sucking each other off when I push them into their new partners. Colin has his mouth full of Jack, who is gagging on Dylan, who struggles to suck on Finn, who has a good taste of Colin. They all writhe in sweaty glistening flesh, more uncomfortable than they’ve ever been in their lives, yet hard as rocks merely from, what is essentially, being orally raped by one another. Turning each one over I then repeat the process, this time rimming each other. The twins have tight, lean asses whereas the two friends have some bubblicious badonkadonks I find myself moving the twins out of the way every once in awhile to snake my own tongue in for a taste, widening their holes with my wide muscle. They scream in pain and pleasure as I lap at their backs, run my tongue up their legs, squiggle it in to join their own tongues in the ass of their neighbor.
At last, roughly, I force them all into the standing position, one behind the other, where they are pressed together, hard, at their asses. Each finds a sudden popping of their stiff slick cocks into the ass of the boy in front of them, in the opposite order from the last ordeal. Jack has his cock stuffed inside Dylan, whose hips are gyrating against Finn, who fucks with all of his might into Colin. They are all in intense pain, but the tight hole of their partner still fills them to the brim with rapturous delight. The train begins to pick up speed and they move as one, tears streaming down their faces as my hand still hold them firmly by the ass of Jack and the stiff dick of Colin, rubbing both (Jack with my thumb and Colin with my pointer finger.)
While they moan and cry and scream and beg, reach into the other cage with my unoccupied hand. Nobody in there is paying me the slightest attention, as they are far too busy watching the forced quadruple rape with unadulerted terror on their faces. All four boys are clinging to each other, no longer afraid of touching the nude bodies of their prison-mates, as the present horror outweighs the homophobia. As one they all gasp, as the air is emptied from their lungs, and then scream, when they find themselves trapped in my palm, a wriggling mass of pale succulent flesh. I close my fist, with the veal inside, against my dribbling cock head, rubbing their flailing bodies up and down my shaft. They sputter at the musky taste of my skin as they are pressed roughly against it again and again, finding their own dicklets turn rigid from the friction. They feel like a vibrating fleshjack as they struggle to breathe, to separate from one another, and to stop the pressure against my dick.
With an audible plop I seperate Dylan from Finn, edging the former just as he was about to spray his seed. Before they can say anything I shove Finn and Colin unceremoniously between my lips, only their lower halves sticking out. Finn continues fucking Colin, though petried that I’m about to eat them both, as he is so close to coming that he can’t stop. Colin’s own dick, which has not yet had the pleasure of entering another hole, soon finds itself sucked into the dark abyss of my mouth, as do their twitching legs and asses. I roll them around in my mouth, tasting sex and delicious boy meat. Maneuvering them a bit, I turn Finn so that his head is against Colin’s toes. He’s in so much bliss that he even sucks Colin’s meaty toes. Once they are fully slathered in my saliva and their own salty sweat and precome, I push them back from between my lips, turn Finn again so he can wrap his arms around Colin’s waist, and then lower them to my puckered hole. Neither one has time to scream as they suddenly realize what is in store for them, before I shove them up, head first. They’re kicking feet are all that is left of them on the outside, which I pinch to draw them some of the way out, and then push to put them all the way in. I continue this quicker and quicker, using them as a giant vibrating dildo while Finn continue to push into Colin. Colin’s cock scrapes against each ridge of my ass ring and colon, the friction pleasuring him immensely. I can feel their soft hair tickle my prostate. The four other lads are still gagging on my smelly dick as I rub them faster and faster against it. I pull the conjoined Finn and Colin out and then plug them in feet first this time, allowing them to catch their breath, before opening that coiled fist, where Jack is still fucking Dylan. They see the heads of their friend/twin poking from my meaty ass, looking like my sphincter is blowing a double bubble.
Reaching back up, I separate the two boys, leaving Dylan on the counter, and throwing Jack into the air before catching him in my mouth. As soon as he enters my dank dark maw, hot and humid and soft as the womb, I attack him with my tongue, molesting every inch of his succulent flesh. I spread his cheeks, dig my tongue in as far as it will go, slather is chest, suck his toes, etc. Allthewhile one hand strokes the younger young men against my dick while the other pushes Colin and Finn inside my tight ass and pulls them out again. And Dylan sits on the counter, terrified, at full mast, and with aching blue balls. Every hole filled, my whole body alive with sensations and pleasures unknown to most men, I position the tasty youth in my mouth so that his ass is poking back while he remains in the fetal position, making the forced metaphor of the womb complete. Pushing him with the tip of my tongue, his bubbly ass escapes my pursed lips, and Dylan sees it coming closer and closer to him. He is so horny that he doesn’t think twice, but immediately shoves his hard cock into Jack, who screams at the sudden uninvited guest. Dylan plows away as all the others struggle to breathe, trying their hardest not to give me the satisfaction of coming, despite the sensations they are all forced to experience. I suck Jack back inside, pulling away from the counter while Dylan is still fucking away. His body rests on my pillowy lips, but his cock is now being sucked by me, and up the ass of Jack. His pleasure is as insurmountable as my own, the suction from my mouth coupled with the tightness of Jack’s virgin hole, when all at once… we come simultaneously. Legs buckle, hips gyrate eyelids flutter, and assholes spasm.
Jack is filled with Dylan’s sweet cream, as he explodes his own seed on my waiting tongue. The four boys against my cock go limp as they fire their loads, mixing the milky concoction with the giant glob that has erupted from my own dick. The friction from my hole has Colin ejaculate inside of my ass and Finn unleashes his load into Colin. Panting, sweaty, coated in come and sweat and tears and saliva, all 8 morsels lie in a heap in the second cage, a mass of pulsating flesh and glistening muscle. Even I need a moment to recollect myself. “That was one for the books, boys”, I finally mutter. “And it’s left me famished.” As one I hear every boy’s panting stop, they’re hearts all missing a beat. “Lucky for you all, I found your tastes so exquisite, I want to make sure I have enough of your meaty little bodies to make a proper meal out of you. So I don’t think I’ll waste time soaking you in juices, getting you nice and tender, and marinating you slowly… but I definitely want to fill your little tummies, fattening you up before you fill my own tummy.”
Taking advantage of their exhaustion, as they panting too hard to even attempt speaking or fighting back, I clean myself up quickly and then grab each boy, depositing them in a different bowls. My preparations for the meal were thankfully completed as they went through their five stages of grief… the first time. So now there was nothing to do but pour the fodder into the bowls along with them. I carefully arrange the bowls in order of how I will eat my dinner. Similar to tapas, each three-five inch morsel will be in a small dish, so as not to fill me up too quickly. As the bowls are moved around, each lad falls again and again, the slippery porcelain combining with the high lips and bodily fluids coating the living meat. Once they are in order I speak to them as though this was just the most ordinary thing in the world. I muse to myself that I really should start a ‘Cooking with Men’ show one of these days.
I begin by plopping fresh relish and sauerkraut all over Jackson, until he is only a cute little head poking out of the mound. “Now, unlike most maneaters, I don’t like fat prey. I’m not a witch and you’re not Hansels. I prefer lean meats… your protein is what helps me stay in the gody state I’m in now.” I put the remainder of the relish in the refrigerator, my pectorals popping for emphasis at my last comment.
“Instead I just like stuffing you guys enough to have a small pudgy bulge, not of fat, but of filling. I don’t have time to wait for your lithe bodies to get fat as it is, plus plump boys just aren’t as tasty as the muscular and fit ones. You really just made yourself all the more delicious for me by playing sports and working out. Had you been pigging out, and not taken care of your appearance, I probably never would’ve even noticed you.” I chuckle at the irony while sprinkling cheddar and provolone cheese cubes all over Dylan. He runs around the small space in the bowl as it rains down on him, each blow sending him reeling.
“I want a tiny paunch,” I continue explaining. “You’re just going to eat enough to be super uncomfortable. A little jiggle in your belly. You shouldn’t be able to physically fit any more of it in your mouth without it just sliding back out because there is no room left.” Next, Melvin finds himself dodging slices of pineapple in much the same vein as Dylan was. He soon finds himself stuck inside a coil of swirled pineapple. The juices will no doubt accentuate his deliciously sweet flavor.
Moving onto Finn, he has the pleasure of being showered in bacon bits, which don’t pound on him like the last two boys, but do assault him with stinging bits of small meat. It feels like a hard hailstorm beating against his defenseless nude skin. “It should feel like the slightest scrape against my sharp teeth will rupture your tummy, sending your belly’s tasty contents all over my tongue.”
Jack has the misfortune of having a hot fondue set full of melted cheddar cheese poured all over him, the contents burning his flesh ever so slightly. He screams in pain but is soon used to the temperature. “I want whatever you’re stuffed with coursing through your veins and flavoring your supple, juicy meat.”
Finally, moving over to Colin’s bowl, I see his shaggy head looking up with terror. He is the luckiest of all, however, as I only have one solid wedge of bread stuffing to join him inside. It is easily twice the size of him, filled with spices, onions, potatoes, etc. The onions and fresh garlic have tears streaming down his eyes in seconds. “And if any of you refuse to swallow your designated stuffing,” I growl, eyeing each one carefully, “I will force it down your throats and then shove the remainder up your tight little holes.”
That’s all that needed to be said, because after a second’s pause, all six of the boys begin chowing down on the bowl’s other occupant. Jackson, Dylan, Colin, and Finn use their hands to tear off and scoop up large bites, eating quickly and somberly, though efficiently for fear of repercussions, like always. Meanwhile, Melvin and Jack are getting themselves covered in liquid as they are forced to dive in head first, eating their way out of the gooey substances entrapping them. Only Jensen and Dillon, the young brothers stare up in confusion.
“Unfortunately, for you little treats, I need to do this a bit differently.” I leave the counter for a moment before returning with some hot fudge, some caramel, an eye dropper, and a small funnel. Checking the lads nearby to ensure they are still stuffing themselves adequately, I am satisfied and bring the funnel over to Jensen. He looks terrified as my shadow passes over him, and opens up his mouth to question my intentions. As soon as it opens I shove the edge of the small funnel inside, pressing firmly to ensure that he can’t spit it out. He gags on in for a moment, falling to his knees to try rolling it out of his mouth. I tilt the caramel inside the other end of the funnel slowly, and watch as his eyes bug out of his head, his throat filling with the sticky plasmic substance, unable to breathe. Dillon screams out at me to spare his brother, that I’m killing him and need to stop. The other lads hear the ruckus, but upon seeing how I’m torturing Jensen, decide they better not get distracted if they don’t want to join his fate. After thirty seconds I can already see his belly distend slightly, and remove the funnel. Jensen tries catching his breath, his throat sore and his stomach uncomfortably full. But before he can get out more than I wheeze I’ve flipped him over and inserted the end of the eyedropper as far up his virgin ass as it can go, making him gag and squeal. I’m half worried he’ll spit up some of the caramel, but he keeps it down, as he knows I’d just make him eat it again. With a strong squeeze his intestines are flooded with caramel, a tad leaking out of his sore hole. He is so exhausted he remains there, ass in the air and knees at his chest.
By the time Jensen has turned back around, panting on his back as a slow dribble of caramel slips between his soft pillowy cheeks, I have the hot fudge ready for him. He is too tired to even scream as it cascades over his entire body, the heat wafting over him in a burning wave. A moment later I tilt Dillon’s bowl into his brother’s. “Jensen won’t survive long under all that hot fudge.” The older sibling is bright red, both from rage and the heat of the fudge all over his smooth young form. “You need to eat all of the fudge off of his body that you can, before he suffocates.” In an instant Dillon has his face in the mess, drinking it up, using his hands to reach for his brother, scooping fistfulls into his own mouth. When he feels Jensen and yanks him into a sitting position, he begins using his tongue to lick the fudge from the younger boy’s face, tasting both thick chocolate and his brother. Now he must realize why I do what I do. His brother’s salty skin mixed with the sweetness of the fudge must be mouthwatering… It’s how I intend to eat him after all.
Glancing around I see that all of the treats have slowed down. The lethargy from eating too much too fast has caught up to everyone, and they look like zombies as they slowly try forcing more food down into their already full stomachs. Giving each of the first six a light poke in the belly to check for jiggling, each one cringing in pain despite the gentleness of my prodding, I am satisfied that they are stuffed to the maximum. “You six can stop now. You all look positively scrumptious.”
I turn my attention back to Dillon who has been sucking on his brother’s skin even faster than the others had been eating, so he is already as full as they are. Jensen’s face is free of fudge, but his entire body is cocooned in the thick substance. “You can stop too, Dillon.” I smile at how nicely everyone has done. Glancing at each bowl I see that all the boys are splayed out, with barely enough strength to move. Gorging themselves so soon after the physical torment of our sexual congress has left them logey and the food in their stomachs makes causing constant belly aching. For the first time since their capture, not a one of them sobs or screams or curses or begs. All I hear among the bowls is a low, pained, exhausted moaning.
“Time to get my dinner ready”, I beam down at their tired, sweaty faces, licking my lips for emphasis. The fear has been replaced with pained fatigue for the time being. I know from experience, however, that by the time they enter my churning gut, they will be actively fighting for survival again, just in time to feel their delightful squirming and death throes as they digest alive. Nothing feels as good as an internal massage.
Their lack of movement and their inability to make a sound other then the groans makes the preparation process all the simpler. Jackson is first. The young treat is lifted from the small remains of relish and sauerkraut, dangling listlessly from between a pair of tongs. As one of my favorite foods has always been ‘hot boys’ (sometimes called ‘man wieners’, Frank furters [when the lad is named “Frank”, ‘dude dogs’, etc.) I bought a hot dog grill years ago. Made for 24 cocktail weenie sized men, or 6 foot long lads, the rollers get just hot enough to cook my chosen meat until their skin gets browned and flakey, turning them around to grill them evenly. It’s a bit depressing plopping Jackson down there alone, but I want a smorgasbord tonight, of all different delectable treats. While he is turning on the rollers, groaning from the heat and dizziness now in addition to his other ailments, I use a spatula to lift Dylan up from between the sprinkled cheese bits, and lower him onto a heated pan. Again, the flame licking at the metal is not high enough to burn him, but certainly enough to cook him through, leaving him alive but in intense pain. He tries getting up, rocking back and forth like a turtle stuck on his back, but his full belly makes it impossible, and his flesh soon begins sticking to the bottom of the pan a bit. I throw in some onions and mushrooms to grill up nicely alongside him and then flip him over, marveling at his pert cooked ass as it jiggles abit. A moment later his entire backside is covered in a blanket of swiss cheese which instantly melts against him in a gooey cocoon. When he is done I turn him back over, looking at the tears stream from his eyes. He notices the sizzling beef patty beside him and is very aware of his new position in life, as well as his fate.
While the two lads get their unwelcome tans, I scoop Melvin out of the pineapple remains. His skin glistens not just with sweat, but sweet juice as well, and I can feel his stickiness when I bring him over the slice of pizza left over from the night before. The remainder of the pie was eaten, along with the delivery man, but this one slice was saved for my current meal. I push Melvin into the dough and cheese firmly, his ass, legs, and arms sticking in deep, spread out in the middle of the slice. Putting the whole slice on a cooking sheet, then sprinkling on a few cut up pieces of his unfinished pineapple, I cover the whole plate in tinfoil and toss it roughly into the pre-baked oven. Soon the smell of roasting boy flesh is in the air, and my mouth waters in anticipation.
As soon as my meat has finished cooking I begin with Jackson, using the tongs to grip his slightly crispy, browned body under his armpits. He is nestled gently in a soft cocktail weenie roll, the opening allowing his head and arms to stick out the top, the fold coming just under his armpits, and his feet to stick out the bottom. If it wasn’t for the large slit down the middle, exposing his supple body, he’d look like he was a kid wrapped up in a blanket. Although I suppose he really is a ‘kid in a blanket’ as opposed to a ‘pig in a blanket’. After adding the ketchup, mustard, and leftover sauerkraut to his midsection and groin, the cocktail weenie is put on a large plate and covered so as to keep him warm for consumption.
Next I use the spatula to lift up my beef patty, depositing it onto the bottom half of a slider roll. Dylan’s eyes watch as his cooking mate is taken from beside him, and they follow the descent when it comes back to dig under his damaged skin, scooping him, and the melted cheese coating his back, up. I give him a reunion with his friend, the ground beef patty, placing him on top of it. Even if he had the energy to move, the melted cheese has him so firmly glued to the meat patty that he’d be unable to even turn his head. Grilled onions, mushrooms, lettice, tomato, pickle, and barbecue dressing are strategically placed all over his burnt skin, giving him some cooling sensations, before the top bun is lowered onto his body. Like Jackson, his head, arms, and feet are outside of the bun, while the rest of his form is stuck within. Jackson is relieved to see the light when the lid comes off of his plate, but after his companion is placed beside them, their moans of greeting are silenced by the lid’s return. This reunion occurs once more a minute later, when a slice of steaming pizza, with Melvin sweating atop, takes up the remainder of the space on the plate. Again the lid is put over them, trapping them in the steam and darkness until their consumption. The appetizers secure, I move onto the main course.
Colin’s long, lean body, now with a slight paunch visible behind his glistening abs right where his stomach is, rests with his back against the remainder of stuffing. He is so listless that I don’t even have to compete with a single struggle as I raise him between two hands and mold him like clay into the exact shape I want, using a tiny bit of twine to keep him stuck in that position. My mouth continues to water as his glazed eyes look up at me from my hand, trussed like a turkey. His legs spread eagle, large succulent feet in the air, arms bound at his sides, he looks ready to eat, but I’m not satisfied yet. I tear off a few chunks of the stuffing he hasn’t finished eating, and smile as his eyes go wide, understanding my intention. Colin’s mouth opens to scream, but a cherry tomato is jammed inside before he can make a sound. Now free from any noise, I take my time carefully spreading his pillowy cheeks, and then shove the stuffing deep into his tight hole. Tears stream out of his eyes while my thumb pushes each piece in past his asshole ring, forcing it as far as it will go, the pad of my finger gently caressing his taint, cock, and balls at once. When the stuffing reaches past his colon into his prostate, his dick springs to life, growing to exceptional height and girth. I can’t resist a few quick licks, my humid breath and spongy tongue sliding up his shaft and lapping at his cock head. A few more strokes from my fingers, up and around his towering shaft which would be so large had he been regular sized- but at this height smaller than my thumb nail- and I’ve milked him of his sweet seed. His chest receives a glob of come. “Mmmm…” I moan. “Normally I’d marinate you for awhile, making you tender and juicy, but you’re already covered in my favorite sauce. Sweat, tears, and your own creamy filling.” Using a marinade brush I spread the substance all over his body until he is glistening and sticky. The bristles tickle every inch of him, but he is unable to laugh or cry, his mouth still crammed full of tomato. Placing him on a coated pan, I push him into the waiting oven and move onto the side dishes.
Finn and Jack have their complimentary food stuffs already completed and warming on the stove top. Finn is dropped onto a mound of creamy mashed potatoes first. I mix it and him around with my spoon, careful to coat his body in the delicious starch, adding some of his uneaten bacon bits to the mix. When he’s stuck, only his head sticking out of the globs of buttery potato, I coat the top with gravy, which washes the mash out of his hair and off of his face, but replaces it with warm brown sauce which he sputters through.
Jack’s bowl is then tilted over a saucepan filled with homemade mac and cheese. Again I use a spoon to stir him around, although he is already coated in the cheese sauce from his time fattening up. Both he and his twin are scooped out and plopped on either side of a second plate. I check on Colin but see that he is still sizzling nicely, not yet browned enough for my liking, and close the oven again.
Jensen is put into a bowl and thrown into the freezer so that his fudge coating can harden, making him caramel filled center expand outward. But before I close the door, I remove some chocolate mint chip ice cream from inside. After scooping out a few spoonfuls and putting them into a second bowl, his older brother Dillon is forced into a sitting position, and his ass pushed into the top until he is sunken in up to his belly button. A squirt of hot fudge to compliment his fudgy filling puts his tiny body into shock, as it opposes the freezing sensation in his lower body, the heat and cold fighting on both parts of his miniscule form. He is then covered up to the tops of his shoulders in whipped cream, and a cherry is placed into his mouth just as he begins to scream at me to save his little brother from freezing to death. I let him keep the latter company in the freezer while I eat my meal. Before the door is closed for the final time I whisper, “the next time you come out, you’ll be the last two morsels left outside of my gut. Say ‘see you later’ to your little friends. When you next see them they’ll look very different, and you’ll be too busy screaming in pain to say ‘hi’.” The door is slammed and the brothers are in silent darkness as they wait for their doom, knowing their fellow captives are being tortured and dined on only a few feet away.
When I next check on Colin he is finished cooking, so I use my oven mitts to slide his tray out, use my spatula to lift him out, and put him on the second plate between the twins. His cooked flesh is so intoxicating that even Finn can’t help but lick his lips. With a scissor I cut the twine from around his body. He is in far too much pain to move an inch, which helps me to reposition him. As I mold his tender flesh again, using the oven mitts so as not to burn myself, he whimpers in pain from around the tomato. I put him on his knees, his cute little toes poking out from under his bubbly ass which is raised into the air so that its contents does not spill out. His arms are forced at his sides, and his head is raised up, looking directly at me.
Satisfied that my meal is complete I pour myself a glass of chianti, (Ruffino Riserva), light some candles, and put on a bit of light music. My casual demeanor somehow frightens the youths even more, as I finish the preparations. A napkin, knife, and fork are put on my place setting, the knife there merely for appearances as I have no intention of piercing their flesh… feeling the boys alive and struggling from within makes for the best post-dinner sexual entertainment there is. After all, they are here for two purposes only- they exist for two reasons only- my sexual appetites, both carnal pleasure and literal hunger. It’s why they were put on this earth. Sating my id is all they are good for… and all of the time they’ve been raised, going through the trials and tribulations of life, caring for their delectable bodies and feeding their minds, was only to make them more desirable snacks/toys for me. Of course, having them think that I plan on dismembering them, cutting their meat away, slicing heads and limbs off, removing organs, and chewing them all up, is all well and good though.
I push the second plate into the center of the table, below the flickering candlelight, and remove the top of the first plate, setting it down in front of me. I begin with Jackson. My hands wrap around the bottom of his bun, feeling his weight which is heavier with the condiments and his added girth, and I slowly raise him to my lips feet first so that I can smile at his wide-eyed terror. Jackson knows it is time. Anything he’s been telling himself about it ending happily ever after or thoughts of delaying the inevitable with my procrastinating food preparation is gone. All that’s left is pure consumption. My tongue darts out suddenly and laps at his cute, pale little feet, tickling the soles and then quickly moving on to the tops and delicate toes. I suck on each one separately, and then both together, resting his smooth calves on my lower lip. The wind is then knocked out of him when I pull him from my mouth and spin the entire cocktail weenie around. I hold him upside down for a moment, devouring him with my eyes one last time, and then open wide, the shadow of my maw passing over the top half of his body as he is slid inside head first, the bottom of the bun resting on my salivating tongue. I block out his screams and those from his trapped fellow prisoners below- it seems they finally got their voices back… aside from Colin whose mouth is still full. Suddenly, when he is in up to his belly button I slam my teeth downward as though I am about to bite him in half. Shrieks of fear ring out from within and outside of my dank musky maw, but I stop just short of his skin. I love teasing my prey. Jackson’s sigh of relief is short lived. The rest of the appetizer is pushed into my mouth and my lips close, sealing him in darkness. My tastebuds are flooded with flavor, from the doughy consistency of the bread, to the tartness of the condiments, to the meaty delectable morsel that is Jackson himself, everything mingles together beautifully. I batter him around, sampling every inch, every combination of tastes, separating them and combining them, sucking and slurping and licking, etc. I chew at the bread, swallowing it down first as a preview of what is to come. He is exhausted and can barely breathe