Zubin Sedghi was feeling particularly horny one night as he lay in bed,
his cock throbbing with need. As he idly stroked himself, his thoughts
turned to Ross Federman, his bandmate. Zubin had always found
Ross to be sexy as hell, with his slender frame and pretty face. But
more than that, he craved the feeling of Ross writhing in his muscular
arms, the taste of his lips, the sensation of their bodies moving
together as one.
But tonight, something else stirred within Zubin's loins. A baser, darker
hunger - the desire to devour Ross whole, to feel that lithe body
squirming down his thick, pulsing shaft and into his aching balls.
Zubin knew it was wrong. Cock vore was an unnatural act, after all.
But the depraved fantasies consumed him and soon the hunger
became too strong to resist. Still fully clothed, he crept out of bed and
made his way to Ross's room at the other end of the house.
Quietly he slipped inside and moved to the bed, his towering frame
looming over Ross's smaller sleeping form. Even now, he hesitated,
the rational part of his mind screaming that he should stop. But his
cock demanded otherwise, throbbing with need, and in one swift
motion Zubin grabbed Ross and shoved his head down his pants.
Ross awoke with a gasp, muffled by Zubin's pubes as the singer's
cock swallowed his face. He struggled and choked but it was no use.
Zubin's cock was an esophagus of pure muscle, clenching around
him, dragging him down inch by ravenous inch as Zubin hilted his face
against the base of his shaft.
Down Ross went, squeezed by the rippling walls of Zubin's urethra,
sucked into his balls like prey to a snake's belly. He flew through the
wiry, velvety tunnel, Zubin's cum already beginning to gush around
  him and fill him. It was hot and thick, a salty brine, and it splashed
against Ross's naked skin as he tumbled down into the first of Zubin's
swollen balls.
There he lay, wrapped in cum and half-digested already. His skin
sloughed off and liquefied, flooding Zubin's balls with a warm, syrupy
soup. Slowly, the pred's cum ate away at him, flesh and bone and hair
and organs liquefying, until only a smear of brownish sludge
remained.
Zubin, lost in his cock vore fantasy, grabbed a gray condom and
carefully poured in the remains of his friend. He tied off the top and
with a black marker, wrote "Ross" before putting it in his pocket where
it would hopefully not be noticed. He crept back to bed, his hunger
finally sated, but deep in his balls, he could feel the rest of Ross's
essence waiting to be ejaculated at a later time, as a memorial.