THE PRISONER
By Maxout

It was dark; it was always dark. Not the kind of darkness associated with night, but dark like the inside of a black hole where light goes to die. Of course over time he had gotten used to the total blackness and now after who knows how much time has passed everything appeared a deep gray to him. He knew the inside of his so-called home like the back of his hand: twelve by twelve with a double bed against one wall, centered in the space. A toilet and sink were stationed at the left corner, opposite the bed. That was all, no other amenities and nothing else to stub his toes on in the darkness. The floor was vinyl, and the room was kept at a constant sixty-eight degrees. He had gleaned that the temperature was a result of a central heating and air conditioning system by being able to hear the dull distant thrum of a motor pushing the air. He had ceased to care about such things long ago, however. The dimensions of his room and the workings of the heating system held no interest for him anymore. No, life was reduced to much simpler things now.

He used to reflect on who he was and where he had been. Now it seemed like another lifetime, or just a hallucination. He sometimes wondered if he had actually ever lived at all, as his whole world was encompassed by this total darkness. He occasionally amused himself by pretending that he was just a fetus inside a womb, waiting to be born and see the light again. Certainly his method of nourishment would seem to suggest as much. The ever-present tube that extended from the wall, flexing to hang over his bed so the simplest of motions could bring it too his mouth to suck absently on the heavenly creamy concoction as a newborn would draw nourishment from a mother’s breast. That tube was his lifeline and had become his life, providing for his needs and giving him almost all the stimulus his drifting mind required.

Occasionally he tried to remember back, back to what had gone on before, but he found that in the darkness it all ceased to matter and his mind had trouble holding on to his thoughts and reminiscences. His sense of self was dwindling daily, except he had no concept of time anymore here in the darkness so he no longer took stock in days.

He remembered that he once had been something and that this something had once meant something to him. He had held a job, made good money and was living a good life. He vaguely recalled that he was pleased with himself and his situation, though now he could no longer recall why that was. Every so often he would snatch at a phrase as it drifted by; "living the good life" was one. "Catnip to the ladies" was another. "Whoever has the most toys wins" a third. His muddled mind pondered these as an archeologist might ponder snippets of some long dead language. He didn't have a Rosetta stone anymore, and although he still had some understanding of their meaning, they no longer held any relevance to him.

"Tall dark and handsome;" he remembered being referred to in that way and he had a distant memory of being quite proud of his body, though now the concept seemed strange; doesn't everybody have one? Why should he have been any prouder of his than the next guy? He used to ponder such things, he remembered, but now it all held no meaning and very little fascination for him.

There was a time when he wondered what had led him to this predicament. Though now it seemed that he had always been here, enveloped in darkness and surrounded by four walls never more than twelve feet away from him. Once upon a time, he took umbrage to his supposed capture, but that all seemed so long ago. Now he wasn't sure if capture was even the term to be used, as he might just as well have entered into this arrangement willingly, being so content with his station. He reveled in being able to simply reach out to the tube, bring it to his lips and suck in the nectar like an addict sucking on an opium pipe. He would suck and suck, tasting the heavenly cream that sometimes reminded him of milk chocolate and other times of strawberry or mocha. His greed was total. He loved to feel his stomach filling, reveled in the heaviness in the pit of his belly as he continued to imbibe, imagining that his stomach was the center of his being and it was his job to keep it hard, round and filled.

He would continue to suck at the tube until he was sure that his belly would burst. He would run his hands down and feel the hard swelling as his stomach arched outward, attempting to make room for all the cream he was consuming. He would gently rub the curving expanse and then let his fingers run down a bit further to feel the swelling in his manhood. He had no idea why the swelling in his gut should cause a swelling in his cock, but the evidence was there. Every time he gorged himself his cock would stand at attention, throbbing. Sometimes he would rise, feeling the liquid sloshing around in his belly as he wobbled to the toilet to spill his seed. Other times he was blessed by the arrival of the woman.

He would hear the dull metallic click of a door opening and closing and then feel the mattress compress as she bedded down beside him. He continued to suck at the tube as her hands would gently play over his body in the darkness, caressing his almost womanly chest and bulging belly before her hand moved down to his manhood. There were times when she would mount him and he could feel the weight of her driving down on top of him. Feel the expanse of her buttocks slapping against his thighs, or her belly rubbing against his own. He let his hands play over her robust form, kneading her pendulous breasts and grabbing at her generous hips as he pulled her towards him, consumed by the rhythm of their lovemaking. Losing himself in this place and time, nothing else mattered. It was just he and the woman. Who she was, who he was, was irrelevant as their copulation ruled their world.

As he lay in his darkened tomb, hints of memories came swimming to the surface unbidden; glimmering silver fish that reflected the light of his mind for an instant and then quickly vanished. The voice: he remembered when it first came to him. It was ages ago, lost in that morass of timelessness that he floated in. He knew it was back in the beginning, back when he cared about who he was and what was happening to him. He remembered screaming for hours on end, hoping that some passerby might hear him and come to his aid. After hours of pleading he heard her rich alto voice, soothing and quiet, telling him that his ranting was futile. She told him that he was in a secure room, soundproof and clean, so no infectious microorganisms could enter. He thought he remembered asking her why, but now cannot remember the answer. Perhaps he hadn't asked, after all. All he knows is that now he no longer has any thoughts about leaving his dark cave, being quite content to simply lie back and suck in the nutrients that fill his belly.

His belly. He knows that he has developed one, and most of the time he knows that this was not always so. Didn't he spend a great deal of time and energy doing sit-ups in the dark, trying to maintain his physique? But that memory comes and goes as well as the reason for doing it. All he knows is that at some point he lost interest in those exercises, being more inclined to simply let his mind drift as he sucks at his tube.

He knows now that his belly is quite large. He can feel it when he hoists himself out of bed to relieve himself. Can feel its pendulous weight as it flaps against his thighs. He has spent hours caressing its softness as he absently sucks. His beautiful full belly is the center of his universe. At times, when he is more or less lucid, he realizes that he has gotten incredibly fat, but oddly he feels more virile now. When the woman comes to him and whispers that she wants her stallion to ride her, he feels like he can go all night, thrusting himself into her as his belly traps her beneath him. It appears obvious to him that the woman has no concern over his hugeness; if anything, she seems to approve as she coos at him while rubbing his great expanse. This pleases him, for all he wishes to do is continue to suck. As much as he enjoys pleasuring the woman and as much as he enjoys her touch and especially enjoys the pleasures when she mounts him, he knows that at his core there is only the tube. He lives to taste the sweet concoctions and above all else lives for the feeling of fullness in his belly as he continues his sucking and drifts off into a drug-enhanced stupor.

There are times when he acknowledges that he has been drugged, knows that within the tube there is not only delicious nourishment, but also a nothingness providing drug that wipes away his consciousness. He knows, but he no longer cares. He has no worries here in the darkness. His needs are simple: just the tube and the oblivion that follows. And in between, the profound joy of a huge belly being further filled to its limits, time after time after time.