Maxxed Out II: The Panhandle
By: GiantGuy
How long had he been driving? Max tightened his grip on the
steering wheel and focused on the road. He’d headed up the
coast and made his way to Interstate 10. Bored by the
sameness of the freeway, he’d turned at impulse onto 331
going south... maybe he would get back to the water... maybe
that would clear his head. He blinked his eyes again,
shaking his head a little as the humid Florida night darkened
around him... he could still feel it ... down deep in his
gut...
He didn’t know how long he had stood in the waves off
Daytona, just rubbing his hands over his gargantuan, swollen
belly, round and heavy with the slim body of the guy he’d
picked up in the club. He could feel how the kid was curled
up inside him, wrapped into a tight ball, jerking in reflex
every few minutes. He lay his head back, gulping in the sea
air, giving the kid a moment or two more of oxygen, trying to
prolong this incredible feeling, the movement inside him. He
felt his ab muscles contracting, eager to tighten and
squeeze, returning to their normal, flat six-pack...
eventually he made his way back to his van, to lay back...
He lay almost in a fever, his body temperature rising to new
heights as his system struggled to digest this enormous meal
overloading his system. He could feel glands swelling, feel
the influx of digestive juices as his stomach rocked and
gurgled and groaned, trying to absorb its contents. The
rising fumes made him belch repeatedly, grunting, turning in
his near-coma, trying to get comfortable, feeling the heavy
load in his belly slowly, slowly begin to diminish. He could
not distinguish the form of the body they way he could
immediately after the swallowing... now there was a compact,
tight lump the size of a beachball, shrinking hour by hour as
his body eagerly fed on the nutrients, sending Max’s mind
spinning in an incredible protein rush, groaning in pleasure,
high with the feeling. The amount of energy his body was
exerting was enormous; sweat poured over his body trying to
cool it, as Max’s metabolism surged higher and higher, like a
fire that has been doused with gasoline. It was a body-wide
sensation of pleasure almost beyond endurance... Max floated
in a halfworld of feverdream...
And finally, it was over. He woke up as the light streamed
into the van. How long had he been out? Overnight? Days?
He wasn’t sure. He sat up, wincing as his abdominal muscles
cramped, as though he had done a thousand sit ups the night
before. He ran his hand over his rippled belly, as lean and
hard as it usually was. He wiped the back of his hand across
his mouth – images running through his mind – the guy smiling
at him, climbing into his van to change his shorts, the
incredible smooth whiteness of his ass, the long arch of his
feet, taking those feet into his mouth and ...
No. How could that have happened. And if it had... by some
freak chance, some unbelievable moment of power ... it
couldn’t happen again ...
Could it?
Max was jolted out of his memory by the neon sign stabbing
out of the darkness.
EAT... EAT ... EAT ... it blinked hotly.
Max turned to pull off the road. EAT ... EAT ... EAT ...
The sign mesmerized him, like a moth flying toward an
ultraviolet light, awakening some inner instinct. EAT ...
EAT ... EAT ...
Maybe he would.
“No man, it’s fuckin’ bullshit, is what it is,” Clay said for
the fourth time that night, slamming his coffee cup down on
the counter. He rubbed his finger across his sparse blond
mustache, and pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen
down his forehead. He pounded his fist down, making the
coffee cup jump. “Bullshit!”
Kenny didn’t reply, but kept on swabbing the diner floor,
dunking the mop back into the bucket and sloshing more
Janitor In A Drum onto the cracked linoleum.
“Last hired, first fired MY ASS,” Clay said. “You just
fuckin’ know that Slater wants to bring his goddam retard of
a nephew on the job, but they got to get rid of me first.
That sound fuckin’ fair to you?” He slurped the last of his
coffee, fumbling in his worn shirt pocket for his cigarettes.
Kenny worked away; he’d been hearing this from Clay all
night, long past the time when the other night owls had
finished up and gone home. Clay was wired up and on a roll.
“I told that bastard, look, I’m goin’ to the union, I swear I
will man, and I don’t care if I never get another county job
again, I’ll have your fuckin’ ass. Damn!” he swore as he
pulled the crumpled pack of Marlboro Red out, empty. “And
you know what the bastard says? he says, hell Clay, you
ain’t barely bigger than the jack hammer, and I said, fuck
you, prick! This look small to you? Huh?”
Clay stood up out of the diner seat, standing up to his full
five feet eight inches (counting the inch sole on his
workboots) and pulled back one sleeve, flexing a tight bicep
with a vein. “Just cause that asshole is taller’n me, had
enough of that shit.” Kenny looked back over his shoulder.
The whole year he’d been out of high school and working this
shit job he’d listened to Clay come in and rant about the
bastard foremen he was working for. Kenny knew he wasn’t the
smartest, but even he knew why Clay couldn’t keep a
construction job. He was a medium size guy with muscle
enough for the job, but his mouth was bigger than his biceps.
“Well they gonna be changing their tune when I get done with
them, damn sure of that. You got any goddamn smokes?” Kenny
pointed with one hand to the beat up cigarette machine that
had been in the same place by the door since the 1970s, and
pointed with the other hand to the sign that said “NO SMOKING, TAKE YOUR
BUTT OUTSIDE”.
“Yeah, yeah, everybody’s got a goddamn bug up their ass about
smoking,” Clay said as he jammed quarter after quarter into
the machine.
Max turned into the parking lot, letting the van coast to a
stop next to a Ford pickup as he looked in the grimy windows.
Chairs were stacked on tables – must be closed. Max shut off
the engine, closing his eyes, folding his powerful arms
across the steering wheel and leaning his head down, taking
deep breaths. Probably even a prime rib dinner wouldn’t take
care of him now... he knew that. Fuck, he’d been eating all
day and it seemed to burn off almost instantly, leaving him
with the same gaping feeling. And now there was a tingling
deep in his nuts... the horniness was returning. Visions of
the Daytona guy’s round smooth ass went through his mind...
maybe he just needed a good, hard fuck... relieve the
pressure...
He got out of the van, leaning against the side, eyes still
squeezed shut, feeling the waves of horniness rippling up
through him, and the growling emptiness in his gut.
“They’re closed up, yer too late, buddy.” Max looked up at
the sound of the hard, twangy voice. A man stood by the
diner door, in workboots and dusty blue jeans, stringy hair
and a faint mustache on a defiant, handsome face. The guy
took a long drag on his cigarette, looking like he’d lived a
hard thirty years, leaving him tough with no extra fat
anywhere on his frame. Max felt a bulging in his crotch; he
usually liked beefy fraternity jocks, turning a little soft
with beer, their asses high, round and meaty... but something
about this guy...
“I said there, they’re closed. You deaf?”
Max shook his head. “Thanks,” he said, his voice ragged, his
throat still raw from the scraping as the guy had been
stuffed down.
“You ain’t from around here, why the hell you stop in this
piece of shit town?”
Max didn’t reply immediately, still sizing the guy up as he
sauntered closer, standing as tall as he could faced with
Max’s six feet five inches.
“You run outta gas or somethin? That’s the only reason I’d
ever stop here if I had someplace better to be. There’s a
Mobil back up that ways, be your best bet.”
“No, I’m fine on gas,” Max paused a second, “But I think
maybe my alternator’s got a problem, battery’s dead.”
Clay sucked hard on his cigarette and then threw it to the
asphalt. Nother tourist idiot lost on his way to Pensacola,
probably. Ah, what the fuck.
“Need a jump? s’my truck right here, guess it’s your lucky
day, sure as shit ain’t mine,.” Clay said, feeling for the
latch and popping up the rusty hood. Max said nothing. Clay
turned to him, irritated.
“I’ll help you out buddy but I ain’t the triple fuckin’ A,
you got cables?”
Max moved forward, slowly.
Kenny finished the last corner of the floor, dumped the mop
water and shoved the mop and bucket back in the closet. This
closing shift was fucked, and if he could get in at the
Walmart, then he was going to quit first chance he got. He
went to start switching off the lights when he saw Clay’s
leather jacket still hanging on the diner chair. Idiot.
He’d forget his fucking ass if it weren’t attached. Kenny
yanked it off the chair and went to the door, pulling it
open.
“Hey Clay, you still want this ratshit jacket or what?”
Kenny looked around. Clay’s truck stood, the hood open. The
parking lot was empty.
“You fuckin’ touch me motherfucker, I’ll kill you dead!” Clay
shouted. At least he tried to shout it as best he could with
a wadded up jockstrap stuffed in his mouth. He lay on his
stomach, hands bound behind his back with a his own knotted,
ripped shirt, bare butt naked, his hairy ass flexing as he
struggled.
“Mmm... that’s gonna feel damn good. Nice and tight. Just
what I fucking need... a little redneck ass,” Max murmured as
he ran his huge hands over Clay’s ass, spreading the cheeks
apart with his thumbs, spreading his favorite suntan oil all
over Clay’s butt and thighs. Clay’s naked body showed the
results of his hard work, muscles that he’d gained on a
construction crew and not in a gym. Max rubbed his hands
over his ass cheeks and down his legs, feeling the coarse
hair covering them. His cock was growing harder, swelling
out as he pushed one thick thumb deep between Clay’s buns,
planting it flat on his asshole. Clay shouted into the
jockstrap gag until his face turned red and veins popped out
on his forehead. Max crawled over him, the thick head of his
cock trailing up Clay’s leg, until he could wedge it in the
crack of Clay’s ass. Max supported himself on his arms like
he was doing pushups, lowering himself down, all his weight
coming to bear on his cock trying to force it’s way into
Clay’s tight butthole.
Clay tried to struggle, but he was pinned under Max’s massive
body. He felt the cock pushing between his cheeks, feeling
as big as a baseball bat. He felt the pressure against his
asshole as the plum sized cockhead began to work its way in.
His sphincter gave way, and Clay screamed, blacking out as it
felt like a crowbar began working it’s way up his ass.
Max sat back, watching as the construction worker came back
to consciousness, feeling the cum dripping from his cock.
Three times he’d fucked him in a row, stretching his asshole
wide, shooting a bigger load each time, trying to relieve the
growing pressure inside him, the itch that was screaming to
be scratched. Now it was even worse.
Maybe it wouldn’t go as far as it did before... just fuck him
raw, until he couldn’t fuck anymore... maybe—
“Fuckin’ faggot asshole,” Clay said weakly as he managed to
spit out Max’s wadded up jockstrap. “Gonna... fuckin’ ....
get the whole ... fuckin’ ... force ... out after you man ...
got a cousin ... who’s a deputy ... you’re gonna be fuckin’
... fried... faggot”
Max reached out and knocked Clay backward with one bulging,
powerful arm. He wasn’t going to take that kind of shit. He
crawled close to Clay, moving almost like a tiger, on hands
and knees, thick, dripping cock swinging between his legs.
He grinned, dangerously.
“Better be careful... I’m not fucking finished with you yet,”
Max rasped.
Clay stared back, afraid, eyes narrowing. “Gonna assrape me
some more? You’re gonna be gettin worse than that in prison,
asshole.”
Max grinned further. “I don’t think so... I think you’re
gonna get locked up before I do.”
Clay managed to choke out a laugh. “Think so? Where?”
“In my belly.”
It took a second for Max’s growl to register. Then Clay
laughed, almost crying. This guy was fucking nuts.
Completely fucking nuts.
“You heard me. I’m gonna open my mouth wide, stuff you down
my throat, swallow you whole man, gulp you down into my gut.
And there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.” Even as
he said it, his voice hardening, Max felt a shiver of doubt.
Could he really do it? Could he make it happen by will
instead of whatever instinct possessed him the first time?
He began to open his mouth, stretching it, feeling
resistance, the muscles tight and unyielding.
Clay gasped for breath, unable to stop laughing. Swallow him
whole. When he finally got away from this nutjob, this was
gonna make one damn good story. He’d leave out the part
about getting buttfucked, but this swallowing shit, damn,
funny as hell. He looked over at Max, ready to tell this
hulking musclebound faggot to cut the shit and let him the
fuck go.
Max’s jaw was gaping, his mouth a cavern two feet wide and
growing.
The last thing Clay saw was the stretched lips coming towards
him, an enormous, swelling tongue reaching out, and the red,
slick opening to Max’s throat opening wide. Wide enough to
fit his head. He instinctively gulped for air, and then
felt Max’s lips close around his head, sliding down almost
immediately to his neck.
Max reached for Clay’s shoulder’s, pulling him further in, as
he thrust his neck forward, willing his throat to stretch
wider. At first, struggling to open his mouth wider than
normal, he was certain that the last time had been a fluke, a
one time event, even a hallucination. And then, as he
strained, somehow the instinctual reflex kicked in – like
sticking your finger down your throat to make yourself puke,
he thought – and the muscle resistance melted away, the
tendons and ligaments stretching smoothly like taffy.
Saliva was gushing from his mouth, dripping over Clay’s hard,
struggling body, lubricating it as Max greedily forced his
mouth further down his body.
Clay could feel the blood pounding in his ears. All other
sounds were muffled, as though he were underwater. The heat
was intense, as the smooth walls of Max’s throat squeezed and
released around his body, slowly working him deeper in. He
was able to take short, sharp breaths of stale air. He could
feel a thump thump thumping in the flesh around him – the
hammering beat of Max’s heart. Another contraction and he
slid another few inches deeper. He could feel tight lips
sliding past his waist, over his ass, the tongue thrusting
against his crotch, rubbing against his cock and balls.
Against his will, he felt his cock harden from the contact –
as the throat muscles expanded and contracted again, he moved
forward, his cock humping against the delicious wet friction
of the enormous tongue. He was only aware of intense
sensation now... the cool air on his legs, still outside the
mouth, contrasting with the wet furnace-heat of his tongue
and throat. He was moving faster now, sliding, his feet
slipping in past the lips, the tongue pushing, flexing,
forcing him down. He felt his head sliding into a wider
space, the texture of the walls surrounding him different,
firmer, less slippery. His shoulders advanced into the
space, the rest of his body following, the walls around him
adjusting and seeming to stretch as his body slid in, curling
into a ball, his forehead against his knees, his hands still
behind him. The shirt, softened and weakened, had become
loose, and Clay struggled to bring his arms around to his
front, gripping his knees and trying to get his bearings. He
couldn’t tell if he were upside down or on his side. He
gasped for air again. And the reality of his situation
struck him full force.
He was in this man’s belly. And he was alive.
Max felt his heart thudding, pumping furiously as he strained
with herculean effort to engulf Clay, gulping, pushing,
slurping. He knew he was taking a risk – this guy was better
built than the kid on the beach, a solid piece of toughened
muscle. The repeated fucking had weakened him enough to make
his struggling pointless, but Max had to fight to keep him
moving downward into his stomach.
Finally he felt Clay’s kicking legs sliding down his throat,
bruising him from the inside as Clay flailed. He turned onto
his back, and looked down at his midsection.
His gut, already rounded, began to balloon outward, the skin
and muscle expanding, stretching almost painfully as Max’s
belly was filled to bursting with Clay’s muscular body. He
could almost hear his skin groaning as it tightened, his gut
bulging out further and further, a hard ball jutting out to
an enormous size. He reached his hands out, rubbing them
across his immensely swollen belly. He felt his cock firing,
torpedoing shots of hot cum onto his mammoth, distended
stomach. He felt his body temperature rising, sweat
beginning to bead on his forehead, dripping into his eyes as
all his nerve endings rang out with another powerful orgasm.
It was happening again.
To Be Continued