Mik's blogspot

It’s clear as day to me, toe boy. I don’t let you cum for two weeks and I’ve got an enthusiastic boy who would do literally anything for just the slightest bit of attention from me. You get so horny, and so obsessed with me, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I don’t need to lift a finger for myself.

The degrading disgusting shit I tell you to do gets you so excited when you haven’t cum. You WANT to humiliate yourself for me. You WANT me to tie you up and tease you for hours. You WANT me to belt you until you have bruises. You WANT to lick the dirt from shoes and hump them like an absolute fucking weirdo while I laugh at you.

But then, after I very kindly let you out of your cage and let you cum like a real grown man you change. Enthusiasm drops. I see eye rolls when I tell you to do something. The foot worship is… disappointing. It’s half hearted.

I deserve a bitch that wants to please me full time. A bitch that is so grateful when I get them treats - like cumming - that they work harder for me.

So, until I say otherwise and until you’ve learned your lesson, your bi-weekly orgasm will be ruined. I’ll measure how it affects your performance and consider any further changes after a couple of months.

He humped my legs while the guy melted into cum. Then he came all over me. He didn't say anything about it and left me there. I'd tasted his seed before when I ate a dude out after he came in the guy, but that night I must have swallowed a gallon of the stuff.

After that, he regularly ate our hookups. I'd come home to find him chilling with a guy melting in his sack. Sometimes he'd bust all over me. Sometimes he went just chilled. At some point, he started having me worship his cock. I'd help his meals churn down.

We stopped hooking up with other people unless they were going to wind up as his cock food.

If he wanted an ass, he took mine. If he wanted to fuck a throat, he fucked mine. I learned the taste of his pits, his ass, and his feet.

We were practically lovers.

Senior year, he started asking if I ever thought about what those guys I helped him digest were going through. He teased me, saying he bet I dreamt about being his food. When he humped me with his massive dick right after a meal, he'd talk about how easy it'd be to swallow me up right then and there. Sometimes he'd talk to his meals like they were me. He had me ask his food questions as they melted into his cum.

Then, on the day of graduation, he finally said it: "College is over. It's been fun. But I want a husband one day, and brothers can't get married. So you have two choices, baby bro. You go in and change into your cap and gown, go get your degree, and move out tomorrow. Go back to our parents' place til you get it figured out. Or you can come back out naked and graduate from bitch to food. It's up to you. No pressure. I love you either way."

I spent a good half hour in my room. I should have been thinking it over, but I wasn't. Mostly, I was just sad at the idea we couldn't get married.

When I walked out, my brother had his legs spread. His dick was on display. When he spotted me, his balls growled. He smiled. "Good choice. I always knew you would wind up in my balls."

I nodded. It seemed like this was fate. It was bound to happen the moment we moved in together.

"Don't worry," he said. "I won't waste you down the drain. See, preds are really sought after as sperm donors. Increases the chances of having a pred or some bullshit. Whatever. But what they don't tell people is that we cock preds can choose how much of our sperm is us and how much is food. You. So..." he smirked. "Next time I see you, 19 years from now, maybe, you'll be calling me dad."

I blushed. That didn't sound true. "You don't have to sugarcoat it."

In public, some preds try to keep things subtle. Flatten their bloated stomachs, play innocent—anything to avoid attention. The newbies do it out of fear; the clever ones, to keep the buffet open. But not Nick. Not anymore. After swallowing down hundreds of prey, some of them predators themselves, he didn’t hide a damn thing. In fact, he loved putting on a show.

Today, his stomach bulged gloriously—taut, gurgling, unapologetic—as he let it swell back to its true size right on the beach. No shame. Just hunger. And power. When the first terrified pair of eyes met his, he grinned wide and watched the panic ripple outward like blood in water. That was the moment it started—the real fun.

The sunbathers always went first, fumbling for their things in stupid confusion, as if towels or sunglasses could save them. Then came the swimmers, slow and splashing, easy targets for a muscled beast like Nick who cut through water like a predator born for it. But his favorites? The ones who thought they were clever. The ones who bolted for their cars, shoving others down to save themselves.

Nick let the fallen whimper on the sand, ignored for now. He wanted the arrogant ones—the ones who thought they were going to make it. Nothing tasted better than desperation laced with false hope. The way their faces crumbled when they realized they were caught… oh, it made his stomach purr.

When the beach was still again and the sun hit just right, Nick would lie back, heavy and full, his belly squirming with heat and helpless movement. Digestion under the sun was his reward—their bodies melting down into pure muscle, adding bulk to his already devastating form.

You can rub my feet til Matt gets home, unless you think that would make it feel more intense? That’s your problem, not mine.