Deeply Darren
By: Undersavage

The dork with the talk eats his way to promotion!

I hate him and his loud stripy shirts and cartoon character ties. I would seem to stand alone. Everybody else has fallen for his mischievous charms. Darren this and Darren that. Not me. I can see right through his pseudo boyishness. This new office junior is twenty-five if he's a day. Okay, he's a good-looking guy, with his blond-tips and gelled-up spikes, but doesn't he just play on that! He flirts with everyone, even me. Or at least he tries to. He's got a big mouth, too, and not just metaphorically. And that's why I object to having to sit opposite to him in the meeting room. I always arrive early and he always follows me in and parks his backside on a chair across the table from me. Before anyone else has turned up, he starts on the water in the fancy green bottles. He swigs. He opens his mouth. He sticks out his long fat tongue. He belches. Here he goes again. Swig. Open, boy, that's such a big mouth, and his tongue seems disgustingly huge today! And yes, he lets another one go. I can even see his tonsils. They're every bit as yucky as his uvula, which flaps in the uncouth southerly breeze wafting up from his gullet.

Okay, so secretly I like mouths. I always have and always will. But I'm trying hard not to stare into his, with all its pinks and purples and saliva. And those perfect teeth! Ugh, his tongue! It's not soft and gentle, but powerful and threatening. And inviting! It appears almost dirty to me, as if it's been somewhere it shouldn't. The edges spill out covering his lower grinders. A line of symmetry runs from its tip and eventually forms a broad valley between two almost furry humps that rise and then slope away into the darkness. What a shame it all belongs to Darren. After another rasp, he tells me he hasn't eaten all day. I don't really respond. Shuffling through my paperwork, I simply try to keep the picture of his mouth, teeth, tonsils and beautifully vile tongue captured in my mind like a 3D photograph.

Embarrassing moment: He's just asked me why I don't like him. As I reply, he opens wide and slides out that tongue until its quivering tip is touching the bottom of his chin. How does he do that? I'm stuttering through my response as my eyes fix on the glistening sloppy protrusion, and admire its every contour and ripple. Ignoring my arousal, I explain that I do like him, omitting the fact that I think he's a dork and wish I were as popular as he. Nor do I mention that, if the truth be known, I'd really like to go in there and be swallowed alive, but he seems to know it.

He's now repeating the fact that he hasn't eaten today. He doesn't want to spoil his appetite. I want the others to arrive so we can get this meeting underway. I'm ashamed in wishing that he wasn't far away across the table. I'd like him right in front of me with his jaws wide open so I could dive in and be sent slithering between those chunky tonsils and consumed. I'm certain he knows how much I want to feel all that wet slippery flesh encompassing me! I hate him! He's screwing with my mind! Be cool. He's aware I lack faith in his abilities. But could he really have guessed what the sight of his trap does to me? No. He must be thinking of something else.

The team is here. We're soon into the latest dreary sales figures and boring pie charts. Everything is going in one ear and coming out the other. I just can't think of anything else but that little fuck's beautiful mouth. He keeps catching my eye and smiling, even licking his lips! I confess to myself that I seriously live just to die in the stomach of a man. But not in some jumped up jerk like him! But I think he'd do me if he had the chance. Wouldn't he just. If I were out of the frame James would take my place. And if James moved over, Darren could move up and secure himself a two-year contract on the firm. That's it! He's playing on my fantasy and reeling me in!

The meeting isn't over soon enough. I wait until everyone, including Darren, has left the room and all is quiet. I'll take a leak, get my stuff from my desk, and get out of this place for the weekend. No! As I enter the toilets, there's Darren! Is there no escaping this fool? He's just washed his hands and is admiring his tongue in the mirror. I have my back to him as I try to piss through a growing erection. I'm willing him to go away. Now he wants to share a cab! He wants me to give him some career advice. Like, get out of my life!

So, ever the idiot, I pay for the cab and, after agreeing to divulge the wisdom of my corporate years, find myself in his neat and tidy apartment. I accept a cigarette as I drop onto his plush sofa. We both say that we didn't know the other smoked. Oh, he doesn't. But apparently always keeps a packet for guests. By the second drag, I realise that this is no ordinary tobacco. My workplace advice is sounding a little slurred and my lips and face somewhat numb as I attempt to maintain a professional delivery. He sits beside me and we turn to face one another.

I have to inform him that I'm feeling a bit light-headed and nauseous. He tells me it'll pass. But how does he know how I feel? I go to loosen my shirt but it already feels slack. Come to think of it, my shoes feel a few sizes too big and my wristwatch has just slipped off my arm and onto the floor! Darren takes the cigarette from my hand and stubs it in a clean ashtray on the coffee table. My vision is blurred. It's as if I'm on a fairground ride. I can see him pulling off his tie and unbuttoning the collar button on his stripy shirt. Here we go? What the hell is he talking about? I would ask but I can barely speak. My eyelids are heavy. It's as if I'm about to implode! This is scary!

A short blank and it's suddenly dark outside. The curtains are closed. The ceiling light is almost blinding. The entire room looks distant and distorted. What's the time? Where's my watch? Oh yeah, it's on the floor. I'm cold. Where are my clothes? What's happened? Darren is still beside me and still in his hideous shirt. But he's a giant! Before I laps into an inconsolable panic, he reassures me: All that's happened is me being reduced down to a manageable eight-inches. And that, he smiles, is about the size of the biggest dick he could ever deep throat without gagging. This is of little comfort to me as he reaches down, wraps his clammy office boy fingers around my helpless body and stands like King Kong beneath that stark light.

Okay, it's all falling into place. Get a grip. It's happening. It's actually happening! I've spent my life tormented by the fantasy of being devoured alive and whole. Sure, I've tried to fight it. I've battled to drive it out of my mind. But, in my many hours of darkness, I always return to the same all-engulfing mercy-killing scenario: I am taken in, to be lost tenderly within the deserving flesh of a sympathetic lover and softly terminated, not bolted down and murdered in the belly of a gloating tormentor called Darren!

My mind is in turmoil. Sexual desires and dreams meet hatred and the natural instinct of self-preservation. Listen to him now! If I were out of the frame James would take my place. And if James moved over, he could move up and secure himself a two-year contract on the firm. Yes, but I've known that all along! He has no choice, he says. I have to go. And what better way than into the mouth and down the very throat I just can't keep my eyes off? My torso in his firm grasp, my legs dangling, my hands holding onto his knuckles, I look into his calculating eyes as he confirms that by tomorrow morning I’ll be his shit. And by Monday he'll be looking forward to promotion. As if I could've forgotten, he tells me for the third time that he hasn't eaten today. My heart is racing. I'm almost crying in terror. Darren the dork is going to gulp me down! But why is he turning me on? Why do I have no control? Again he compares me to the size of a penis, laughing as I become helplessly aroused by his evil domination. He explains that he's been planning this for weeks. He hopes I enjoyed my last cigarette!

He's now telling me that he hates me as much as I hate him. Eating me isn't for his sexual gratification. This is a calculated career move. The fact I'm getting off on it all, he says, should make suffocation and death in his guts a little easier for me. And he'll take me down alive, just so he can feel me wriggling inside him. He's so looking forward to that! I'm about to get what I've always wanted. He's got a big night planned so he wants to get on with things. No more time for pleasant conversation with a worthless little dick like me!

I scream out as he opens his mouth, dropping his lower jaw until he is at full stretch. He draws me close as that vulgar tongue dives out. He pauses, just for a moment, allowing me time to admire close-up his hungry expanse. I offer no resistance as he slips me onto his vile oral shovel. It is so wonderfully warm and wet, and caresses my trembling body. I call out his name, not to beg him to stop, nor to insist he carry on. His steaming breath gusts to and from huge healthy lungs. Advancing, I feel an incredible rush of adrenalin: Fight or flight? In this case neither! Darren! My voice is strangely dulled in here, almost lost amid noises so unexpected and loud. His flexible inner pinkness relights my every emotion. Darren's chunky tonsils twitch, and that flapping uvula shrinks and swells. My head is reaching the downward slope of his dirty tongue. Darren! In all my many fantasy-only visits to the male maw, this is where I climax - But not yet, not here in reality. But I am succumbing to his intentions. His fingers are releasing my legs. I struggle, only to sink deeper. Darren! He's panting, to build up enough oxygen in his bloodstream to see him though however long it takes him to swallow me. Swallow me? Darren!

I'm totally drenched in his spit, and pressed tenderly into his welcoming taste buds. I want to strike out but my arms, forced against my sides, are useless. Light is becoming scarce as his lips close around my thighs. His breathing halts. Darren! He tips back his head. Darren! The intimate flesh and muscle surrounding me reshapes as I'm positioned vertically, blood rushing to my head. I'm an eight-inch dick about to be deep-throated! My crown now pushes between those ugly spongy tonsils. Darren, no! Please, no! My world convulses. I slither helplessly into the absolute darkness of a determined spasm. I can't inhale! I'm sliding! His oesophagus is all-hugging and speeding me down! Flex! Ripple! Suck! I'm going to die, here in his stifling gullet!

A deafening squelch and I am squeezed through the tight muscled ring to his belly. The heat and stink knocks me full-on as I plunge and somersault in slow motion. My feet and shins skim slimy walls and then drop down below. At last I am upright, the pressure now easing from my pounding temples. My body is helpless and limp as I descend. My legs bend at the knee, my heels dig into my buttocks. I slump forward in relief, my chest and face pushing into the mucous-covered lining of Darren's cramped stomach. I thought I would drown in seconds but this stodgy pool only reaches my waist. My surroundings wobble and quiver as Darren moves around, preparing for nocturnal adventure. I am able to make myself a little more comfortable by shifting my legs and allowing myself to sink just a little deeper into his deadly juices. Then it hits me.

Fuck, I've been swallowed! I've really been swallowed! He did it! Darren the dork has eaten me alive! But I don't have the energy to panic. All I can do is imagine the look on his smug face as I'm sloshed around gently in this dark humid puke-prison. But I'm just grateful I can breathe. But that won't last long. Perhaps oxygen deprivation is making me imagine I'm still horny. I reach down into the bile now irritating my skin and take hold of my hard-on. As I work myself up, I picture Darren's big fat tongue and powerful throat. I recall his cruel words. I beat-off to his lungs, gentle roar and rhythmic heartbeat above, and ponder the impatient gurgles from intestines and bowels below. And all about me are the indescribable sounds of merciless churning. In a couple of hours this place will be awash with cheap beer. But by then I'll be long gone from here, and on my way to being turned into Darren's shit. My pulse-rate soars at the very idea. He belches out loud, a personal best of which he is doubtless proud. I shoot my load as his stomach contracts around me. I'm sinking in ecstasy. Good luck with the new job, Darren! My life drains painlessly into his.

The End