Hey guys, so this one is a sequel to my other story, Montana (http://www.voreplay.com/index.php?topic=5250.0
). Guess, I'm doing a sort of inspired by true events auto-biographical series thing. This one was inspired by a real-life meetup in NYC a few weeks ago. I hope Tom enjoys the artistic license I took with this story.
New York City
My fingers trembled over the keyboard, desperately wanting to write “yes,” but my brain was stopping them. My stupid brain, hijacking what would have otherwise been an easy answer. “No, you can’t do this again,” it told me. “It isn’t right.” I was stuck. Unable to write yes and unwilling to write no. I finally settled for “let me sleep on it.”
Four months had passed since my trip to Montana. Since I’d met Jeff. Since I’d eaten Jeff. By the time I’d returned home from the trip, my life went back to an eerie normalcy. Sure my belly had been grotesquely distended that weekend, struggling to digest the live boy I’d eaten, but by Tuesday Jeff was largely gone—he’d become nothing but fat on my belly.
The day I went back to work, I spent the whole morning sitting there, rubbing my hand along the underside of my noticeably larger gut. At least four or five inches, I’d say. Yes, I’d taken a young boy at the beginning of his life and consigned him to become four or five inches of fat around my waistline.
Instead of being horrified by that thought, I felt equal parts aroused and annoyed—annoyed because the button-down work shirts that had once fit me perfectly were now stretched to the breaking point, thanks to the inches of belly fat that had once been Jeff. Thanks to Jeff’s sacrifice and my gluttony, I now had to go shopping for a new work wardrobe.
Those first few weeks after eating Jeff, I’d lay awake at night, rubbing my belly and thinking of him. Some nights I’d jack off two or three times thinking about his sweet face, and how much he wanted to end up in my belly. He finally got his wish, he was a part of me. It was a singular act of both mercy and brutality. And I should have been done with it thereafter.
And yet, the hunger never waned. It became stronger. It became ever-present. It was an urge that operated underneath my conscious thought and manifested in ways I wasn’t aware of, and couldn’t control. Sometimes, while I was walking, I’d find myself taking turns down streets I didn’t know, subconsciously following some cute smaller guy my belly thought looked appetizing.
I was terrified at my inability to control myself. I couldn’t do it. Not again. I wasn’t a monster. I wasn’t going to live my life gobbling up innocent guys and growing bigger. It was a wildly sexy fantasy, but as a reality, it was sheer horror.
And then came Tom.
I’d started talking with Tom around the same time as Jeff and we had some great chats online. We both liked a lot of the same things and it didn’t hurt that Tom was very sexy. He was tall, about my height, six foot, and beefy. He’d been a swimmer in college and had a very nicely defined physique. And he was handsome. Classically so.
In many ways he was the opposite of Jeff. Where Jeff was small and boy-ish, Tom was robust and manly. Where Jeff was meek and soft-spoken, Tom was outgoing and loud. But Tom and Jeff had one thing in common. They both wanted me to eat them.
I could tell Tom was disappointed as soon as I’d typed the words.
“Sleep on it? Come on man, nothing’s going to change between now and tomorrow. Let’s do it.”
He wanted to get a hotel room in New York—his treat. I had to visit for work and he lived a couple hours away in Connecticut. We’d keep it casual he insisted, and I didn’t have to eat him if I didn’t feel like it.
I could feel the urge to say yes welling up inside me. My brain had fought the good fight, but it was no match for this primitive desire.
“Fine. I’m in.”
And with those words, I’d set up my second weekend with a man who wanted me to eat him. I didn’t have to eat him, after all, I told myself. We could just hang out and role play and have a good time and then when we were done, he’d go back to Connecticut—alive and certainly not digesting in my belly.
I won’t lie, I was also daunted by the logistics. Tom was taller and thicker than Jeff. Two hundred pounds of ex-swimmer to be precise. Thanks to Jeff I was now weighing in around 450 pounds—most of him seemed to have gone to my sizeable belly—but even that seemed insufficient. If I felt like my belly was going to burst with Jeff inside it, I couldn’t fathom the reality of filling it with Tom.
But that was my brain at work. Thinking. Rationalizing. Worrying. The deep urge inside me didn’t waver. It wanted Tom. And it wanted him for good.
The next month moved slower than any month in my life. As the date of our weekend adventure closed in it felt like time was coming to a standstill. I distracted myself by preparing—eating as much food as I possibly could, stretching out my gut in case I decided to go through with eating Tom.
I set my personal record for non-human food during the run-up to that trip. One night I ordered 15 extra large pizzas and ate them all before passing out. My belly was the fullest it had been since the night I swallowed Jeff up and it felt amazing. It wasn’t quite as much as Tom, but I was getting close.
My flight out to New York was packed. I took the aisle seat and a smaller college student graciously took the middle. He looked like the kind of guy who played lacrosse—beefy, but fit. My love handles clearly ran over the arm rests and touched his sides, though he seemed not to mind. I couldn’t help but think that those love handles were only as big as they were because of Jeff. I’d digested a boy and now my body was so big that it couldn’t be contained by a single airplane seat.
I avoided eye-contact with him for the rest of the flight, trying not to notice as my fat rubbed against my seat mate. My belly felt like furnace, desperately imploring me to devour the jock to my side. But I knew I couldn’t. The flight was full and there’d be too many witnesses.
I spent the flight trying to get engrossed in the episodes of The Americans I’d downloaded, but my mind was elsewhere. If a major plot twist had happened on the show, I couldn’t have told you. All I could tell you was that the 160-pound young man on my left smelled like slow-cooked roast beef and if I could have, I would have swallowed him head first.
I arrived at the hotel, nervous and hungry. I’d eaten several meals earlier in the day, to keep myself from getting too ravenous around Tom, but it was to no avail. My gut begged to be filled.
I checked into the room, 1238, and waited. And waited. Tom was on a train and would be there soon. “Sort of like ordering delivery,” I thought. “All the way from Connecticut.” I chuckled at the thought. Here was tom, so willing to be my dinner that he would even pay the delivery charge. Certainly more affordable then GrubHub.
My thinking was interrupted by a knock at the door. I casually went to open it, my heart-rate racing. Suddenly there he was—six-foot, looking every bit as handsome as his photos, maybe even more so.
“Hey bud!” He said as he leaned in for a hug. “Wow, nice room!”
He wandered inside and went to the window to take in the view. I took in a view of him, simultaneously daunted and aroused by his size.
“It’s great to meet you,” was all I could stammer out in the moment. My brain was overloaded with information. It’s difficult to try and be charming when you’re nervous and turned and trying to suppress the desire to devour the other person right then and there.
“You too man. I’m really glad you agreed to do this,” he said, staring at me with the most piercing blue eyes I’d ever seen.
We decided to go get drinks, to try and loosen things up. We took the train down to the village and hit up Tys, one of the old-school bear bars on Christopher Street that’s only about as big inside as a standard Manhattan one-bedroom.
My stomach kept rumbling, but as the night wore on, the urge to feed it subsided. Tom and I talked for hours over beers. About life, and relationships and our upbringings. The topic of vore never came up once. As the evening wore on, it started to feel less like a salacious internet meet up and more and more like a date.
Tom wasn’t like Jeff at all. He had a career, he was ambitious. He was full of life and vitality. He talked about how he’d made the move to Connecticut for his job and how much he loved the community he’d found there. He knew the lyrics to seemingly every song that came on in the bar.
For a moment, I wondered if this was a case of mistaken identity. How could this be the guy who wanted to be eaten? He had so much to live for, so much excitement and ambition. For Jeff, eating him felt like an act of community service. Eating Tom would be a far more cruel thing to do.
We continued to drink until last call at 2am. Tom had pounded his drinks away and was visibly drunk. It wasn’t until I got up off my bar stool that I realized that after eight beers, I was drunk too. We’d had a great time together, drinking, laughing and talking. I was almost a little disappointed that my evening with Tom wasn’t going to be the fantasy I’d secretly hoped for.
We made our way back to the hotel room by 3am. I made a quick stop at a local pizza place and downed half a pizza in about 2 minutes. Tom looked impressed, but he didn’t say anything.
We got back to the room and the silence was deafening. We’d spent the last 6 hours together and never once did the topic of eating Tom come up. I didn’t have to eat him, certainly not in my drunken state, but I wanted to at least talk about it. Thankfully alcohol removes all manner of inhibition.
“So, I guess you wanted me to eat you, yeah?” I managed to say with the confidence of a young Marlon Brando.
“Oh man!” he said, before pausing long enough for me to question whether this really had been a giant case of mistaken identity. “I wanted to say something earlier, but it felt weird.”
Thank God. At least this was the same Tom I’d talked to online.
“It’s cool man,” I said. “I mean, hey, this is a pretty weird fetish. After all, we get off on the idea of devouring people whole and turning them into belly fat.”
Tom looked at me. He didn’t speak. I thought maybe I’d said the wrong thing. Shit, where was my second-guessing brain when I needed him? My confidence level dropped to old Marlon Brando.
“Dude. I’ve never heard anyone talk about it before. It’s kinda… hot.” Whew.
Tom moved in and put his hands on my belly.
“Like, do you really think you could fit me inside this thing?” he asked, shaking it for emphasis. My belly gurgled, as if answering his question for me.
I leaned forward and pushed him with my gut, bumping him back two steps. “I’ve never eaten anyone as big as you, but I suppose there’s only one way to find out.” The urge was roaring back and it was delighted at the sight of the meal in front of me.
“Fuuuuuck,” he said, touching himself over his jeans. “Ever since I was a kid, I’ve wanted to be devoured by a hungry man like you.”
I could feel the urge welling up inside me, but it was fighting against my own tiredness. My gut wanted to devour Tom right there in that room. My body wanted to rest off the alcohol.
I stepped forward and bumped Tom again, this time forcing him back to the wall. I arched my back and stuck my gut right into him, pinning him to the wall with it.
“Well, what do you say we get you inside my belly?”
I felt his dick jump against mine. I had him right where I wanted him. As I took off my shirt to expose my massive, round hairy gut, I watched as he fumbled to take off his pants, finally pulling them off, leaving him in only a pair of blue Tommy Hilfiger boxers. He looked delectable.
I leaned in and began to lick his neck. His taste exploded across my tongue. He was salty, but had a rich flavor, different from Jeff. He tasted like a really tender piece of pork.
As my tongue ran over his neck, Tom squirmed in pleasure. “Oh man, you’re really tasting me, aren’t you?”
It was true. I was tasting him. And he tasted like nothing else I’d ever eaten. In one clean move, I ripped off Tom’s shirt and began to lick all over his beefy torso. I could feel his rock hard dick rubbing against my gut as I licked him and the sensation was driving me wild.
“Oh God, I can’t believe it man,” he moaned. “I’m actually going to get gobbled up by a greedy monster like you!”
My brain went silent. I stopped licking and pulled my hands away from him. I sat on the bed.
“Hey, what’s wrong,” Tom asked.
I knew what was wrong, but I didn’t want to say it. He’d said it in the heat of passion, but the word stuck in my consciousness, echoing as if it were the loudest word in the world. Monster.
“I—I’m sorry man,” I stammered, betraying my booze-fueled confidence for the first time. “I can’t do this.”
“Why not?” He asked, innocently. “You don’t think I’m attractive? Or rather… appetizing?”
“Of course you are! The problem is that you’re too appetizing. If we start doing this, I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself.”
“Oh…” he said, the disappointment telegraphed clearly in the silence that followed. “Well… we could just role play?”
“No!” I’d meant to say it in a normal way, but it came out like a petulant child screaming at their parent. “If we go down this path, I’m going to end up eating you and… I don’t want to be that person.”
Monster. The word wouldn’t stop ringing in my head. I didn’t want to be a monster. I was a good person. I am a good person. And yet somehow I’d been dumb enough to think it would be okay to eat a young guy like Jeff. But it wasn’t. It never was and now I couldn’t take it back. Jeff was belly fat. And that genie can’t go back in the bottle.
I could tell Tom was still confused. To him this was still half fantasy. Sure he knew it was hypothetically possible for someone like me to eat him, but what sane person would think it would really happen? He didn’t understand the danger he was in and the alcohol didn’t help.
“I’m sorry man. I really like you,” I said. “Which is why we gotta stop this right now. If I ate you, I don’t think I’d be able to forgive myself. You’ve got a whole life ahead of you. I’m not gonna be the guy who cuts that short.”
I could tell Tom was angry, maybe a little hurt. But I’d rather him be a little hurt at my rebuffing him than a lot hurt by my digesting him. He couldn’t see it now, but I was literally saving his life.
Monster. The word was starting to lose its punch. Despite the eight beers inside me, my better self was prevailing. I was passing up the chance to eat this promising young man. That’s not a monster. That’s a good person.
“It’s okay man. I know it’s a lot to ask of you. Eating me, that is.” Tom looked sad for the first time since we’d met. “I wouldn’t want to put you in a position where you’d feel guilty. I know it looks like I have this promising life ahead of me, and I do, but… I’ve known since I was a little kid that I was meant to be eaten by someone. I thought it would go away, but it didn’t. It just got stronger and stronger and it led me here, to you. And if you did decide to eat me… well… I wouldn’t regret it in the slightest. Hell, I’d happily crawl right in your mouth!”
It was a kind thing for him to say. I could tell he still wanted me to eat him, but I’d made my decision. Jeff would be the first—and last—man I’d ever eat. I would conquer the urge inside me, the monster, and keep my humanity. And this would be the night I’d prove it possible.
“I appreciate that man,” I said. “What do you say we just cuddle tonight? You can curl up to my gut and imagine what it would’ve been like to be inside it.”
“I’d like that,” Tom said as he smiled. I liked that I could still make him smile.
We both drifted off to sleep sometime around 4am in a drunken haze. He curled up into my belly, absorbing its warmth as we slept.
The next morning I woke up suddenly, the kind of deep-sleep interruption that’s deeply disorienting at first. It took me a few seconds to remember where I was. “Oh right, the hotel room.” And Tom. I looked across the bed and Tom was gone. The sheets impressed where he’d been sleeping.
“Damn, I guess he was disappointed that he didn’t get off last night” I thought. I rolled over to check the alarm clock.
At least I tried to roll over. But I couldn’t. Something wouldn’t budge. It’s like I was frozen to the bed. I tossed off the covers and that’s when I saw it. My belly was enormous, easily bigger than it had been when I ate Jeff. And it was gurgling.
“No, no, no” I thought as I frantically pawed at my freakishly distended gut. “I couldn’t have eaten Tom last night, could I?”
I tried to speak, but the words caught in my dry throat. Oh God, why did I drink so much last night? I swallowed and then called out. “Tom? TOM?!?”
My belly was still. There was no movement aside from the waves of contractions as my stomach kneaded its contents. I ran my hands over it and could start making out Tom’s features—or the features that used to be Tom. Oh God, I’d really done it again. I’d eaten another man alive and now my belly was hard at work digesting him.
Monster. The word rang out in my core. I’d done it again.
I could see one slight bulge that seemed to be Tom’s head. Another appeared to be the curve of his back. But shockingly I could barely make out much of Tom at all. My belly had accommodated him perfectly and compacted him into a belly-shaped ball. I felt a deep rumble and knew what was coming.
I belched, feeling it echo off the walls. The taste of Tom immediately filled my mouth as I got flashes of flavor from the night before. His flesh had been tender and sweet. His taste was more ripe than Jeff, but just as delicious nonetheless.
How was it possible? The day before I couldn’t imagine fitting all of Tom inside my gut and now, there he was. Bubbling and gurgling inside my taught, bloated belly. It was a ridiculously tight squeeze, but I knew my stomach would hold. I was as impressed as I was horrified.
The relief from my first belch was incredible, but I felt another one stewing.
And out flew a pair of boxers. Out of my gaping maw flew a pair of medium blue Tommy Hilfiger boxers. The wet boxers landed next to me and I knew immediately whose they were. Tom had been wearing them when we passed out. I’d eaten Tom and now that my gut was digesting him, it had no use for his underwear.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” was all I could think. I didn’t want to eat Tom. I’d been so controlled only a few hours ago, but something must have happened in the middle of the night. My brain was hazy from the alcohol, but bits and pieces were coming back slowly.
After our talk, we fell asleep, with him nestling up against my belly. Flashes of memories started flooding back in. Some seemed real and some seemed like a collection of fantasies. I could remember a moment when his legs were outside my throat. That had to be a real memory, cause I’d never eaten someone head-first before. I had a flash of him as he came in my mouth, so he must have been conscious for at least some of it.
But how did he get in my mouth in the first place? Had I pounced on him in his sleep?
My belly gurgled and I felt it shift. My gut was working overtime to digest the 200 pounds of food inside it that used to be Tom. I could feel it churning, slowly becoming a thick soup. Tom was stewing in my gut, just like he wanted. As awful as I felt, Tom must’ve been happy. I mean heck, he even said that he’d gladly crawl right in—
That’s when it hit me. The memory flooded back into my brain, vivid and crisp. I hadn’t taken advantage of Tom in his moment of vulnerability. He had taken advantage of me. I recalled half-waking up in the middle of the night with his arm down my throat. In a sleepy haze I tried to pull it out, but he pushed it in deeper. I wasn’t completely there, but I remember the look in his eyes. He was serious.
Tom had waited until I was asleep and then fed himself to me. And I didn’t stop him.
Oh God. I’d really done it again. It wasn’t enough for me devour Jeff, but now I’d eaten Tom? And now the happy, healthy 25-year-old who’d taken the train down from Connecticut for a night in New York City was digesting inside my gut along with half a late-night pizza.
And I was hard. What kind of a monster ends a promising young life inside his belly and instead of being overcome with shame and guilt, is overcome with arousal?
I belched again.
My dick jumped. I could feel my lower belly pressing into it and the massaging of my gut, combined with the rumbling of each burp, was driving me closer and closer to the edge. I couldn’t reach my own cock, because my belly was busy digesting a 200-pound man, but that wasn’t an issue, because that very gurgling belly was driving me to climax anyway.
I looked over at Tom’s boxers and thought about the life that was being slowly transformed into belly fat. He wouldn’t need that return ticket to Connecticut. Nor any of the clothes he’d brought with him. Both thoughts drove me closer to climax.
Come Monday morning, his co-workers would notice Tom wasn’t there and probably by Wednesday they’d send someone to his apartment to realize he was missing. My dick was throbbing now. But all of that searching would be to no avail, because Tom wasn’t in Connecticut. No at that very moment, Tom was being digested inside my massive 450-pound belly. Tom was in the process of becoming belly fat and by the time anyone had noticed his disappearance, he would be mere inches on my gargantuan belly as I flew back to Chicago, rubbing against some poor young jock in the middle seat.
I could feel myself close to cumming. These horrific thoughts should have repulsed me, but they drove me wild. I was a greedy pig who couldn’t stop eating boys even if I wanted to. No man was safe around me, not with my voracious appetite. I could feel another burp coming. This one deep and rumbling. As it erupted, I felt the flavors of Tom wash over my throat.
I put my hands on my gut, feeling the outline of what was once Tom. He was no more. He’d put himself on the menu and became the biggest meal of my life. He was nothing but food for my greedy, insatiable stomach—what he always wanted. Tom was now a part of my massive gut, forever.
I felt myself shooting ropes of cum on the underside of my distended, rotund belly. I grabbed onto my gut as I came, as if cradling Tom inside of it. I couldn’t see the lower curvature of my gut, but I could feel each stream of cum landing on it. I came for what felt like hours before it finally stopped. And I was left with only the sound of my breath. And the sound of my belly gurgling.
“Sorry Tom,” was all I could say. But the words meant nothing. Tom wasn’t Tom anymore and I wasn’t truly sorry.
A few hours later, I managed to roll over enough to reach the courtesy phone. I called to the front desk and arranged to stay in the room another night, undisturbed. I’d need at least another day to finish digesting Tom before I could even get up.
I was thoroughly disappointed in my own lack of self-control, but I knew that my guilt trip would need to wait. Now I had to deal with the logistical hurdles of digesting Tom, covering up his disappearance and getting new work clothes for my Monday morning meeting.
New work clothes. With that thought I was already annoyed again. I looked down at my still freakishly large Tom-filled belly and slapped it. This hobby was starting to become expensive.