Giant Trip hitches his boxer briefs so they hug his flaccid cock snugly. His big, burly frame looks suddenly softened, like his orgasm turned him from a shiny bronze statue to a huge sack of meat.
"Wait... You're not going to- You can't eat me!" You say incredulously.
The giant just smiles and shakes his head. "I've tossed guys twice your size into my gut before. Trust me, you're not that big."
"No, that's not what I mean! I'm a human being!" But the giant isn't listening.
He kneels down so that his face looms over you. A big, winning smile. White teeth. Sharp and powerful.
"I could probably snort you if I wanted, heh heh. You'd whizz up my nose and down my throat easy as an ant." He jokes, and you find yourself staring into the blackness of his flared nostrils. You're so small, he could be right. You wonder what it would be like, traveling down that throat. Or rather, what it "will" be like. Will you be squeezed and mulched by the wet tube as you slide horrifically down or will you fall loosely, pathetically, and plop into the pit of his stomach like a coin in a wishing well.
"Look on the bright side, runt." The gym god says in an amiable voice. "You're nothing now. Just a squeaky little cherry pip. Soon you'll be part of this!"
Trip stands up and flexes his muscles. And, in front the sunlight shining through his kitchen window, his incredible body glows like that of a deity. Every muscle rises, as if he's growing inches before your eyes. He becomes all ridges and grooves and great, throbbing, melon-like mounds of flesh.
"C'mon. Why don't you get a feel of what you're about to be absorbed into." He says, plucking you up. You're placed precariously on the man's bicep, which he dutifully flexes for you. Once you're let go you face the risk of falling to your death and you have to cling to the massive hunk of muscle for dear life, as if you're riding a particularly bouncy bull.
"That's right," Trip chuckles. "You're getting the hang of worshiping me. Soon you'll get to make the ultimate sacrifice, by making your god even bigger and sexier. Lucky you."
Five fingers curl carefully around you once again, and you're walked to a narrow cabinet on the other side of the kitchen. Inside is a stack of shelves which house roughly twenty glass jars, each stuck with a crooked white label which has a motivational message like "BEEF UP" or "EAT LIKE A GOD" scrawled on it. Behind the labels are men like you, naked and despondent. You spot a couple of moping teenagers but for the most part, beefy older men stand with "PROTEIN=POWER" and "TRAIN HARD, GET HUGE" obscuring their pathetic little frames.
Around the captives' feet, protein bars and powdered fitness supplements are scattered. Trip's paws fumble the lid off of a jar marked simply with the word "MASS". Your jar. You're dropped inside, and before the lid is returned, the giant rips open a sash and sprinkles bitter white powder all over you.
"Protein. Eat it." He grins. "We gotta get you fattened up."
Trip licks his lips, seals you in your prison and slams the cabinet closed.
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