Winner Take All
By: Giantguy
Hal flipped on the dome light one more time and took another look at
the wrinkled street map in one hand, steering his beat up Toyota
with the other. This had to be it -- he took a left turn and
barreled up the long, rut-filled dirt driveway. The smell of pizza
was everywhere in the car, even with the windows rolled down. This
was the last drop off tonight, and then he was done. This place was
a bitch to find... they better not give him any shit about how long
it took getting out here. Must be a party or something -- six extra
large meat lover's pizzas...
He pulled up in front of the house. There was sure something going
on, the lights were on and there was loud talking coming from
inside. Hal rang the doorbell, wiping the sweat off his forehead.
Middle of August, had to be ninety degrees still and it was almost
midnight. He'd ditched that fucking polyester uniform after he got
two blocks from the store -- he always did on his last run -- but
even in shorts and a t-shirt he was still roasting. He rang the
bell again, trying to balance the stack of pizza boxes. The heat
was starting to burn his hands.
The door swung open. "The goddamn pizza is finally here! What the
fuck took so long?!" The man standing there grimacing down at Hal
was huge... six foot five and built like a linebacker. He looked to
be around forty, with close cropped dark brown hair, a mustache that
drooped over a sneering mouth, wearing a tank top stained with sweat
under the arms. He held a beer can in one hand, his veiny biceps
bulging out the size of cantaloupes. Must really like his pizza,
thought Hal, staring straight ahead at the man's round beer gut,
which pushed out full and firm under the thin material of his shirt.
The belt on the man's jeans was hanging open as though he'd already
loosened it a notch or two. He swung the door open wider and
growled at Hal.
"Well fucking get the stuff inside. Been an hour since we called,
ain't it free if its more than thirty minutes?" Hal maneuvered his
way in still carrying the stack of boxes.
"That's Dominos, so it's not free," Hal answered, a little
intimidated by the bulk of the man, "and your place was really hard
to find."
The man growled, slurping the rest of the beer from the can. "Yeah,
whatever. Set it down there." He brought Hal around the corner and
motioned to a table in the center of the room. It looked like a
poker game was in progress -- three other men sat around the table,
which was littered with poker chips, cards, crumpled cigarette
packs, beer cans and filled ashtrays. The men stared at Hal -- they
were all near the size of the man who opened the door -- "a whole
fucking defensive line" Hal thought -- not one of them making a move
to help him.
"Come on you shitheads, make some room," the man standing behind Hal
barked. One of the men, a little older looking with steel grey hair
in a crewcut and a wiry salt and pepper beard, cleared out a space
by swiping his arm across half the table, knocking cans and chips to
the floor. He stood up, lifting up his shirt and scratching his
belly. Hal noticed he was only in boxers.
Hal stumbled forward and set down the pizza boxes, and stepped back,
rubbing his arms, a little sore from the weight. This was a fucking
bitch of a summer job, he thought. Never wanted to have pizza again
in his whole life.
There was a gurgling, growling sound almost right next to Hal that
made him jump. The man sitting there, with slicked back black hair,
blue eyes and a strong, jutting chin dark with five o'clock shadow,
leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands over his belly. "Jesus,
Frank" the crewcutted man said, taking a long pull on his beer,
"fuckin' feed that gut, will ya?"
Hal watched as Frank stood up, flipping the lid of the top pizza box
open. He expected that he would grab a slice, or even two or three
-- he'd seen his share of people attacking the pizza as soon as it
got there. Frank pushed up the sleeves of his worn Detroit football
jersey, and dug his hands into the box. Hal just stared as Frank
began to mash the entire pizza into a gooey ball, compacting it
between his massive pawlike hands. The other men just laughed as
though they'd seen this before. Frank lifted the dripping mass of
cheese, sauce and dough, and brought it to his mouth.
Shit, that's the size of a fucking volleyball, thought Hal. What a
fucking pig -- maybe this is some kind of joke they have, playing
around with their pizza like fratboys at a food fight. Frank then
opened his mouth, pressing the wad of pizza up against his face.
Hal blinked as Frank proceeded to stuff the entire ball slowly into
his mouth, his lips stretching around it, his strong jaw opening
incredibly wide. Frank's eyes were closed, his tongue slurping in
the strings of cheese that were hanging down over his chin. Finally
the entire pizza was in Frank's mouth -- damn, Hal thought, he's
gonna fucking choke.
Frank dropped down in his chair, his cheeks bulging wide, his throat
muscles working. He gripped the armrests, bracing himself. Finally
the bulge began to travel down his throat, ballooning his already
thick neck. Slowly it worked its way down as Frank swallowed again
and again, forcing the mass down into his gut. He finally leaned
back, opening his eyes. He opened his tomato-smeared lips wide,
letting out a thick belch.
"aaauuuuUUUUUUUUrrp" Frank smiled, a satisfied look on his rough
face.
"Holy shit!" Hal couldn't help himself. The other men laughed,
popping open new cans of beer.
"Aw you ain't seen nothing yet boy, we're just getting started," one
of the other men said as he lit up a Marlboro. He reminded Hal a
little of his football coach -- a wide grin like Dennis Quaid, a
good ol' boy ex-jock with sideburns, tanned powerful forearms, pecs
pushing his t-shirt out with a growing paunch underneath. He stared
right at Hal, making him shiver for just a second. "You gonna pay
the boy, Vince?" the man said.
"Aw, suck my dick, D.J." Vince, the man who had answered the door,
pulled his wallet out of his worn jeans. Hal shook his head,
trying to clear it. He handed Vince the grease stained receipt,
while the man counted out a stack of bills with his thick,
workroughened fingers.
"That oughta do it, even though you were so fuckin' late," Vince
said.
"And a tip!" the older man added, trading a look with D.J.
"Yeah, yeah, YEAH, Pike, don't see you fucking laying out any cash."
Pike just ran his hand over his crewcut and gave Vince the finger.
"Pay him, ya son of a bitch."
This was probably how these guys spent every Saturday, Hal thought,
sucking down beer and pizza and fighting with each other till they
passed out drunk. He just wanted his tip so he could go home and
shower all the fucking grease off. He looked over at Vince.
"Well now, kid, all I got's a fifty -- " Hal rolled his eyes. He
knew this one. They'd promise to tip next time cause they couldn't
break a big bill, even if he offered to make change for them.
Fuckers.
"-- but fifty seems about right if you'll help us out a little."
Vince held up the bill in front of Hal while the other three
chuckled a little, watching him.
"Huh?" Hal perked up. Fifty? That'd make up for driving all the
way out here, that's for damn sure. "Uh, yeah, no problem. I can
help you out, what do you need?"
Vince leaned down so his face was right at Hal's level. He was five
foot ten -- he usually didn't feel so short, but none of these guys
was under six foot four, and Pike must have been six-six easy.
Vince's craggy face broke into a conspiratorial smile, his voice
rumbling low.
"Well now, once we get done with poker we have ourselves a contest.
Challenge. And we need a judge."
Hal blinked, taking a small step back. The guy was right in his
space, he could feel the heat of his breath. "What kind of
contest?" He looked around at Frank and the empty pizza box.
"What, some kind of eating contest?"
Vince looked over Hal's shoulder at the other guys, questioning.
Pike spoke up. "Close," he said, taking a long swig of beer. He
opened his mouth wide. "uuuuAAAAAuuuuuuuurp." He smiled. "Burp
contest."
Hal looked back at Vince. Yep, it figured. Four ex-jocks talking
about their high school days, still having burp contests like some
of Hal's crazier buddies. Fuck, that'd be an easy fifty.
"So what are the rules?" Hal asked, smiling. Vince put a hand on
his shoulder and led him to the table. D.J. and Frank high fived
each other and grinned.
"Easy enough. First round, everybody gets a shot. Cut it down to
two. Then winner takes all."
Hal shrugged. "Easy enough."
D.J. leaned across the table as Pike and Frank began popping open
beer cans and filling a line of mugs.
"We're talking length, loudness, and force," he said, tapping Hal's
chest with a long finger. "You gotta get right up in everybody's
face -- gotta be like the ref at a boxing match."
"Yeah, no problem." Jeez, Hal thought, they take it pretty
seriously. How tough could it be?
"We ready?" Pike said, scratching his beard. "Who's going first?"
Frank stood up, picking up a mug in each hand. "I'm up." Hal just
watched as Frank closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Suddenly he
put one mug up to his lips, draining it, his throat working as he
sucked the liquid down. The second the mug was empty he switched to
the second one, tipping it upside down, pouring it down his throat.
He slammed the mugs down on the table, and then opened his mouth.
"buuuuUUAAAAAAAAUUUuuuuuuuuh uuuuuu hhhhh rrrp." Hal's eyes
widened -- that foghorn blast would have won any belch contest he'd
ever been in, but Frank looked disappointed.
"Shit," he grumbled, dropping back into his chair. Pike smirked at
him. "Yeah, you still got some learning to do, dont ya?" He
punched Frank in the shoulder, then walked around the table toward
Hal, picking up another two mugs. He tightened his grip on the
mugs, flexing his biceps a little. He was probably the oldest of
the four, at around fifty, looking like he'd spent some time in the
Army. Tough looking son of a bitch, thought Hal. Hope I don't have
to tell him he lost.
Pike rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, crouching just
a little like he was ready to do a deadlift. Then as though he'd
heard a starter's pistol, he guzzled one mug and then the other,
slurping noisily, beer spilling over his chin and through his beard.
He threw his arms back, thrusting his chest forward, braying almost
into Hal's face.
"eeeuuuuuu AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA uuuuuu AAAAAAA uuu AAAAArrrrrp"
The sound was hoarse and gruff as Pike forced it out, the blast
spewing a mist of beer at Hal. The man's chest was heaving. He
stepped back, wiping the back of his hand across his lips, his lips
curling in a confident sneer.
Hal tried to keep cool. Damn, these guys could be in the Guinness
book of records. There was no way the other two could do better
than Pike -- but both Vince and D.J. had grins on their faces,
waiting for their turn.
Vince took his two mugs next, looking down, swilling the beer around
in the mugs to get the bubbles moving, taking a breath to prepare.
He took a wide stance, anchoring himself, then lifted both mugs up
above his head. He tilted his head back, opening his lips wide, and
poured the contents of both mugs in a waterfall of beer into his
mouth. Hal stared -- somehow he barely spilled a drop, pouring the
beer right down his throat without even having to swallow. He
brought the mugs down, dropping one on the table and thumping his
chest hard with his fist. He opened his mouth, his lips working for
a second -- and then the belch burst out.
"wwwwwrraaaaaaaUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUeee uuuuuuuuuuuurp." the
sound was thick and wet, like a giant straw slurping mud. Vince
looked around the room. Pike folded his arms, still convinced he
was in the running, while Frank kicked at a leg of the table,
swallowing another can of beer in two gulps.
"Okay kid, you're gonna see how a real pro does it..." D.J. slowly
stood up from the table, lifting up his shirt and thumping his beer
belly, which grumbled and gurgled. Like Pike, he was in his boxers.
Hal could see the outline of D.J.'s thick cock pressed against the
thin white cotton, half transparent with sweat and a circle wet with
piss from his last trip to the john. D.J. poured the remains of a
can of beer into one of his mugs till foam ran down the side, then
picked up both mugs, stepping closer to Hal. He looked down at him,
a full head taller than Hal. D.J. winked, then slowly brought one
mug to his lips. His wide tongue snaked out as he poured it
steadily back, tilting his head as he gulped the beer down. The
second mug came up smoothly as he swallowed more and more without
taking a breath. Then he threw the mugs down, beer splattering
across Hal's legs. D.J. dropped over, his hands on his knees, his
lips pressed closed. His gut moved, as though he were churning the
beer inside of him. He stood up, grabbing one of Hal's hands, and
thrusting it up against his gut. Hal jumped but couldn't break
D.J.'s grip -- D.J.'s beer belly was muscled and hard, jutting out
round beneath the slabs of his pecs. D.J. stretched his neck and
opened his jaw wide. Hal could feel the rumble in his gut as the
belch erupted out of him.
"uuuUUUUUUUhhhhhUUUUUUUhhhhhUUUUUUaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAArrrrp"
Hal felt the pressure easing up out of D.J.'s belly as the man
pressed his hand harder against him, helping to force the belch up
and out. It went on for what seemed to be a whole minute. Hal
finally slipped out of his grasp, wiping his arm across his face.
Damn. He thought this was going to be easy... and now what? He
looked at the four of them ... Vince, Pike, D.J. ... even Frank's
was impressive. Vince drummed his fingers on the table. Hal was
suddenly aware of the rising heat in the room ... he felt even
shorter looking at the four massive men, all watching him closely,
waiting for his decision... He was going to have to pick two... and
that meant somebody was going to be pissed off ... he thought
carefully ...
"Uh... you ... and uh, I guess you." He pointed to D.J., and then
to Pike. D.J. threw a cocky smirk at Vince, who glowered, taking a
step forward. Frank put a restraining hand on Vince's chest. Vince
pushed him aside, but stepped back, his brows lowered over his dark
eyes.
"Okay, so that's fifty, right?" said Hal, checking his pockets for
his keys.
"Not yet it ain't!" growled Vince. "Still gotta pick a winner."
Pike and D.J. stepped away from the table, coming to stand on either
side of Hal. The men's eyes locked over Hal's head. He shifted,
feeling almost claustrophobic with the two massive men standing so
close. D.J. looked down, that knowing grin still curved across his
tanned face.
"Ready, boy? We go head to head on this one." Before Hal could
answer, Pike slammed his arms up on D.J.'s broad shoulders, and D.J.
did the same to Pike. They lowered their heads, pushing at one
another, both gulping in air, trapping Hal in between them. D.J.'s
head came up first, then Pike's. They glared fiercely at one
another, then let loose.
The sound was deafening, thundering in Hal's ears. Both men's
mouth's gaped hugely -- Hal could see down to the back of D.J.'s
throat, the muscles spasming as he belched like a cannon. Pike's
mouth and jaw stretched and stretched, the wiry steel of his beard
wet with beer as he powered out his blast.
"uuuUUUUUhhuuUUUUU" "aaaaaaaAAAAAAAuuuuuu" "uuuuUUUUHHHHHHUUURRRRR"
The stale wet smell of beer washed over Hal as the men kept going
and going. Pike began to turn red, his eyes widening. He dropped
his grip, stepping back and turning away, slamming his fists in
frustration, as D.J. triumphantly croaked out another ten seconds of
his massive belch.
".... uuuuuUUUUUU AAAAAuuuuuu uuuh god uuuuUUUUUuuuuhhhhhhrp." D.J.
pumped his arms over his head in victory, his mouth still hanging
open. Hal couldn't help grinning with him. Fucking longest belch
he'd ever heard. This was gonna be a great story back at the pizza
place -- easiest way he ever made fifty bucks. He turned suddenly
at the feeling of something cold and wet fizzing down his back.
"What the f--" he whipped around to see Frank with a beer mug --
empty now that he'd spilled most of it on Hal. Frank had a strange
sort of smile on his face, but he acted apologetic.
"Shit! Sure am sorry bud. Soaked ya, didn't I?" He winked at D.J.
Hal tried to keep his anger under control, pulling the wet shirt off
over his head.
"Dammit! Gonna smell like beer all night now. Sure as fuck hope I
don't get pulled over."
Vince stepped closer. "Ahh, you won't. Only cops out this way are
ones that know us, Frank here is with the highway patrol, aren't ya
Frank?" Frank raised his now-full mug and saluted. Vince waved
the fifty in front of Hal.
"So here ya go," he said, pulling the bill just out of Hal's reach
as he went to take it. "Just one more thing." What NOW? Hal
thought. Vince put an arm around his shoulders, the coarse hair of
his forearms scratchy against Hal's bare skin. "Won't take too
long. Just a little ... victory celebration." He turned Hal around
to where D.J. was sitting on the table, his shirt now off, leaning
back on his hands, his head tilted back. Pike and Frank were
standing on their chairs, pouring mug after mug down D.J.'s throat.
His adam's apple bobbed as he gulped the beer down in quarts,
swallowing big mouthfuls of air in between cascades of beer.
D.J. sat up a little forward, his hands starting to rub over his
belly, while Pike and Frank kept the beer pouring. Hal blinked and
looked closer. Fuck, he could see D.J.'s belly bloating out... D.J.
put out his hands in a "enough" motion to the two men on either side
of him ... he kept gulping in air, forcing it down into his gut,
which was ballooning out in a ball, bigger and bigger.
Hal's eyes were wide... he was mesmerized by the sight. He almost
wasn't aware of Vince's strong hand on his shoulder slowly leading
him closer and closer to the table where D.J. sat, thumping his
massive beer gut, which was swelling like a hard, muscled beach
ball. D.J. slid off the table, standing with his legs spread, his
belly bloated huge before him. Vince gave Hal a push, making Hal
stumble against D.J., who steadied him with his beefy, muscular
arms.
Hal looked up into D.J.'s face. D.J. just grinned... his mouth
slowly opened, and a long, rumbling gurgle started to erupt from his
belly. The belch blared out as D.J. opened his mouth wider and
wider, his grip tightening on Hal's shoulders. Hal could only stare
as D.J.'s jaw stretched, his mouth gaping like a dark, black hole, a
thick blast of hot beery air in his face like a jet.
"uuuUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH MMMMMMMFFFFFF" Suddenly D.J.
leaned forward, his gaping mouth landing on Hal's head, engulfing
his head in one motion. Hal was suddenly in wet, hot darkness, with
D.J.'s wide, flat tongue pressing against his face, slurping down to
his neck.
Hal struggled as a reflex while his brain froze -- what the FUCK was
happening? D.J. was SWALLOWING him -- FUCK! but he felt strong
pairs of hands gripping each of his arms, and another pair of hands
pulling his sneakers quickly off, then moving up his legs and
ripping his shorts right off of him.
The belch was still barreling out of D.J.'s gut, distending his neck
and throat, giving him the extra stretch he needed to accommodate
Hal's slim but muscular body. Frank tossed Hal's shorts to the
side, then ripped his briefs off, his biceps knotting with the
effort. Pike and Vince, on each of Hal's arms, nodded to each
other, and began to lift him, pushing him into D.J.'s gaping mouth.
Hal gasped for breath as he was forced deeper into D.J.'s mouth, the
belch still thundering around him. He felt his head push past the
back of D.J.'s tongue and into his throat, the muscles contracting
and pulling him deeper. D.J.'s lips were sliding and slurping down
his torso ... he could feel hands lifting him and guiding him in to
D.J.'s maw as though they were guiding a board into a chipper....
The last of the belch was rumbling away, and D.J. groaned, his mouth
and throat swollen, filled with Hal's struggling form. Pike barked
like a drill sergeant.
"Come on now buddy, keep moving, can't stop now, COME ON ya fucker,
open up, keep stretching, COME ON ya cocksucker, COME ON! DO IT!
STRETCH!"
D.J. was almost shaking with the effort as Vince and Pike continued
to ram Hal, writhing and kicking, down his bulging throat. Hal felt
himself start to move again after a moment of being stuck, sliding
faster and faster, the walls of D.J.'s throat taut and slippery
around him. He felt D.J.'s lips tightening around his legs,
slurping them in like wide strands of spaghetti. He could hear
muffled cheering as his feet passed through D.J.'s lips, slipping
quickly over his tongue and down, as he was pushed into a slightly
wider space, filled with stale gassy air, warm beer trickling all
around him.
He was in D.J.'s belly. It was over almost before he even knew what
was happening. FUCK, the guy had SWALLOWED him whole! He wriggled
around in a tight ball. At least there was still some air from what
D.J. had gulped down. He could still breathe... he tried to turn
himself what he thought was right side up, wrapped in a somersault
position, when there was another deep rumbling and rushing of air.
D.J. thumped his belly and let out a thick, lazy, wet, satisfied
belch. "UuuuuUUUUUUooorrrrffff." The other three watched as D.J.'s
grossly expanded gut slowly stopped heaving as the movement inside
slowed and stopped. D.J. heaved a long sigh, full and relieved,
leaning back in his chair, rubbing his round gut. The other men
chuckled, and Vince checked his watch.
"I hear the burger place delivers ... open all night." He picked up
the phone.
End