avenomousflower

[avenomousflower]

“Honey, I’m home,” called Peyton as he walked through the door.

Tyler looked up from his book, curled up on the couch, and felt that familiar pang of affection that had always managed to remain. He smiled, and stood to greet his boyfriend.

“It’s a big day, baby,” said Peyton, and crossed to embrace Tyler.

Peyton was a big boy, two heads taller than Tyler and broad as a tree. He took Tyler in his arms, and Tyler felt safe.

“What makes today a big day?” asked Tyler.

Peyton smiled, his eyes warm on Tyler’s, and he slowly went to one knee.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, reaching to his pocket to pull out a small box. “We’ve been together for two years now. And I think it’s time that I finally make you mine.”

Tyler rocked back slightly, stunned, and eyed the silver band that gleamed between his boyfriends fingers.

“Are you…” Tyler struggled to form the words, eyes wide and welling.

“I’m asking you to be mine,” said Peyton, voice gentle.

Tyler held out a shaky hand, and allowed Peyton to slip the band onto his ring finger.

“You wanna marry me?” asked Tyler, and he could barely believe what he was asking.

Peyton rose to his full height and raised Tyler’s face with two fingers below his chin.

“I wanna make you mine,” he repeated.

Tyler did not need to consider his answer, had known in himself that it would always be a ‘yes’, but was too stunned to respond.

“Should I take that as a ‘yes’?” asked Peyton.

Tyler nodded dumbly.

A wide grin spread across the bigger man’s face, beaming and white, and he picked Tyler up into a tight bearhug, spinning him around the room like a ragdoll.

“Finally,” Peyton breathed.

And like a husband with his new bride, Peyton carried Tyler to their bedroom.

The sex had not been any more erotic, or romantic, or passionate than it generally was, but it felt different. Perhaps it was just the excitement of starting a new chapter, a new life together.

They lay together, panting and sweating and staring at the ceiling in exultation.

“Well baby,” said Peyton. “I think now is the time to tie the knot.”

Tyler breathed a faint chuckle. “It’s gonna take a while to get the wedding planned and booked.”

Peyton chuckled as well.

“Oh,” he said. “There won’t be a wedding.”

It would have taken Tyler a moment to process this statement and respond to it, but before he could make it through the hurdles, Peyton was on top of him. Kissing him. Tasting him. Hands on his skin, breath on his throat, moaning in his ear.

“I’m gonna make you so happy,” Peyton exhaled.

He pressed his lips to Tylers, took the back of his neck in his hands, and kissed him deeply.

His jaws widened, his mouth beginning to take Tyler’s head inside.

Moments of shock prevented resistance.

But Peyton was strong, and he was fast, and he worked efficiently.

First it was Tyler’s head in his throat, which stretched effortlessly to accommodate him. It was hot, and wet, and the muscles rippled and tugged and pulled him in.

Next it was his shoulders, his upper arms and his chest, teeth gently grazing along his sweat-slick skin.

Jaws stretched, throat opened, and Tyler slipped deeper inside.

It was now that he began to resist, to squirm and struggle, but the damage was done, and he was too deep to go back.

He felt Peyton’s hands on his waist, felt their bodies shift as Peyton rose to allow the curve of Tyler’s spine to harmlessly bend and slip inside deeper.

Tyler’s head passed through a tight ring of muscle, and slipped inside Peyton’s stomach.

Peyton allowed gravity to take over, and guided his lover inside of himself.

Tyler’s stomach and hips passed through his mouth, passed into his throat. It was only his legs, now. And then only his calves. And then only his feet.

And with a final swallow, and a final sealing of his lips, he took all of his lover inside himself.

There was a moment of pressure, almost painful, as he guided his hand along his throat, and then down his chest, and then to his stomach as he felt the last parts of his boyfriend slip inside his stomach.

Tyler curled up inside his new home, trying to struggle and squirm, trying to free himself.

To no avail.

He cried out in shock, in fear, and Peyton could not understand the words.

Peyton sat with his back against the bedhead, legs spread and stomach swollen, and ran loving hands along the boy-shaped bulge in his stomach.

“There we go,” he said fondly. “Finally mine. All mine. Only mine, forever.”

Sounds of protest came from within him, and he crooned at his lover to be silent.

“Just relax, baby,” he said. “Isn’t it warm in there? Isn’t it tight? Like I’m hugging you and holding you.”

He pressed his hands to the shifting shape within his gut, feeling him, easing him.

“This is where you belong. This is where you’re meant to be. I could never take care of you before, but now I’ll keep you close and safe.”

His stomach gurgled, and he imagined with a fond smirk what that must mean.

“I wasn’t sure for a while, but recently I’ve known that you were meant to be mine. Now I can have you all to myself. Don’t be scared. Just relax and enjoy it, let my belly massage you and hold you and make you mine.”

The sounds of protest began to decline, and the struggling became less pronounced.

He knew in his heart that Tyler understood.

Peyton considered for a moment how his life would change now. Considered that he would need to start looking for a new boyfriend. Nobody would be good enough. Nobody would ever deserve to be his in this way.

But that was a problem for later.

He felt, in the deep recesses of himself, that he would love again, would have the chance to have another.

But still, that was not something to consider in this moment.

For now it was him, and Tyler, and the beginnings of digestion.

He would hold Tyler whilst he went to sleep, and would love him whilst he digested, and would make him a part of himself, forever.

[avenomousflower]

Casey’s head spun, the expected result of too many drinks and too much fun.

He had come tonight against his better instinct, never being much of a partier but eager to come out of his shell. He had drunk and danced and chatted, but now, his head vertiginous, he felt the need rise in his chest to get away from it all.

So he opened the nearest door and stepped through, the music and vocal ambiance muffling behind him.

Stairs reached down into the darkness of a basement, cool and quiet, and he breathed a little easier.

“Needed to get away?”

Casey’s head swivelled as he stepped from the stair, looking to find who had spoken.

There was a lounge and coffee table and a television arranged like a living room, a smattering of beer cans littering the space. A young man was seated, legs spread wide, beer to his lips, hand on his notable stomach. He eyed Casey keenly.

“Oh,” Casey said, taking a hesitant step forward. “Yeah. Sorry if I’m intruding, I can-”

The young man lowered his beer and smiled. The basement smelled like weed.

“Come closer.”

Casey took another two steps forward. “Are you John’s brother?”

The young man nodded. “Byron,” he said, and then, "I’ve never seen a girl like you.”

He looked Casey up and down appraisingly, no doubt taking stock of his crop top and short shorts. His face turned hot, and he crossed an arm over his stomach, insecure.

“I’m not a girl.”

Byron chuckled. “You look like a girl to me.”

He raised a hand and beckoned Casey to come closer. He did, and Byron took him by the back of the neck. His touch was gentle but firm, effortlessly pulling Casey in so close that he could feel hot breath on his neck. The other boy breathed in deep.

One hand on Casey’s neck, and the other now taking him by the waist, he pulled Casey in further, forcing him to take a seat in his lap. Casey could feel the swelling bulge in Byron’s pants.

“You smell like a girl,” he whispered.

Both hands were now on Casey’s slim waist, dominant, pushing him down as he raised his own lap, pressing the hard parts of himself against Casey’s ass.

“You feel like a girl, too,” he continued.

Casey breathed deep, the heat inside him rising as he was manhandled, finding himself inexorably aroused by this circumstance, the hands on his waist, the breath on his throat, the swell at his hole.

“I want to know how you feel on the inside,” whispered Byron, releasing himself from his pants with one hand whilst his fingers slipped into Casey’s lips with the other hand.

Casey sucked on the fingers eagerly, his saliva slick and his lips pouting.

“Good girl,” Byron said, and took the fingers from Casey’s mouth.

He pressed his lips to Casey’s, his breath strong with the smell of weed, his tongue working inside his mouth, and Casey felt the slick fingers slip past the leg of his shorts and press against his hole. The fingers were gentle but authoritative, one at first slipping inside him, and then another.

Casey made a gasp that turned into a whimpering moan, and Byron took one of his lips between his teeth, grinning.

“You wanna be my girl?” he asked, and Casey, moaning, nodded.

The fingers slipped from within him, leaving him gaping and yearning. He felt the girth of Byron’s cock slip up the leg of Casey’s shorts, the head pressing against his hole.

“Are you gonna give me a kiss with these lips?” asked Byron, pressing his cock into Casey’s hole, the lips parting to allow it inside.

Casey whimpered and said, “yes.”

“That’s right, baby,” said Byron, and he slipped deeper. “Kiss my fat cock with that tight pussy.”

He slid the full length of himself inside, hilting at last, and then he began to thrust.

He worked his hips with a lazy confidence, hands on Casey’s waist to hold him still, his cock working to open Casey, to know him inside.

“You want me to finish inside you?” he asked, breath hitching.

Casey nodded and whimpered a weak, “yes.”

“You want me to put a baby inside you?” he continued. “You want to be my girl? All mine, forever?”

Casey gave another affirmation.

And then Byron was done, his cock buried deep inside, throbbing and pulsing, and he exclaimed quietly, a masculine grunt that hitched in his throat.

They sat together for a moment, breathing in unison, bodies pressed together, until Byron spoke again.

“My girl,” said Byron softly.

He pressed his lips to Casey’s again, and they kissed.

His mouth widened, his jaws parting, and he took Casey by the back of the neck again, holding him firmly. He pulled Casey closer, pressed his head into his mouth, wet and hot.

Casey did not resist, had felt all the strength and fight drawn from him as he had been fucked.

Byron took Casey inside, took his head into his expanding throat, and swallowed. Casey was raised from his seated position, the softening tool slipping out of him as Byron worked him in deeper, took his neck and shoulders into his throat. The muscles rippled and maneuvered him in deeper, bodily functions taking over as he was swallowed.

Byron moaned, and the sound was deep and resonant around Casey as he moved deeper, chest and upper arms being drawn inside.

Byron made short work of him, his throat pulling Casey deeper, his hands grasping and lifting and pushing him up and then down. It was a few fleeting moments as his waist, and then pelvis, and then thighs were swallowed. Byron took a final swallow, Casey’s legs and feet taken inside his mouth, and then into his throat, and then finally all of him was curled tightly inside the stomach.

Byron sighed, content, and pressed his hands into the swell of his stomach, the boy he had just fucked resting on his lap behind layers of fat and flesh. He could feel the outline of Casey within him, could make out his back and his head, the curve of his shoulders. He felt the gentle movements inside him, the probing motions as Casey adjusted to his new home.

“Now you’re really my girl,” said Byron warmly. “All mine, forever.”

There came a gentle and muffled response from within him, unintelligible as his stomach began to gurgle, beginning the digestive process.

Casey would be unconscious soon as his air thinned. There would be no pain, no suffering, but Byron would enjoy the movements and the heat until that happened.

He worked his hands across his stomach, pressing and feeling and rubbing, soothing his lover and calming his meal.

“What’s that, baby?” he asked his belly.

His gut spoke again, louder now, but he could still barely make it out: “You’re gonna let me out?”

“Just relax, baby,” said Byron, and squeezed his hands into Casey’s form, forcing him to be still. “Just relax and let me take care of you. You’re mine now. Be a good girl for me.”

And Casey did, growing still, the gentle rise and fall of his shallow breathing the only indication that he was still alive.

Byron began to drift off to sleep, hands tender and loving on his stomach, murmuring to his lover, waiting for the digestive process to begin.

[avenomousflower]

Hector walked with light steps, careful to avoid making too much noise. He held a hand to the stone wall, recalling having been told that he should always do so if ever he was in such a situation. He had never expected this to happen to him, had never even considered the possibility.

It had been a hard life on the streets of Crete, begging for scraps and huddling for shelter when it was cold, or wet. It hardly seemed fair that he should be punished for trying to survive. He had taken a crust of bread, only enough to keep himself from starving, and had been thrown in front of the king to face judgement. He had been washed and oiled and perfumed, and thrown to his consequence.

Ever since the Bull had been born, punishment had become stricter and more common. Once he would have gotten a slap on the wrist, maybe a little compensatory labor, and then would be free to go. But the Bull of Minos demanded sacrifice, and criminals had been the obvious choice.

The labyrinth walls were rough on his fingertips. Each faint footstep echoed through the halls.

Hector steeled himself, willed himself to be brave.

But he was young, and alone, and each step brought him closer to the labyrinth’s end, and to his own.

On he walked for what felt like hours, turning corners and frustrating himself at dead ends, doubling back and trying new paths. There was an element of relief at each failed passage, but also a pang of disappointment; he would live for another moment, but was forced to prolong his own torment.

The deep and resonant sound of heavy breathing began to tug at him after some time. His journey neared its end.

The sound grew louder as he walked, laboured and consistent.

A final turn brought him to the Minotaur’s chamber.

The masculine smell of musk sat heavy on the air. The growling drone of weighty breaths reverberated in his bones.

It was seated at the far side of the room, head bowed. Its arms were as thick as tree trunks, its stomach swollen, completely naked save for a scrap of cloth covering its manhood. Its head was the furred black of a bull, two broken horns crowning it.

It looked up at Hector, black eyes twinkling in the dark, thoughtful.

The Bull of Minos rose from its rest, and took a deliberate step toward the young man. There was no aggression in its movement, but a curiosity and a gentleness.

Hector had sometimes heard the philosophers as they debated and deliberated, discussing their theories and concepts. A recent one was Fight or Flight; the idea that when threatened, mankind reacted like animals, with aggression or by fleeing.

Hector found that neither had applied to him now. He froze in place like a man petrified by a gorgon.

The Minotaur took Hector in its hands, calloused and broad, and inhaled his scent. It seemed to inspect him, sizing him up and taking his stock. He knew that criminals were sent to be sacrificed, but knew not the form that this sacrifice would take.

The Minotaur was gentle as it lowered him from his feet, bringing him to rest on his back on a pile of cloth. It seemed to have made a decision, had come to some conclusion about him. It came down to its knees, using a hand to part Hector’s oiled thighs, and the boy complied.

He could feel the swelling bulge beneath the thin fabric at the Minotaur’s crotch, and he found himself wanting.

The horror of the creature was eclipsed by how aggressively masculine it was; it looked like a man, it smelled like a man, and the rough hands on his thigh and waist asserted that it felt like a man, too.

Hector whimpered ever so slightly when two of the Bull’s slick fingers slipped inside him. It let out a huff as it did so, its breath hot on Hector’s face. Hesitantly, he reached out, taking the beast by its waist and pulling it toward him.

He did not know if it could speak, or how it thought, but it understood him. Its fingers gently slipped from within him, and it pressed the tip of its cock to the tight, oiled pucker of his hole.

The monster was a surprisingly gentle lover, carefully rocking back and forth, applying slightly more pressure each time it pressed against his entrance. An exhalation turned into a moan as the head entered him, his moan turning to a whine of pleasure as it pulled back and then pushed forward again, sinking a little deeper, stretching him a little wider.

Hector spread his thighs further apart, and the Minotaur pressed the weight of its stomach onto him, skin to skin.

It pressed its lips to his throat as it sunk the full length of itself inside the boy, throbbing inside him. It was still for a moment as though enjoying the tightness, the wetness, the warmth, and then it slowly and softly began to thrust.

Hector whimpered and whined, digging his fingernails into the skin of the beast’s back, pulling it closer, holding it tighter, inviting all of it inside him.

It pumped within him, breaths growing deeper and more erratic, nearing its climax.

“Finish within me,” Hector breathed, uncertain if the beast understood him, and uncaring. “Make me yours.”

The moment struck him like lightning from Olympus as it thrust roughly, burying itself within him, throbbing inside him, spilling itself into the hot, wet darkness.

The Bull breathed deeply, panting, and Hector panted below it.

They lay together for a time, breathing quietly, the Bull growing soft and slipping out of the young man.

After what felt like an age, it rose to look him in the eye, that thoughtful, inspecting gleam having returned. It watched him for a while before it leaned back down toward him.

It took the back of his head in one hand, a tender motion, and brought its lips toward him.

He thought for a moment that it meant to kiss him, before its mouth opened and he understood.

Its breath was hot, but not unpleasant. The cavern of its gullet opened to welcome him.

The Bull was gentle, tender, as it guided his head toward its mouth, teeth grazing along the skin of his face, tongue wet below his chin. He closed his eyes, embracing his punishment with a strange serenity.

Its throat was tight around his head, its lips now working down to his shoulders, arms pinned to his side. The flesh of the throat rippled around him, strong muscles guiding him deeper. The heat and wetness washed over him, lips moving down to his waist.

The muscles parted around him as his head entered the beast’s stomach, gravity doing most of the work now to pull him deeper. He naturally curled around himself, his feet wriggling as it took all of him inside it, the cool air outside pulled away as it closed its mouth around them.

All of him was inside the Bull’s stomach now, wrapped around himself foetally. He felt the impression of strong hands feeling about his form, taking his measurement from outside.

There came the deep and resonant sound of a belch that constricted the stomach walls around him and permeated through the flesh.

The beast’s hands stopped inspecting him now and rubbed at him instead, kneading him, enjoying the satisfaction of a filling meal. Hector considered now that this would end only in digestion, suspected that the rubbing might have been an effort to stimulate the process, but it was too late now to worry on such things.

This was his life now, his home, his purpose.

He had given the Minotaur permission to own him, and that was what it had done.

His fate was intimately tied to the beast’s digestive processes now, and he made his peace with that.

Hector raised a hand to press on the wet flesh of the beast’s stomach lining, and the beast met his hand with its own. He may have been foolish, or mad, but he couldn’t help but feel that there was a connection between them, a deep and personal intimacy. The Minotaur had taken his virginity, and he wondered if he had taken its own.

The breathing grew deeper, more steady, and he realised after a time that the beast had fallen asleep, hands still pressed lovingly to the bulge that he made in its stomach. Hector closed his eyes, allowing sleep to take him too, and he went to his final slumber amid gurgling and squelching, the walls of the stomach working over him, preparing him for digestion.