Man's Man
By: Semibu
“B’YERRRRRG – ah!” belched Donny, causing neighbouring diners to flinch somewhat. “That was some steak!” He placed a finger over his lips and shrugged boyishly to his disgruntled blind date. “Sorry, Pete. I always do that. I just forgot where we were.”
“You hardly chewed,” whispered the slightly embarrassed smaller guy. “No wonder you burp like that. It’s not good for you, you know,” he added leaning across the table. “It’s bad for the digestion.”
“HUP-YERP! There I go again!” Donny mopped his lips with his napkin as a petit woman in a flimsy white frock winced on table nine. “You finished yet?” he asked.
“Yes, I rather think I have,” confirmed Pete, politely placing his cutlery on the side of his half-full plate. “Shall we pay the nice man and scoot?”
“Yeah, What’d you say his name is?”
“It’s okay. I’ll sort it.” The two men stood. Peter continued, “You grab some fresh air and I’ll be out in a minute.”
Before disappearing through the ‘exclusive’ diner’s double doors, sparkling rainbows from their bevelled stained glass panes onto the plush carpet, Donny released another power belch, adjusted his crotch and broke wind. Peter was nigh crimson as he meandered sheepishly to the bar and till. He mopped the beads of humiliation from his furrowed brow and beckoned Pepe.
“Pepe,” he stammered, composing himself, “I am so, so sorry.”
“Oo ease yor niew frund, exactly?” Pepe enquired with an uncharacteristic frown.
“I met him on the internet,” Peter explained. “He emailed me pictures of himself.” Peter signalled for Pepe to lean in a little closer. “Pepe,” he mumbled, “he is huge! I just couldn’t believe he was single!”
“I sink I can!” grumbled the waiter as he broadcast a smile to on-looking customers curious as to the outcome of such an uncouth display. “Never bring ‘im in ‘ere again!”
“But he’s massive,” confirmed Peter. “You should see those webcam shots! Holy smoke!”
“Early smirk, indeed, Meester Peter.” Pepe tossed back his head. “Zat will be serty sree pounds and seventy five of your silly Eenglish pennies. Or,” he quickly added, “serty queed for cash. Drinks are on ze ‘ouse. Just take ‘im away before ‘e vomeets over an incoming customer or ‘e defecates into ze gutter!”
The double doors flapped to and fro briefly before closing behind the devastated regular. The general rhubarb-rhubarb ambience of the four star establishment returned as Pepe clasped his hands together and forced another smile - as if he’d just sucked a lemon after licking piss off a thistle - to the assorted snooty hoity-toity who would hopefully return for a more peaceful lunch tomorrow. Outside, and there was Donny chatting away to a man sporting a grey beard, grey trousers, grey coat and grey teeth. The man, his only non-grey assets being his ruddy nose and matching eyes, was offering Donny a swig from a palm-warmed can of export strength Danish lager as the curious streaks down his inner thighs evaporated in the London sunshine.
“No, no!” insisted Donny. “You go ahead, geeza, I’ve had two pints already. In fact, “ he boomed confidentially, “I’m bursting for a slash. Can’t go back in there, though.”
“Juss doo h’what oi doo,” was the worldly Dublin response, as he stamped his left foot. “It’ll soon droi out in this heat.”
“Shall we move on?” Peter reached up and placed a gentle hand on Donny’s shoulder.
“You go enjoy yoursilves!” insisted the grey man. “I’d watch out for him, dough,” he advised Donny from the side of his cracked lips, “looks a bit of a Nancy boy to me. He’ll be after your tackle, so he will.”
“Oh, don’t worry about him!” Donny roared. “He’s my best mate!”
The grey man was soon a distant figure, darkening his inside leg measurement for the third time that day. Peter was too preoccupied with how he might let down gently the enthusiastic monster as he guided him through the fumes of the capital’s grubby streets.
“That bloke stank of piss,” Blurted Peter.
“So will I if I don’t find a toilet soon!” laughed Donny as he pulled Peter from the path of a reckless black cab. “We could go for a beer.”
“I really ought to…” Peter was interrupted.
“YUUUUUURP – ah!”
“Like I was saying,” he continued through gritted teeth and straightening his tie. “I really ought to get back to work.”
“Tonight?” Donny was ever optimistic.
“Tonight?”
“My place,” suggested the handsome hulk. “Two minutes from Hammersmith tube. What time do you finish?”
“Not until late.”
“Late’s good!” exclaimed Donny, slamming Peter on the back. “How late?”
“Can I text you?” Peter was struggling for excuses. As ever, he was more concerned about what the rest of the world thought of this date than of his own deep desire to be bedded by an animal like Donny. “See, I’ve got another busy day tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday. You told me you didn’t work weekends.” The two were now standing at the junction where Donny would turn left and Peter would hang a right. “Just a bit of fun.”
“Well,” shouted Peter over the noise of a passing London Route Master double-decker, and recalling the images Donny had emailed, “I could probably make it for about 9 o’clock.”
“That’s not late!” Donny began walking away. “You’ve got my number. Give me a call when you’re on your way and I’ll meet you at the station. Then I’ll take you back to my place to eat.”
“After that enormous lunch?”
“Oh yeah!” sniggered the carnivore. “I’ll be flushing this lot away long before you turn up. I’ll be starving!”
“I do declare,” smirked Peter, “you could charm the very birds from the trees.”
The two had suddenly clicked. They both laughed as they turned and head away from each other. Peter congratulated himself on at last having the nerve to fulfil his fantasy. Yes, he would be at Hammersmith at 9 o’clock. Yes, he would let Donny take him back to his place to eat. Yes, he would, if asked, stay the night. After all, even though Donny was twice his size, he was a friendly enough guy – shy, even. Peter’s only fear was that King Kong would be disappointed when he saw his rather average endowment.
The afternoon and early evening in the office seemed to last forever. With a pile of urgent filing still untouched, Peter said goodnight to his colleagues and, with his phone to his ear, trotted off to the nearest tube. The bumpy subterranean journey was a blur. All he could think about was being face to face with Donny’s third leg.
Donny could’ve been seen a mile away as he stood there head and shoulders above the swarm. Peter waved his arms and the two were soon together. Donny realised that his dinner date was a changed man. He seemed full of energy and not at all the reserved businessman who’d bought him lunch. They turned the corner. The crowd thinned as they made their way to a modern apartment block. En route, the two passed a charity clothes shop. Donny popped his head around the door, tinkling an old-fashioned bell as he pushed it a jar, and shouted something to the owner. The owner laughed back, and in a gruff voice said, “See you tomorrow!” and something about another bottle. Peter didn’t bother asking what it was all about. He was far too keen on getting back to Donny’s boudoir. He was rehearsing potential conversations and scenarios in his head. If Donny said this, he would say that. If Donny smiled, he would grin in return. He’d let Donny lead, only seizing the initiative if that’s what Donny wanted him to do. He’d be up for anything but didn’t want to appear too easy.
“It’s only small,” confessed Donny as the two stepped inside and he closed the apartment door.
“What is?” asked Peter wiping his feet on the coconut hair doormat.
“This place.”
“Oh. I thought you meant…”
“No way!” roared Donny, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his shirt to reveal a most stunning torso. “Not Percy! Percy’s massive!”
“Percy?” enquired Peter as he admired bulging pecs and tight abs.
“Percy the Python. I sent you those pictures,” replied Donny, pointing to his ample crotch. “I thought that’s why you didn’t seem interested at first.”
“Explain.”
“Percy’s scared the living daylights out of some guys.” He chuckled. “Six inches.”
“Oh,” was the disappointed reply.
“Slack,” added Donny. “You should see the bastard thing with a log on!”
“Really?” Peter was now both intrigued and excited. “Big, is it?”
“A fucking monster,” boasted the sexy boy. “Go on through to the bedroom and I’ll show you.” Donny signalled to a half-opened door draped with a dressing gown, a pair of jeans and a selection of crumpled shirts. “Get out of those hot clothes and cool off. I’ll be through in a minute.”
Peter hardly noticed the lounge/kitchen area as he quickstepped into the sleeping quarters. The room was shaded. The curtains, one green, one red, were drawn against a sun that had almost disappeared behind the tower block opposite. Peter heard a chink of drinking glasses from the kitchen as he tiptoed across the littered floor: Books, DVD’s, videos, a multitude of naughty magazines, and an assortment of clothes in two separate heaps. One mountain was clearly made up of Donny’s dirty XXL garments – it’s ice cap a pair of blemished white boxer shorts. The other pile was a selection of trousers, jeans, shirts, t-shirts and underwear far too small for his host’s impressive frame. Peter thought nothing of this as he added his own foothills to the existing mountain range.
He sprawled naked across the cosy unmade bed and inhaled the room’s musty macho atmosphere. Exhaling through pursed lips, he peered around at the posters and pictures decorating the time-yellowed walls. Terminator 3, attached to the paintwork by only three of its four corners, had Arnie keeping an eye on things. The Hulk’s huge green hand reached out beside and old school photo behind cracked glass held in place by an unvarnished pine frame. From the bed, Peter couldn’t make out the individual faces of the classmates but did notice one child, back row, third from the right, towering over the others. Five National Geographic magazine covers were glued haphazardly across the far wall: A crocodile was downing a huge hapless fish, a wide mouth frog was busy engulfing another wide mouth frog, a lion yawned, a scantily-clad Amazonian tribesman smiled, and the fifth dog-eared image was that of a healthy young man smirking, perhaps with pride at the length of his penis, which dangled out of shot. Actually, this one wasn’t a National Geographic front cover at all. Peter strained his eyes to read the words, ‘Inches’, the letter ‘c’ and much of the ‘h’ obscured by the head of the dishy superimposed model. Peter, usually a stickler for cleanliness and order, was fascinated by all this slap-dash nonsense. He smiled to himself as, with one hand behind his head, he fiddled with his tackle with his spare digits. He was about to call out to see what Donny was up to when the door squeaked open. A shirt, precariously perched on the handle, fell to the threadbare carpet and was kicked aside as a naked Donny entered the room carrying two glasses of water.
“Hello, Percy!” he exclaimed without acknowledging the snake’s owner. “You are one healthy-looking specimen.”
“You’re not gonna do an Arnie on me, are you?” enquired the stallion as he approached the bed occasioning Percy’s astounding ten semi-swollen inches to swing to and fro.
“An Arnie?” wowed Peter, propping him self up on his elbows. “What’s an Arnie?”
“An Arnie is seeing my dick, getting dressed and shouting, ‘I’ve just remembered something. I be back!’ before running like hell to Hammersmith tube station never to be seen again.”
“No way, man!” assured Peter, not in slightest bit embarrassed about his own shortcomings. “I will do absolutely anything you want me to,” he added, forgetting the promise he’d made to himself about not being too much like an easy lay. “Anything!”
“Anything?” asked Donny, placing the two glasses on the cluttered bedside table and scratching his crack.
“Well,” added Peter, his eyes still fixed on the pulsing bludgeon. “Anything so long as you don’t…” he glanced up into Donny’s sparkling eyes, “…hurt me.”
“I won’t hurt you,” confirmed the rippling beauty, sniffing his fingers. “That’s not my style. This is all about us enjoying each other.” He straddled Peter and settled down on his comparatively small erection. Percy, still growing, slapped across Peter’s belly and chest as Donny pulled out his fantastic meatballs. “I’ll enjoy you doing to me whatever you want. I’m bigger than you and stronger than you, so it’s best if you make the decisions.”
“Do you want to lie back, spread out and let me make friends with Percy?” asked the delighted guest, his stare now returning to the ever-growing unwashed stinker and its two bulbous accomplices. “Percy’s wearing such a big collar. I can hardly see his face. Maybe I should roll it back. Do you mind if I do that?”
“I don’t mind, and I’m sure Percy won’t mind,” assured Donny as Peter slid aside allowing him to lie back. “Then, later, you can say hello to Charlie.”
“Who is Charlie?” quizzed Peter, as he made himself comfortable between two tree trunk legs, opening like the jaws of a ravenous crocodile dining on a very large fish.
“Charlie,” gasped Donny as he felt Peter’s nervous hands stroking his sac, “Charlie the Chocolate Starfish.”
“Charlie the Chocolate Starfish?” asked Peter, as he drew back Percy’s pullover with all fingers and sniffed the beast’s cheesy head. “You want me to lick your arse, too?”
“It’s up to y,y,yoooou!” panted Donny as Peter’s breath warmed his helmet. “Just say hello and then decide if you want to get closer. Thing is, I’ve had him all these years but I’ve never seen him myself. You’ll have to make up your own…” Donny’s conversation was halted as he responded favourably to Peter’s enthusiasm.
In the past, during rare moments of intimacy, Peter had always closed his eyes. Not this evening, though. He didn’t want to lose a moment to the back of his eyelids. Taking in four of the now thirteen inches, he began to cleanse and serve. Donny, despite his often-uncouth and slightly immature disposition, was physically perfect, hung like a race horse, friendly, fun and, above all, gentle. But he was always the animal Peter had hankered after. Donny’s taste and scent drove him to frenzy. He was daring to imagine that he and Donny might be permanently bonded.
Donny, with so much on offer and a great deal to share, was rarely disappointed by his one-night stands. Few had actually ‘done an Arnie’. Most, in fact, had lasted the course and fulfilled the requirements of his secret agenda. His lunchtime steak had, as expected, vacated his stomach and was now negotiating the zigzag journey to his large intestines. Peter, a short distance from all this internal activity, was blissfully unaware of its brutal efficiency and selfish demands, and quite oblivious to the certainty that he and Donny most definitely would be permanently bonded.
“I’m gonna shoot,” mumbled Donny, offering Peter the chance of retreat. “I’m gonna shoot!”
Although this imminent ejaculation was so early in the proceedings, Peter considered the oral taking of semen and sperm to be an essential part of that desirable bonding process. He increased his vigour and, after much spluttering and gulping, reached out to the bedside table. Donny pushed one of the two glasses into his hand. Peter drained the receptacle in three eager swigs, pausing each time to rinse his salty mouth.
“Oh, wow, Donny,” sighed Peter, kissing and licking Donny’s abdominal perfection as he dropped his glass onto the summit of the nearby Everest. “I want to meet Charlie,” he announced after clearing his throat and feeling almost acclimatised to the childlike idea of regions of the body having their own names and characteristics. “Can I meet Charlie now, please?”
“Yeah,” oozed Donny. “You’ll like Charlie, and I just know he’ll like you.”
Peter was soon smiling up at the Chocolate Starfish, wearing its own curious broad, vertical grin. A row of fingers on either side distorted this welcoming plump-cheeked expression into one of open surprise and happiness. Donny’s underside was like a second, disorganised face: two eyes in a bag, a very long nose with a runny, purpled tip and a hungry mouth with enormous, wrinkled lips puckering up for an enduring French kiss. Peter obeyed his wants as he was tenderly smothered by a guy half his age and twice his size. Donny was utterly thrilled by Peter’s instinctive technique. Gradually, Charlie lost his bitterness and was soon emitting a dangerously addictive musk.
Most of Donny’s ‘dates’ were reluctant to completely let go and enjoy all that carefree boyishness and physical supremacy – Understandably they’d feel vulnerable and inadequate. Not Peter. His fantasies hadn’t vanished in a puff of self-preserving smoke as reality and potential flexed over and around him. Peter was different. He really did want to offer himself. There was trust and, after the initial diner glitch, respect and raging desire.
Lapping in the intimate darkness of Donny’s enveloping crevice, Peter felt perfectly safe. There were moments when the lack of oxygen caused a head-rush. But he didn’t struggle or panic. He had laid himself at the mercy and intuition of this incredible young man, and was being handled with the utmost care. Suffocation was always kept just at bay. Donny raised himself from his server’s face for the twenty-third time and simply knew that this would be the moment for questions to be asked.
“Donny.” Peter was gasping as he peered up at an enormous dribble-drenched clench. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” came a distant, satisfied reply. “Are you?”
“Yeah, never better.” Peter took a few well-earned breaths and added, “I feel amazing – like I’m floating.”
“You’re not scared, are you?” Donny pressed his hands into the sheeting either side of the two half-sized legs protruding from beneath his ample bag. “You sound worried.”
“Not worried,” was Peter’s slurred retort. “Just puzzled. Your hole looks huge, I mean, just huge. It’s like you could get my entire head up there.”
“And your shoulders, do you think?”
“Yeah, I think so.” Peter pondered for a moment. “Yeah, definitely. Yeah…my shoulders, too.” He reached up with both hands and stroked the colossal ring, smiling as it twitched. “What’s happening to you?”
“Nothing’s happening to me,” beamed Donny. “It’s all happening to you.”
“Are you shrinking me?” Peter had never felt so good. “If you are, it’s an incredible buzz. I love it.”
“Yeah, I’m shrinking you,” confirmed Donny, playfully. “I just don’t understand why you’re not trying to scream the house down.”
“Why bother?” Peter, although very quiet, sounded delightfully resigned to being party to Donny’s plan – whatever it might be. “You’re going to suck me up your shit hole, right? I’m going to suffocate for your sexual pleasure. I’m going to die in your guts, I just know it.”
“Do you want me to kill you?”
“Yeah. Take me out, Donny.” Peter reached to finger the giant’s back door. “Or should I say, take me in?”
Of all the guys who had vanished to please him, Donny was astounded at this outright willingness to comply. He reached down and carefully gathered up the pint-sized Peter. He then flopped back on the bed and placed his swooning prize onto his lower belly along side his beautifully ugly hard-on. Two toy-like arms wrapped themselves around its tacky girth. A tiny tongue probed its sticky slit. Peter’s erection, although miniscule by comparison, raged in anticipation of the unknown.
“I could, I suppose, use you as a dildo,” mumbled Donny. “But you’d just get pulled in by my arse muscles and get stuck. Oh, and I haven’t douched – you’d drown in my shit and I wouldn’t be able to get you out. Try explaining that to the Accident & Emergency department!”
“So what are you going to do with me?” Peter seemed to have some inexplicable desire to be snuffed out. “Why have you done this to me?” Before the giant could compose a response, Peter added, “How have you done this…to…me?”
“It’s that stuff you drank,” Donny explained in a tone suggesting that even he didn’t fully understand.
“Your jizz? I liked that. Delicious!”
“No. The water you drank after you guzzled my cream.” Donny’s voice adopted a sinister tone. “It was drugged. I get the gear from the guy who runs the charity shop. I give him all my victim’s clothes.”
“Am I your victim?” Peter was tripping and clearly oblivious to reality. “Are you going to give my clothes to the man in the charity shop?”
“Yeah,” came the calm response to both questions. “Nice suit and shoes, new shirt and neat tie. With all this other stuff I’ve collected, Honest Mike, the guy who works there, should trade me another three bottles at least. It’s great stuff,” added Donny, reaching down and massaging Peter tightly against sticky cock-skin and its protruding blue veins. “It shrinks you down to about seven inches and then, after a while, starts to bring you back to normal size.”
“So you keep my clothes and I have to go home naked?” Peter sounded quite drunk. “That’s no fun! What London cab driver in his right mind would take me home? They don’t even go south of the Thames after midnight!”
“It’s simple. Listen…”
“Listen?” Peter interrupted, raising his lilywhite head from the shiny purple one he’d been attempting to seduce. “I am listening but all I can hear is what sounds like a spa bath gurgling in your guts.”
Donny had heard quite enough of the midget’s ramblings and was by now more than ready for supper. Once again he grasped his prey, plucking him from the warmth and comfort of his pubic forest. He sat up and brought Peter to his face. Soothingly, he explained to Peter that he was as small as he would ever get. That gurgling was hunger and Peter would have to be swallowed alive soon before he started to grow again. Peter, now quite limp from his ordeal, wore a puzzled expression.
“It’s quite easy really,” explained Donny. “I swallow you now and by the time you’re inside me you’ll start to grow back.”
“But you’ll split open!” Peter seemed far more concerned for his eater’s well being than for his own. “It’ll be like that film with Weaver Cigar…Cigary Sigorrany…you know…Alien!” he slurred.
“No way,” Donny chuckled. “See, you’ll be trapped in my stomach. The bigger you get, the more air you displace. Sooner or later I’ll have to burp – one of my dirty loud ones, the ones that really embarrassed you and pissed off that waiter guy this afternoon. And that’s when you suffocate.” He seemed very jolly and as-a-matter-of-fact about it all. “You die and so stop growing. I’ll have a belly full of fresh meat to digest!”
“That’s fantastic!” Peter stared in wonderment at the cannibal’s broad smirk. “I was worried that I was only going to be like a little snack – a chicken drumstick or something.”
“No way, “ Donny said again. “My gut will be stuffed, man. Stuffed!” He licked his lips. “You’ll last me until breakfast!”
“You animal!”
“And you’re not afraid?”
“Of what?”
“Let me see,” muttered Donny sarcastically and looking to the ceiling for inspiration. “Being smaller than my dick, about being gulped down, suffocating,” he paused for a moment, “or even ending your time on this earth as a big fat steaming turd.”
“Fuck, Donny,” the tiny sacrifice reached out from the firm fist and stroked a thick bottom lip. “All I want is to link with you. I can’t explain it.”
“Try,” suggested the intrigued man-eater. “I’ve had so many live suppers like you over the past two years or so but it’s always ended up with a lot of shrieking and yelling and begging and pleading.” Donny forced a laugh. “That’s what I get off on.”
“But I only think I want to die inside you,” insisted Peter, his head slowly clearing. “You’re everything I’m not. Okay,” the helpless meal was back-pedalling at an alarmed clip. “Nobody wants to die but I want you to be part of you. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, that makes sense – too much sense. I think the juice is wearing off. You’re starting to grow back. Ready or not, you’re going down, freak!”
“You don’t understand!” Peter was suddenly struck with absolute fear.
“I understand,” gloated Donny, before gulping down a mouthful of stale bedroom air. “You’re going to suffocate in my stomach. You’re going to be my shit!” The giant had suddenly lost his gentleness. “I so enjoy trashing you business boys,” he confessed. “You always think you’re better than the rest – better than me!”
“That’s not true!” Peter held out his hands, hoping to halt his advance towards glinting teeth. “I’ve just told you, I want to be part of you, I want to be like you. I want to be in your life!”
“Well, now your life is going to be in me!” ranted the ravenous rude boy, before craning his neck and gulping down more air.
“Donny!” Peter was physically frozen as the huge clenched fist raised him aloft. “Donny, no!”
Donny was at last enjoying the begging and pleading he so yearned. A tiny life was wrapped in his hulking hand and destined to perish deep within his starving stomach. Peter wasn’t coming to terms at all with being nothing more than fast food for a deceitful bully. The level-headedness that had given way to fantasy and sexual desire had now returned. But time was not on Peter’s side. Donny could feel the victim expanding and growing in his curled palm. He adjusted his hold. Now, with his supper dangling by the feet, he opened wide with startling speed. His inner flesh was as inviting and viciously perfect as his outer skin. Struck by the absolute beauty of that drenched carnivorous cave, Peter grappled with his emotions: How could this spit-dappled tongue, reaching out to taste him and guide him into that ever-dilating throat, be so alluring? Its gory up-close detail, its enormity, its aroma, and its determination – everything about this mouth had Peter wanting to explore and progress.
Contact! Peter’s torso was suddenly draped along the rippling taste bud-studded road to certain death. He forced his face into the heaving sea of pink. Concerns of his impending disappearance and its consequences had long since evaporated. This was a wonderful moment. It all looked and felt so immeasurably wonderful. Then, just as Peter was acclimatising himself to Donny’s manipulations, he raised his head and peered into the throaty darkness. Suddenly, Donny belched up the air he’d been gulping down. The noise was ear splitting, the resulting warm waft surprisingly mild – although heavy with a peculiar whiff, an unpleasantly acidic aroma only usually experienced during and shortly after vomiting. This was gastric bile. Peter was startled by his own excitement and stimulation from this vulgar bodily function. He had gone full circle and again yearned to be entirely engulfed by this beast.
Donny, his mighty tongue sliding beneath the enthusiastic prey, managed an unexpected apology, a sort of ‘thorry’ rather than ‘sorry’. After all, that air, although stinking, was intended to sustain Peter during his final moments. He then achieved the impossible: He sucked in and gulped, keeping Peter firmly in place. The inhalations rushed cold against Peter’s wet skin as his future short-term survival was again secured. Each of these awkward swallows had him pressed snugly into the vast raging pink sea. A few pockets of air remained momentarily trapped in the much-explored gullet. These would soon be forced together and taken down as a last souvenir of the outside world.
Now fully boned-up and rubbing himself vigorously against Donny’s tongue, Peter was dangerously close to becoming too big to swallow. It was now or never! Donny threw back his head and opened his throat. The morsel, eager to make the moment last, and quite unaware of his sudden growth, attempted to halt his advance into the remarkable gape. But Peter could offer little effective resistance as the fat fleshy mattress jolted back and forth and shovelled him into the slippery darkness.
Peter screamed with absolute glee as he was bolted down. The journey to the stomach was tight and swift. His first breath within this merciless tomb had him choking, almost gagging. In his fantasy, Donny’s stomach would be a gentle, clean, cosy place. In reality it was forceful, slimy and stank. I would be several second before he even began to acclimatise himself to the darkness, heat and fumes. During this time he managed to roll himself over, kneeling on the contorted funnel-like floor. He was far too absorbed with grabbing his erection and tugging hard to think about where that slippery funnel would eventually guide him. Such was his preoccupation with self-relief that he hadn’t noticed himself expanding and growing to better fit his surroundings.
Only after a spluttered sigh of delight did he press his spine against flesh once ribbed and folded. Now the walls were perfectly smooth. His ears popped as the pressure within increased. He was growing! He was about to displace his own life-giving air! Panic ensued. This dark world revolved around him as Donny flopped back on the bed, looking down with glee at his expanding waistline. He winced with pain as his belly ballooned. Peter’s relentless squirming pushed him over the edge, he couldn’t hold back. The guy inside was almost bursting through. He belched - The huge thunderous roar bringing instant relief.
The helpless victim felt the dripping, oozing, flexing walls collapsing around him, smothering him. He tried to push out with his hands and feet. But the sudden loss of oxygen soon had him tired and light headed. A convulsion or two later and all was still.
An hour or so passed before Donny felt like moving. His belly wobbled lightly as he reached over and grabbed Peter’s jacket from the nearby mound of men’s wear. He fumbled around for a few seconds and then pulled Peter’s mobile phone from the inside pocket. It was still switched on. He bleeped his way through the directory until happening upon Pepe’s number. He thought for a moment and tapped in a message. ‘Had a great night! He wants to know if you’d like to meet up tomorrow for a threesome.’ Not ten minutes passed before the reply came: ‘Only if you’re sure. Where and when?’ Donny sniggered, answering with: ‘He’ll meet you at Hammersmith tube.’
It all worked out splendidly. The next night Donny made haste to the station, dropping into the charity shop en route to exchange a bag full of second hand clothes for three new bottles. He was soon to discover that French food disagreed with him – but only momentarily as it begged for mercy before slipping between his tonsils.