Winning Streak
By: Giantguy
So you're working on the college newspaper writing the sports
coverage. We've been kicking ass all year and I'm doing great as
quarterback. You decide to try and shake things up and instead of
falling in line with everybody else calling us heroes and football
gods, you start picking apart everything I do, saying that we're
just lucky, that I'm not focusing hard enough, that I'm too full of
myself. You piss a lot of people off, but more and more people
read your columns just to see what kind of shit you're gonna write
next. You haven't met any of us but you're always at the games.
You get harsher and harsher trying to stir up controversy, really
running us down right before we go to the big game with our main
rivals.
You're at the game, nobody wants to sit next to you. We're favored
to win but our offense falls apart, and the defense caves in. You
smirk because finally we're proving what you've been saying all
along. We pull it together, but lose by one touchdown. You decide
to finally get a post game interview, so you head down under the
stadium to the locker rooms.
You find the assistant coaches and trainers all in the tunnel
outside the entrance to the locker room area. One of them tells
you "I wouldn't go in there if I was you buddy" but another one of
the assistants just gives him a look, and they nod you in.
You can feel the tension in the air when you go in. Some guys are
in the showers but most are still stripping out of their gear,
slamming lockers, kicking the benches, hot and sweaty and grimy.
You dig out your palm sized tape recorder, ready to get some quotes
for your next article.
The guys start to notice you there ... muttering to each other,
elbowing each other and looking in your direction. You can feel the
heat of their stares as they all start to gather around you, coming
away from their lockers, some in their uniform pants, others in
jockstraps and pads, a couple stripped down.
Your mouth is suddenly dry ... "H ... hey guys. How's it uh, how's
it going?" you stammer. You never thought about what you'd do in
this situation. The shower turns off and then you see me emerge
from the shower room, dripping wet, a black look on my face. I
spot you. The circle opens up for me as I slowly stride across the
locker room, my half hard cock swinging. You gape at its size.
You can feel the stares of the team boring into you from all sides,
almost burning with heat. You pull at the collar of your shirt --
suddenly it seems very loose. Your tape recorder seems heavier and
heavier. You look down at it, suddenly dizzy. Was it always this
big? It is about to fall from your grip -- you hold it with both
hands, your sleeves suddenly flopping over your wrists. You
stumble and step right out of your shoes as your jeans fall down
over your ass. You look up at me... I'm grinning evilly as the
circle closes around you, all of us focused down on you, staring,
our eyes boring into you ...
The room seems to swim around you, the lockers stretching up and up
and up, you're suddenly buried in a cloth mound. You feel an
enormous hand surrounding you and a rush of dizziness as you are
swung into the air. Your stomach lurches as you look down to the
ground hundreds of feet below, where it looks like your clothes are
in a pile -- you are almost sick as you realize that you are
suddenly, impossibly, three inches tall, and in my grip.
I lift you up in front of my face. You shiver in my fist, too
panicked to speak. The team gathers around ... you can still feel
their energy pulsing off them in waves ... the anger and aggression.
"SO ... YOU'RE THAT LAMEASS WRITER WHO SAYS WE DONT FOCUS ENOUGH
..." As my voice booms out you are amazed at the size of my mouth
... the huge white teeth.
"GUESS WE CAN FOCUS ENOUGH TO DO SOMETHING WHEN WE NEED TO ... AINT
THAT RIGHT GUYS..." There is a muttering from the group...
You finally manage to squeak out in your now tiny voice ... "Wha ...
what the fuck did you do to me? Put me down!"
"AW LOOK, HE'S ALL MAD NOW." I chuckle. "I'M GONNA PUT YOU DOWN,
DON'T WORRY...."
A wave of relief sweeps over you. Maybe this is just some kind of
awful drug induced hallucination. Anxiety about confronting us face
to face...
"FIRST THOUGH BUDDY, GOTTA TELL YA, YOU WERE WRONG ABOUT ONE
THING..."
"What's th that?"
"YOU SAID I WAS FULL OF MYSELF. THATS NOT RIGHT BUDDY. I'M FULL
OF YOU."
Just as my thundering words are registering in your brain, I swing
you up high, tilting my head back and letting my mouth gape open.
You look down at my wide stretched mouth, the wide flat rough tongue
... leading back into darkness.
You don't even have time to scream before you are dropping through
the air into the wet dark cavern of my mouth.
You land at the back of my tongue as my lips close overhead,
shutting out the light. My buddies watch as I drop you in,
savoring the feel of you in my mouth. You feel my muscles working
around you, the saliva pouring thickly over you.
I swallow. A huge gulp. You are pulled down into my throat, the
muscles contracting around you, delivering you to my gut.
The team watches as my throat muscles work, as I swallow you down.
I bring my head forward, grinning. They wait, silent. I open my
mouth, and let out a huge, wet burp. They cheer, slapping each
other on the back, ready to hit the showers. Next week, we knew we
would again be kicking ass.
The coaching staff hears the cheers from outside the locker room.
With a sigh of relief, they come back in, relieved that it wasn't
one of them this time. We didn't often lose ... but the last time
we did, one of the assistant coaches got caught in the circle, and
was gulped down whole.
You lie in the warm darkness of my gut ... hearing the muffled
cheering of the team ... your mind reeling...
At the bar that night, knocking back beers with my buddies on the
team, I feel an ache deep in my gut. I stagger to the mens room,
banging into one of the stalls. I shove my jeans down, pulling my
briefs down just in time to drop down on the john just as my ass
starts to shove out a thick log. I groan in relief ... knowing
that the last of you is being pushed out of my butthole...
I take a last look at the rope of shit coiled in the bowl ... and
flush. Then it's back for more beers with the guys.