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This all would’ve been at least manageable if it wasn’t for the other team constantly chirping at him. They saw how hard he was working and taunted him, getting under his skin and into his head as the third period buzzed in. Wyatt tried his best to remain focused during shifts, but when the shitty ref had called a penalty on him for a dirty hit, the college athlete could do nothing but seethe as his team slowly lost him one of the most important games of the season—the first game in their collegiate tournament, a place where NHL scouters ran rampant.

This wasn’t the first time Wyatt’s anger had drowned out any semblance of tranquility. In fact, he had a college-ordered therapist to help him learn to calm down when his anger got too intense. The last time he felt this mad, the opposing team had a player sent to the hospital and Wyatt couldn’t play in games for the rest of the season (which wasn’t the end of the world, as it happened to be the season’s penultimate game). He tried the coping strategies his therapist had given him to try and quell his ire: counting the tiles in the floor, breathing in through the nose, out through the mouth, imagining himself in his happy place. 

That last one was, unfortunately, a little problematic, as Wyatt’s happy place wasn’t so much a geographical location as it was a state of being. That state of being, like every other guy in his family, was fullness. Wyatt pictured himself with a rounded bulge of a gut, filled with a helpless preyboy. A soft smile played at the athlete’s lips as he could almost feel the phantom struggling of a poor, hopeless soul inside his belly. The young man spread his legs and readjusted his grip on his hockey stick as the memories of past prey flooded through him and reminded the young hunk that he hadn’t eaten in quite some time. In his breezers and chest protector, Wyatt slowly felt the edges of his anger subside. This was zen for him. The rest of his team would still be out on the ice for a team meeting and some cooldown skates for a while longer, and since he had the special privilege of being the best damn player on the ice today, he got to throw temper tantrums and recollect his sanity in the locker rooms before anyone else did.

At least, he thought he was alone. A nearby noise prompted Wyatt to shoot a glance towards the showers. Through his squint, the hunk saw the water boy—an interning student that he had never bothered to learn the name of. Thinking to himself that he couldn’t be given just one moment of alone time, the frayed edges of the athlete’s calm came loose. Wyatt’s anger surged forward, and a flash of hatred marred his face. He thought he got the space and quietude necessary with being the best, but apparently, he wasn’t even afforded that. With a sigh that rivaled storms, Wyatt yanked off his skates and stomped over to the waterboy, who sheepishly noticed the impending hockey player and instinctively shied away at the confrontation.

“Hey,” Wyatt sneered, assessing the man before him. The water boy was short, a little lanky, and clad in some suspiciously tight clothing. He had neatly sectioned off braids that framed his handsome, soft featured face. 

The waterboy looked up at Wyatt, trying to keep his eyes off of his chiseled body, though that was a challenge even the most well-built man would fail. The star player’s shoulders easily eclipsed his own, and their height difference was the kind one would see in a young adult fantasy novel. 

“You’re in my space,” Wyatt deadpanned. It was common practice to give the waterboy a hard time, sometimes literally. Wyatt knew exactly what he wanted to do with the little prick that disturbed his meditations. Overall, he was a pleasant guy; really, he was. But sometimes, just occasionally, every little thing made Wyatt one second away from punching a hole in the wall. It was why he was so great at hockey.

“Oh, sorry, I just…” the intern awkwardly began shuffling away only to be clapped on the shoulder hard by Wyatt’s hand, calloused from years of practice in the rink. He looked scared, his slight tremble revealing his knowledge of how angry hockey players typically vented their frustrations after a loss. The water boy didn’t know Wyatt swung that way, and to confirm, he glanced down at the larger man’s breezers to check for a growing bulge. Strangely, Wyatt didn’t seem to be sporting an erection at this stage, which most other players did.

“Can you help me for a minute? It’ll be real quick.”

“Sure, man,” he sounded eager to please, but the young intern was just relieved he wasn’t going to have to suck another massive, unwashed hockey player’s cock. His jaw still hurt from the goalie’s shaft pumping in and out of him before the game.

Wyatt paused, letting the tension build, then gave the small man a gleaming smile, showing off and humbly bragging that through all these years of hockey championships, he still had all of his teeth (it didn’t matter that a couple of them were fake. They were still very pretty). The concrete floor below them made a sound of running water through the pipes as Wyatt led the poor intern, most likely starting his first year of college, back to his seat on the bench.

The two sat down together, with the stronger hunk stretching his legs far out enough for the water boy to sit in between them, which he did obediently. Wyatt ran a hand up and down the guy’s torso, feeling the familiar hardness of muscle underneath the shirt.

“You play hockey, too, bro?” A hand pressed on his chest and forced the intern to lean back against Wyatt’s glistening six-pack and pumped chest.

The water boy shifted awkwardly, trying to create distance between himself and the star player. He had thought this wouldn’t be a sexual favor, but clearly, Wyatt liked to be a little more sensual with it.

“Uhm,” he inadvertently pushed his ass against Wyatt’s groin in trying to scoot away. He definitely felt his enormous member perk up since he had approached him. “A little bit… My dad’s the assistant coach here… and said I could get on the team next year when I enroll here… maybe?” Wyatt’s hands started roaming all over the small man as he spoke, hungrily grasping at him like a plant absorbing nutrients. The water boy’s speech was awkward, and a small blush warmed his cheeks. He had sort of thought about this—dreamed of it, really—but to have this happen so suddenly and after such a bad loss? It was thrilling. 

The smell of rubber and dried sweat cut through Wyatt’s enticing body odor, much to the smaller man’s chagrin. He shifted again, and this time he definitely felt something hard pressing against his backside. A shudder made its way through the water boy. He’d heard rumors about Wyatt’s size, but if what he was feeling against him was real, he had no idea how rumors could actually underplay him. Even more scary, he had no idea how something that enormous could fit in his mouth, let alone his ass. 

“What’s your name, man?”

“It’s…uh… it’s Matthew,” he whimpered. Wyatt’s hands continued roaming up and down his torso, groping hungrily at his body like it was a piece of meat. 

Wyatt’s stomach let out a low growl, though it matched the same rumble of his animalistic groan, masking it. “Mmm, Matthew. You said you wanted to join our team next year, yes? How about you get some quality time in with your future captain, then? I could really use some relief after that game…”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Matt’s breathing was heavy, eager yet extremely nervous for how Wyatt was about to handle him. He was entirely at the mercy of this larger man, and he wasn’t sure whether that worried him or turned him on. Maybe it was both. 

Two calloused hands made their way to Matthew’s tight shorts, squeezing his ass possessively. Wyatt shifted his breezers down, letting his cock that had been pushing up past his bellybutton fully spring free. It was hot, heavy, and throbbing up Matthew’s back. He leaned down and nibbled on the shell of Matt’s ear, kissing it open-mouthed and giving himself a taste of the man before him. His savory, salty flavor was electrifying, causing Wyatt to lean back and groan. 

Gripping Matt by the hips, Wyatt supported him as he pushed him into a standing position. Matthew dared a look backwards to actually face the behemoth of Wyatt’s cock. He needed to make an active effort not to gasp. How the hell did he hide something so fucking huge? How was he going to be able to walk after this at all? The worry and awe must’ve been obvious on Matthew’s face because Wyatt wrapped a large hand—which didn’t even cover a quarter of his member—around his dick and chuckled. 

“Pretty nice, huh?” A glob of precum slowly seeped out of its weeping tip. 

“It’s… wow, that’s big.” Matthew’s eyes traveled down the immense shaft, focusing on the hockey player's giant balls that rested between his muscular thighs. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll make it fit.”

Matthew gulped and felt his body being pushed back downward, Wyatt readying himself to plunge into his newfound hole. He was maybe lowered by three inches before he already was met with a monstrous, leaking cock head. Thank god Wyatt’s dick was leaking this much, lubricating both cock and hole; otherwise, Matthew was sure that taking his cock would be genuinely impossible. Reflexively, Matt clenched his ass, afraid to take this much cock at once. The biggest dick he’d taken before—ironically, also a member of the hockey team—was less than half this size. 

Wyatt tutted at Matt’s hesitance. “Come on, Matthew. You want this as much as I do, right?”

The smaller man sheepishly nodded in response, trying to relax. He felt Wyatt’s hand wrap around his lower stomach, pulling him closer once again, this time breaching his hole. As Wyatt entered into Matt, he groaned obnoxiously. Again, his stomach growled loudly, not obfuscated by his other noises this time. Matt didn’t think too much of it, as he was preoccupied with trying not to split in two from the sheer monster Wyatt hid between his legs. 

“Fuck me, you’re so fucking tight for me,” Wyatt breathed out. 

Matthew wasn’t tight. Not even close. In fact, just that morning a defenseman had stretched him loose to let off steam before the game. Matthew’s hole was still open and abused from earlier in the day. He wasn’t tight so much as Wyatt was just insanely big. A slick, wet sound signaled the excruciatingly painful process of Wyatt pulling Matthew to take all of his cock. At about halfway down, Wyatt had to pause, gripping one of Matt’s shoulders and biting his lip. 

“Fuck. You feel so good on me. Holy fuck. Just—Just give me a minute. Haven’t done this for a while,” Wyatt managed to say, trying his hardest not to come. His face was contorted in pleasure, panting as he shifted under Matthew. 

Seeing how needy Wyatt suddenly looked, Matt felt a sudden urge to push the hockey player a little bit. Biting down to stop himself from crying out in pain, he slid himself down Wyatt’s shaft more, feeling the rock-hard cock continue to ravage his insides with zero effort. A thin veil of sweat formed all over his body as the Herculean cock twitched inside of him. Every throb, every vein, every minuscule shift could be felt by the smaller guy as Wyatt tried his hardest not to burst from feeling himself be so tightly and warmly stimulated. 

Matt smiled lightly to himself, happy to see how much Wyatt was enjoying his ass. His own cock was hard just from watching him shudder in pleasure. Matthew tried to push himself down further, but a hand squeezed his hip in warning, holding him in place. 

“I said,” Wyatt growled, “give me a fucking minute.”

Matt froze, suddenly worried that he had gotten too eager. He held his breath while Wyatt seemed to take up most of the air in the room with his heavy breathing. Through nervous eyes, Matt watched the hockey player’s muscular chest rise and fall as he tried to calm himself before spilling into the water boy. They stayed in that position for what felt like an hour, which gave each man enough time to get used to each dizzying sensation the other was giving them. 

Finally, Wyatt’s breathing seemed to grow more even, his eerie calm restored. With his iron-grip wrapped around one of Matt’s hips and one of his shoulders, the captain of the hockey team let out a soft grunt, stilling his movement, and pulled down, hard. A loud slap of skin-on-skin contact was the first sense Matthew’s brain registered. Then, a flood of firery pain rushed in. Wyatt had just slammed his remaining length into him, or rather, he had just impaled Matt on his remaining length. Without any preparation, Matt opened his mouth to scream in pain, but he suddenly found his throat completely dry. He looked down and saw a very stretched bulge in his abdomen, signaling where Wyatt’s dick was throbbing inside of him. He now sat squarely on Wyatt’s lap, a place he’s sure he’s dreamed about before, albeit under much more romantic circumstances. His insides felt entirely alight with pain, but he clamped down on his words, unable, and perhaps unwilling to say stop. His own cock was still painfully hard through all of this, so he can’t say he didn’t want it. 

“There we go,” Wyatt growled in Matt’s ear, rubbing over the bulge his dick was making on Matthew. “You feel so fucking good around me. So tight for me. Tell me it’s the best dick you’ve ever had.”

Horrifyingly, Wyatt’s hands began roaming all over Matt’s body as Wyatt whispered into the back of his neck. If he wasn’t tearing up in pain, he’d begin to worship his future-captain, trying to pleasure him as much as he could. Matthew was too scared to move for fear of ripping himself apart. A small whimper escaped him, which, fortunately, Wyatt seemed to deem as an acceptable answer. Unfortunately, that made his hips start moving with lust. 

The hockey player gripped Matthew by his sides, lifting him up with ease. The bulge in his stomach lessened for a moment, only to be replaced a moment later as Wyatt pulled him back down onto his lap with a soft plap. A string of pleasure-fraught profanities tumbled from Wyatt’s mouth, showering Matt with praise like roses at a curtain call. His heart raced, unsure if he would be able to survive this inhuman cock he found himself pierced on. The idea occurred to him that even if he wanted to get off, he didn’t know if Wyatt would let him. Even worse, Matthew liked that. As the hunk began using him as a living fucktoy, the guilty thought invaded his mind like a fog: there was no place else he’d rather be. 

His pace quickened, and along with it, his ferocity. Within minutes, Wyatt was beginning to come undone. He began slamming Matthew down on his shaft while moaning about how good he fit around his cock. At the same time, he instinctively thrust upwards, reveling in the feeling of Matthew’s guts literally rearranging themselves to accommodate Wyatt. The hockey player’s breathing became more and more ragged, filling the ambience of the locker room with obnoxious sounds of gratification. As his composure quickly unraveled, Wyatt began to use more force, more pressure on his living fleshlight. Gripping him hard enough to bruise, Wyatt’s aggression kicked up a notch as his climax neared, going far too fast for Matthew to handle. He opened his mouth to speak, but was immediately met with two rough fingers reaching into his mouth, stopping any protest he might have vocalized. Matthew swirled his tongue around Wyatt’s digits, wishing he could feel the heavy weight of his cock in his mouth instead. This was probably for the better though, as Wyatt’s dick would definitely have popped Matt’s jaw and maybe done permanent damage to his throat. Instead he was going to have permanent damage to his ass, which wasn’t ideal, but fuck if it wasn’t hotter than anything he’s felt before. 

With increased fervor, Wyatt began panting in between a rapid piston of thrusts, “Fuck yeah, you gonna let me cum in your ass? You wanna take this big fuckin’ load?”

Matthew let out a pathetic whimper in response, and his body was lifted up violently, the cold air sending electric shivers throughout his spine. Wyatt wove his arms under Matt’s armpits and laced his fingers behind his head, putting him in a masterlock position. Wyatt pounded into his toy, screaming out profanities as his cock throbbed to even greater proportions in anticipation for an egregious climax. The slapping sound as Matthew was viciously pumped into started ringing in his ears, almost making him faint from the pure overstimulation. Just as the edges of Matthew’s vision were going blurry, Waytt shouted, bottoming out inside of him.

A warm, fuzzy feeling started pooling in Matthew’s stomach. Wyatt’s arms had wrapped themselves around Matt’s chest, holding him in place as he hung his forehead on Matthew’s neck, hot breath adding to the intensity Wyatt’s fucktoy felt. The warm feeling in his gut bloomed into a strange discomfort, tangible in a way he hadn’t felt before. Languidly dragging his eyes down, Matthew watched in shock as his stomach started ballooning outwards. Wyatt’s load was responsible for the paradoxically euphoric and uncomfortable feeling. His burgeoning lean gut swelled until he looked heavily pregnant, Wyatt grunting light threats about not letting Matthew spill a single drop. Somewhere along the lines, Matthew must have also came, judging by the streaks of white, hot jizz contrasting his skin along his torso. Wyatt fucked him so good that he didn’t even realize how hard he came, either, earning a huff of laughter from the abused bottom.

Wyatt, blissed out and debauched, felt his stomach growl again, complaining that he hadn’t already gotten on with the main event. The star hockey player sat both of them back down on the bench, flowering Matthew with light kisses and lots of tongue as they slowly came down from the high. With his cock still lightly throbbing inside the water boy, Wyatt murmured something into the back of Matt’s head, arms still wrapped possessively around him.

“What? Sorry?” Matthew tightened his face, still trying to form one coherent thought after that life-changing fuck.

“You taste really fucking good.”

Matthew hummed, unsure what kind of innuendo Wyatt was trying to make, and still way too exhausted to try to piece it together. He leaned back into the larger man, pushing his braids back to let his entire flushed face feel the mildewy locker room air—an unsatisfying reprieve for how on fire his body felt, but it was a relief nonetheless. He tilted his head back, eyes shut and content. He heard a popping noise behind him, and in an instant, his entire world shifted.

Wyatt engulfed his prey’s head entirely, wrapping his lips around Matt’s neck lightly. His tongue ran over his sweaty skin, coaxing out the salty-savory flavor like he’s done so many times before. His cock stiffened slightly, still being warmed by Matt’s gaping hole. Wyatt’s throat bulged out, and his flat six-pack pleasantly grumbled, aware of what was about to transpire. Wyatt twitched, bringing his arms up to feel what was happening around his head. Cutting him off, Wyatt clamped down on Matt’s biceps, bunching up his shoulders together, and took a beefy gulp, sentencing his prey’s head to bulge out his throat. The feeling was euphoric, and Wyatt’s anger eased up, if only a little. Taking his anger out with sex and then filling his gut up with the hookup was simple, easy, efficient. His brothers and fathers taught him how to do this when he was of age, and the habit stuck with him even now, even through his mandated therapist.

Wyatt pushed Matthew up into his mouth, feeling his torso begin to slide down his tight, wet, beckoning throat. With dawning pleasure, Wyatt could feel his stomach’s valve stretch wide as his prey’s head entered his stomach chamber. There wasn’t much in there, as he usually didn’t have much more than a smoothie and some protein bars before afternoon games, which meant Matt would get the place all to himself. A calloused hand patted the side of the hockey player’s growing belly, smacking it with much the same sound as his earlier thrusts made. The feeling was sparking even more intense desire within the athlete, and his cock was again fully erect, pumping precome into his prey with need. He chuckled warmly, the vibrations of his chest sent a buzz throughout Matt’s now half-engulfed torso.

The predator lifted his prey’s body upward, off of his needy cock and into the air to allow a slow, sinking swallowing process. Wyatt’s lips widened around Matthew’s come-bloated belly, proud of himself for the cream filling he cheffed up for his prey. Resonant gulps ushered more of the water boy’s body down into Wyatt’s still expanding belly. A pair of shoulders and arms spilled into his gut, followed shortly by a chest painted in cum. His tight abdominal muscles adhered religiously to the body that stretched his belly out. Wyatt pressed his hand roughly where Matt’s head is, rubbing it brutally as his frantic squirms began to heighten, the reality of the situation beginning to become apparent.

Unfortunately, the snake-like devourment continued without hindrance. Wyatt relaxed his throat, letting it bulge even further with Matt’s gut, putting his attention towards slurping down his muscular pair of legs. If it wasn’t clear that he played hockey before, Wyatt immediately recognized the very developed set of quads on his meal, revealing that he truly was devouring an incoming prospect for the collegiate team. In recognition of this, Wyatt crammed Matt’s thighs down his throat in a brutal motion. The idea of extinguishing a future team member’s chance was exactly the kind of cruelty Wyatt needed to get his catharsis. Plus, his dad was the assistant coach, so as team captain, Wyatt wasn’t about to let nepotism influence the team composition.

The rounded gut sat heavily on Wyatt’s lap, weighing down his still hard cock. He bucked his hips lightly, stimulating his eager shaft against the hard weight of his growing belly. Most of Matt was already tucked inside the athlete’s stomach by now, but there was still a small amount of the guy left on the outside world. Eager to finish him off, Wyatt opened his throat, letting the slimy noise of Matt’s calves and feet join their final resting place along with the rest of his body. The persistent bliss Wyatt felt was exactly what he needed to quell his anger, other coping methods be damned. Looking down beneath the swell of his pecs, the hockey player rubbed gently over his gurgling belly, thankful that Matthew made for such a good stress-reliever, meal, and cum-dump all in one. 

“Fuck,” Wyatt moaned out, leaning his head back and lazily rubbing his actively moving gut. “Just keep squirming for me, man. Make your captain feel good—UUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP! That’s it, just like that.”

Wyatt would allow himself to float happily in bliss for just a few more minutes before cleaning himself and the floor up. It appeared that when he lifted Matt off his cock, he had accidentally let a disgusting amount of semen spill from his hole. Just as the initial waves of pleasure began winding down, he heard the telltale noise of the locker room door swing open. A heavy pair of footsteps grew louder as a voice called out to him.

“Yo! Cushy,” Wyatt’s nickname alerted him that a teammate had come to check on him. “Coach wants to see if you’re alright, and he also wants me to tell you to get your ass back on the ice for cooldown skates.”

Wyatt’s eyes shot open, recognizing the voice as anger rushed back in him like it never left. Indignant and petulant, he stood up to meet the person who was calling him back on the ice with fury. Of all people, they sent Sparky—the goalie—to come grab him. The very same goalie who had let in an embarrassing six goals in their first tournament game. He, of all people, came to check on Wyatt after his pathetic performance? He wanted to check in on him? Could they not have sent anybody else?

James Sparkman turned the corner to find the row Wyatt had made his mess in, stopping instantly and freezing in shock. “Wyatt…what the fuck did you do?” His voice was slow and measured, taking in the sight of his captain’s lowhanging, swollen gut as obvious handprints bulged out the skin that usually was tight against his abs. Right under it, his enormous, hard, leaking cock hung down like a third leg, throbbing for stimulation.

There are certain obligations one must make when becoming the captain of a hockey team. Time, surely, is one of them. You need to be the first on the ice and the last to leave. Observational skills was another, as a good captain was able to find flaws in his teammate’s play and correct them. One other obligation a captain must have is emotional maturity. The captain should always be the first to line up for handshakes and the morale booster at the end of a bad loss. Wyatt was, up until today, a really good captain. He could handle most things. He made sure never to let his anger show too openly in front of his teammates (except for when he got into brawls on the ice, but that was just standard hockey), he made sure to watch them closely and help them when they falter, and he was happy to lead the team in drills and warmups every single practice.

Something he could not handle, however, was his sorry excuse for a goalie judging Wyatt for something that was invariably his own fault. Wyatt’s plays had been flawless. As first line center, he scored a hat trick—in a tournament, no less. Sparky, on the other hand, had let in even more goals than Wyatt had scored. So, for his terrible goalie to come in and start ordering Wyatt around like they were anywhere remotely on the same level—Wyatt was not too keen on listening to what James had to say.

“Dude…Cap…pull yourself together, man. It’s just one loss. We’ll get ‘em next time.” Sparky still looked horrified as Matthew pleaded for his life inside the captain’s belly. His eyes raked over his naked captain, debauched, fists clenched in rage, and eyes narrow and cold.

“...Pull myself together,” Wyatt spat the words as if they were poison on his tongue. He drummed his fingers on his belly, ruminating for much less time than he should’ve about how he was going to ‘pull himself together.’

“Yeah, just…I’m gonna go tell Coach you need another minute. Let…whoever that is out and get back on the ice.”

The goalie turned to leave, grimacing as he did so, wondering if he’ll ever be able to get the sight of Wyatt’s toned, naked body with a grotesquely bulging gut and rock-hard dick out of his mind. Probably not. Wyatt hid his anger well, so for it to show so openly was quite the shock. Before James could take a step towards the door, a pair of hands seized his shoulders. He didn’t even have the time to look back before a greedy mouth opened wide and plunged his world into darkness.

Absolutely fuming, Wyatt yanked his goalie towards him, forcing him against his huge belly. Goalie pads and all, the irate captain swallowed once, twice, three times in rapid succession, paying zero attention to how foul his teammate’s gear tasted. This time, swallowing his prey brought him no reprieve, but he still felt the urge to tank him out of pure principle. The synthetic leather almost made Wyatt gag, but the idea that his goalie was screaming and thrashing about in terror was too delicious. He funneled the large man down his throat with one frustrated grunt after another. 

Much to his delight, Wyatt’s belly stretched even further, filling the captain with a deep, much-needed satisfaction. His stomach felt heavy, gurgling and churning its contents hard. Wyatt pulled the goalie pads past his lips, grimacing but too stubborn to stop for even a moment. His belly let out a whining groan, unaccustomed to stretching its sphincter muscle so wide to let such a bulky figure in. Wyatt just patted his gut for a moment, thankful that he had the ability to handle lazy fucks who let in six goals for their first tournament game. 

Inside the belly, James was disoriented and wildly flailing his arms, feeling himself smack into the other occupant inside his captain’s gut. Widening his eyes, he recognized instantly the face of the assistant captain’s son. Still in a panic, he squirmed and struggled as hard as he could, pressing his gloved hands to his ears in attempts to drown out the disgusting, slick sounds of Wyatt’s happy belly as it gently tenderized its two human meals. With horrifying clarity, Sparky felt he was able to move his legs again, meaning only one thing: his team captain had swallowed him whole, pads and all.

Wyatt heaved a massive sigh, jostling his behemoth belly around and chuckling. Hefting up the weight and dropping it back down, the hunk was very proud of himself for downing such a hulking guy with so much speed. His gut complained noisily, upset that he had forced the meal in so quickly, but overall still happy he got to fill his belly further.

Crashing himself against some standing lockers, Wyatt appreciated his belly’s noises and took a minute to rub over it lustfully. Staring down at the titanic gut, his pecs rose and fell with his deep breaths, slowing his heart rate. Now would be as good a time as any, so Wyatt began holding counts for his breath, trying to quell his pounding chest and calm his anger. Ideally, he would have done this before swallowing a teammate and water boy whole, but those are just miscellaneous details he and his therapist could worry about later. 

Wyatt’s breathing exercises, surprisingly, helped the college athlete calm down a little, though that may also be in part to his gurgling belly happily bloating beneath him. As his goalie struggled inside of him, he felt the crass urge to expel some of the air he was kicking up with all of his resistance. Pounding his chest with his fist, Wyatt let out a rink-shaking:

bbbbbbbBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBRRRRuuuuUUUUUUUUUOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!

A tense ding rang out in the emptied locker room as Sparkman’s goalie mask flew out of Wyatt’s wide-open mouth and slammed into a locker. He snorted and smacked his gut on the side, proud of himself for such a manly belch, and hopefully, smug in his torment of his ass goalie.

“Fuck you, dickhead. How’s it feel being in my gut? Think I’ve pulled myself together enough? Huh? What’s that? Can’t hear you over how much you’re squirming. Just settle in there, Sparky…you’re not going fucking anywhere.”

Both of Wyatt’s hands roamed the obscene belly bulge, feeling the undulating imprints with smug pride. He moaned obnoxiously and belched out the side of his mouth, drunk on his belly’s fullness. After a noxious fart, Wyatt devolved into a fit of giggles, amused by his belly-fillers’ torment.

“Ah, god—BBEEELLLCCCHHHH—Coach is gonna fucking kill me. God, though, was it worth it.”

Wyatt is so lost in his haze that he didn’t register the locker room door opening once again several minutes later. This time, he was fully exposed to the man who just walked in, staring at the star player rubbing his gut with a deeply sickening look of fondness in his eyes. He observed his still-hard cock, snaking up the curve of his gut, and the discarded rag that Wyatt had gotten from Matthew to clean up his mess. The intruder’s eyes flicked briefly to the goalie mask Wyatt had just dispelled from his squirming gut. When his gaze returned, Wyatt was staring right at the assistant coach, his smug look crumbling to guilt, gray eyes scanning for any reaction from Matthew’s father.

A wave of guilt coursed through Wyatt’s body, suddenly faced with an authority figure he needed to obey in order to continue playing hockey. He whipped his hands away from his belly, wanting to appear less hedonistic than he absolutely was. Still, a symphony of wet, obnoxiously braggadocious gurgles came from the man’s belly, singing out how happy it was to have not one but two delicious morsels tucked away in its chamber. In order to try and calm down his assistant coach before he took action, Wyatt numbly opened his mouth to stutter out an explanation, but he was cut off with his coach’s accusatory finger pointing at his bulging gut.

“Is that…Is that my boy in there?” His voice broke with emotion as he asked.

Wyatt decided to keep his tone carefully neutral, “Mmm, yeah. That’s him in there.”

His coach brought a hand up to cover his mouth in horror. Seeing his star player with his gut full of his own son must’ve been quite terrifying. It couldn’t have been made better by the fact that, if what Matthew said was true, his coach had plans to get his boy onto the team with Wyatt within the next year, and Wyatt had…expidited the process, if you could stretch the definition of joining the team this far.

With a shaky breath, the coach nervously looked Wyatt in the eyes. He kept his voice low and stern, not wanting to anger the predator in front of him: “And that’s Sparkman in there, too?” 

Wyatt nodded with a pursed smile, running a hand along the surface of his dome as he stifled a belch.

With an exaggerated gulp, the assistant coach pushed further. “Look, son, I know there’s…no reason you need to listen to me in this situation, but that’s my kid in there. He’s a good man, Wyatt. He wanted to be a part of the team next year.”

The unspoken question hung in the air between them. The tension was thick and dense like fog. Under any other circumstance, Wyatt would listen to his coach without hesitation. However, when it came to the prey Wyatt conquered, he had no obligation to listen to Matt’s dad. There were no cameras in the locker room for obvious reasons, so if Wyatt had cleaned up after himself like he had intended, then it would be as if Matthew was just like any other snatched prey—Wyatt couldn’t be held responsible. Wyatt’s eyes shifted around his coach, not willing to heed his words just yet. His avoidance only pushed the father closer, trying again.

“Please, son. Please let my boy go. I’ll… let you be on the first line for the rest of the season? I can make sure you have more time on the ice than anyone else, just. Just please, Wyatt, let my son out.”

Wyatt’s attention snapped towards his coach at the offer. His mind could be playing tricks on him, but that sounded like a thinly veiled threat, as if he wouldn’t stay on the starting line or get ice time if he kept his—rightfully fought for—prey where he belonged. Nevermind that, he didn’t even mention the goalie he had gulped down, too, meaning he didn’t actually care about the morality of the situation. He only cared about his son, and he would use any underhanded tactics to get him out of Wyatt’s belly. Implying that Wyatt didn’t earn his spot on the first line and that his ice time was a privilege he was given rather than something he tirelessly proved himself to be worthy of made a pool of familiar rage burn in his chest.

Cocking an eyebrow, Wyatt asked, “You’ll let me stay on the first line?”

“Come on, bud. I’m sure we can work something out?”

There was nothing to be worked out, Wyatt thought. Asking a pred to release their prey was already a massive overstep, especially if the pred hadn’t done anything underhanded to earn their meal, which Wyatt never had to. Matt practically crawled down his throat. Sort of. Regardless, Wyatt was under no pressure to listen to his coach order him about anything other than hockey and team dynamics. Plus, if the bullets of sweat his coach was dripping were anything to go by, he knew this too. Threatening him for something he had no dominion over was spineless—it was pathetic. Matthew was food. That’s it.

“Suck my dick,” Wyatt scoffed, unable to bite back his ire.

Wyatt turned around to grab Matthew’s rag and begin cleaning up the mess, finished with the idiotic conversation. He made it several paces away before his coach, who hadn’t taken the hint yet, mumbled something then cleared his throat.

“What was that?” Wyatt snarked.

“I said okay.”

Without preamble, his assistant coach strode over to the star athlete and dropped to his knees. Wyatt hardly had time to register what was going on before he felt a plush pair of lips wrap around his wet, desperate tip. The coach’s tongue swirled around his head, causing Wyatt to stumble back and moan in a surprised delight. He didn’t mean ‘suck my dick’ literally, but fuck, his coach was talented. Maybe taking cock this good ran in the family.

Matt’s dad widened his jaw as far as he could, trying with reverence to slurp down even a fraction of Wyatt’s beast. The predator’s gut was in the way, so he had to press his forehead up against the mass of flesh, listening intently to the screaming and gurgles of the two occupants trapped inside his belly. It was horrible, and unfortunately, Wyatt seemed to notice.

“You wanna save your boy? You’re gonna need to suck harder than that, coach.”

Wyatt bucked his hips, feeling himself stretch out his coach’s throat. The man hollowed his cheeks out as best he could (though, in truth, Wyatt was so girthy that not much hallowing was necessary) and tried to relax as Wyatt tried to push himself down his coach’s tight, constrictive throat.

“God, you’re tight…just like your son.”

The coach gagged at the chirp, letting out a muffled gasp at the revelation that Wyatt had fucked his son before devouring him. He knew the star player could be arrogant, cocky, and pretentious—he deserved it. He was the best player, after all. But this was just cruelty.

Doubling his efforts, the coach tried to push past the burning feeling at the back of his throat as Wyatt pushed deeper into him. While the coach himself was never a pred, his uncle had the gene, meaning that there might have been some recessive part of him in his blood that carried it. That seemed like the most likely explanation, otherwise there would be no way he could stretch his jaw as wide as he was to take this throbbing cock.

Through immense willpower, determination, and disassociation, the coach eventually found himself sniffing Wyatt’s trimmed, musky pubes. His eyes opened momentarily, and the locker room seemed shrouded in night, thanks to the man’s belly above him, blocking out all light. His throat constantly massaged and involuntarily swallowed around Wyatt’s shaft, making the hockey player groan and hump against his coach with delight. If he just stayed here for a little bit longer, Wyatt would come, he’d get his son back, and they’d never have to speak of this again.

Unfortunately, Wyatt’s dick had other ideas. As Wyatt trembled in pleasure with his coach between his legs, a warm, relaxed feeling spread throughout his hazy mind, spreading down to his dick, which twitched. Hard. Then once more, it twitched, bulging larger in his coach’s definitely bruised throat. Wyatt shut his eyes and tilted his head back in want, giving in fully to the temptation of what his body was seeking. He let out a weak chuckle, vaguely recognizing but not entirely present for what was about to happen.

The enormous cock twitched again, growing another inch in length, rounding out more in girth. The sensation, even with underdeveloped pred genes, was too much for Matthew’s father. Wretching, he gagged up the steel-hard cock. With Wyatt’s monster free, it began growing faster, curving upwards gently and shining in its layer of saliva left on it. The coach's eyes widened in horror, and he slowly backed away from the athlete, who was moaning softly and bucking his hips with infantile want. He appeared to be so drunk on hedonism that he barely was registering what his body was doing for him. 

As the coach crawled backwards from the ever-growing dick, he felt his back press up against the hard wood of the benches. He had nowhere to go, and Wyatt’s cock showed no sign of slowing down its growth. In a panic, the coach shouted at Wyatt, desperately pleading to stop this. It evidently fell on deaf ears, as Wyatt only rubbed his belly, bit his lip, and leaked more precome as his dick snaked ever closer to the coach.

Just as Matt’s dad was about to steel himself to make a run for it, he felt a pressure pushing his feet together. Looking down in abject horror at his legs, Wyatt’s cock slit had already opened up and enveloped the coach’s feet and ankles into the star player’s shaft. There was a sick, sick smile plastered on the athlete’s face as the new pleasing sensation coursed through him. Flexing his dick, Wyatt slurped up his coach’s lower legs into his human-hungry shaft moaning in sheer ecstasy.

The coach reached his hands towards the edge of the bench, trying to leverage himself against the predator and wrench himself up and free, or at least pull a part of him out of his player’s dick. Unfortunately, and, predictably, at this point, as he did so, Wyatt’s cock simply snaked up his now straightened legs, threatening to engulf the rest of him quickly. The thick, throbbing, veiny shaft squelched precum around the coach’s waist, seemingly lubricating him up before sucking down the rest of him. The coach could see the bulge in Wyatt’s shaft where his legs were. Trying to move them was futile. All of the muscles he spent years developing were no match for this one man’s greedy cock.

Wyatt’s balls had grown significantly, too, waiting patiently on the cold, concrete floor to accept the meal his shaft was eagerly working on. The man himself seemed occupied with making out with his bicep as he continued groaning like a pornstar at the euphoric, erotic feelings he was experiencing. Catastrophe aside, the man was a fucking spectacle. 

The massive cock finished the rest of the coach with relative haste, slurping him up like a snake engulfing its victim. The wasted attempts at reasoning couldn’t be heeded by Wyatt, and the struggling to break free were quickly shut down by his cock. With nothing left to do but whine and hope this would convince the hockey player to let his son go, the coach quietly, sadly, accepted defeat as his head was slowly swallowed up and wrapped tightly inside the man’s cock.

After several more minutes, Wyatt came crashing back down, realizing what he’d done. Looking down at his engorged balls, he winced, regretting immediately swallowing his coach like this. If he had his wits about him, he definitely wouldn’t have let one loss make him spiral this far. He wasn’t even that angry anymore. And, while yes, eating these three guys helped enervate that rage, he still hadn’t done the one thing that got rid of his anger better than even stretching his body with delicious prey—talk to his boyfriend. He estimated that he had about ten more minutes before his team would come back into the locker room after cool downs, so he had to be quick.

His phone rang three times before Luca picked up. Wyatt got to admire the sweet, blond, wavy hair and adorable pair of glasses he featured in his profile photo as the call waited to be answered, and he could feel his heart melt just by thinking of him. He didn’t have a good excuse for why he waited this long to call him, except for maybe that he wanted to act like a child before actually solving the problem. But, he was here now, and surely that counted for something, right?

“Hey, baby.”

“Luca!” Wyatt practically cheered.”I miss you, my love.”

“I miss you too. I saw the game. That was a great goal in the second period. I’m sorry about the loss, but you were killer out there,” he waited a beat before continuing, “and fucking sexy, too.”

Wyatt chuckled, already feeling the permanence of his anger dissapate “Thank you, sweetheart. I—BBBBBBBBBBBBBBuuuuuuuuuuoooooooooooOOOOUUUUUURRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPP!”

The predator cringed as he gave himself away. He looked down at his belly, biting his lip in a half-hearted attempt at regret. He didn’t really want to explain to Luca about his outburst, but it wasn’t exactly like that was a normal belch that just anyone could produce. Luca seemed to know that, too. 

“Wyatt,” he deadpanned, voice tinny through the phone speaker in the acoustics of the locker room. 

“…Yeah baby?”

“What was that?”

“Okay, Please don’t be mad—” Wyatt mumbled into the phone, guilt layering into his voice like mud. 

“Wyatt.” Luca warned again. “Tell me what happened.” His voice wasn’t angry, so to speak, but it was certainly stern, which was almost worse. He hated the idea of disappointing Luca, but worse than that would be lying to him. 

“I…uh. I got pretty mad after the loss. So I ditched cooldowns to try and do those breathing practices Dr. Thales taught me, or, like, at least get some space to clear my head...”

“Okay,” Luca prompted Wyatt to continue. 

“And then as I sat down and started trying to do all that stuff, I, uh, I saw the water boy? And I sorta…you know.”

Wyatt felt very small as he explained his actions to Luca. As he said it out loud, he realized just how much of a temper tantrum he’d thrown. He waited to reveal the worst part of this, the guilt fastening into his chest like a lump of lead, weighing him down.

“I just haven’t really eaten much today because it’s an afternoon game, so like, I just wanted some alone time, and he was kinda interrupting that? So I, y’know…swallowed him.” After a couple pounding heartbeats, Wyatt added in a slurred mumble, “Andthegoalieandassistantcoachtoo.”

“Huh? I think you cut out or something, babe.”

“And the goalie and assistant coach too.” Wyatt spat through a miserable wince, already anticipating the scolding he was going to receive. To corroborate his story, his gut let out a particularly brutal churn, definitely picked up by the call. Wyatt delicately rubbed over his stomach, trying to quiet it down and tell it that they were both in trouble. There was a chilling silence on the other end of the call. Wyatt shifted on his feet and swallowed. “Luc? You still there?”

“I’m here.”

“Are you mad?” He sounded pathetic even to himself.

Luca took a long, excruciating pause followed by a deep breath, easing into a, “No…but you have to let them out.”

“What? Seriously?” Wyatt was incredulous.

“They’re on your team, Wyatt. One of them is your coach. I know it might have felt great at the moment, but think about what comes after this. You can’t just take your anger out on anyone and anything. It’s not healthy. You know this.”

“Mmm,” Wyatt acquiesced, begrudgingly seeing the logic his boyfriend provided.

“And you have to tell Dr. Thales.”

“Oh, come on!”

 “That’s not up for debate, my love. You need to talk about this sort of thing, or else how are you going to improve?”

Wyatt groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, detesting the fact that Luca was right. Most of the relief he felt at sentencing three guys to digestion was gone, anyway, and he’d probably just feel a bit of regret for taking out the goalie and coach the next day. He could exercise his cruelty and hunger on literally anyone else. Hell, if he went to the gym, he knew he had at least a dozen willing prey that would pleasure him and fill him up any way he pleased. Eating these guys: the goalie, who didn’t even taste good through his gear, and the coach, who he didn’t ever actually intend on eating, was definitely not the best way to handle his mood swings.

“Yeah, okay,” Wyatt affirmed. “But, uh, I think the water boy’s already kinda… I don’t think he’s in a state where I should let him out.”

“That’s okay. We don’t have to get better all at once,” Luca replied, a little too hastily. “Plus I’m taking you out tonight. I made reservations for that Italian place across from Drayden’s Bar. I wanna see you squeeze that gut into a suit, mister.”

Wyatt blushed at his boyfriend’s perversion in the midst of his stern talking-to. “You made reservations?” A love-sick expression bloomed on Wyatt’s face, entirely too fond of his boyfriend.

“Yeah—celebrations if you won, ‘you’ll get ‘em next time’ if you lost,” Luca explained.

“I love you.”

“I know. I love you, too. Now let them out and come back home so we can get ready. And do it before your team comes back. How have they not already walked in on you?”

A dawning realization that his team should be back in the locker room any minute snapped Wyatt out of his adoration. “Oh, shit! Fuck. Okay, sorry. I gotta go. I love you, talk to you soon.”

“Talk to you soo—” Wyatt ended the call before Luca could finish.

Back in the subtle ambience of the locker room, Wyatt heaved a sigh, reckoning with the fact that he was going to feel much more empty in a few minutes. Still, he at least got to keep his original meal. Before he was about to start the unappealing process of saving his goalie and coach from digestion, Wyatt’s phone buzzed with a text from Luca.