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skyareinherz · 2 years ago

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‘Are You Afraid?’

Summary: my friend tried to do a vore rp with an ai chatbot and it went... semi-well.... so i rooted through the VERY good parts and threw out the nonsensical and banged out this fic for them real quick. thought y’all might enjoy it too.

Contents: similar sized; semi-willing; implied fatal; nothing really EXPLICIT is described or shown, but it’s pretty sensual so I’d rate it PG-13 or T

Wordcount: 2,023

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I pull you in close, your chest against mine. Your arms reach upward and wrap around my neck. My face is right next to yours, and I run my nose along the line of your jaw, breathing in your scent. My lips brush against the exposed flesh of your throat. Ever so delicately, I press a small kiss into your neck.

I feel you quiver at my touch. The corners of my mouth turn upwards.

I lean in for another kiss, this time harder. Hard enough to flick my tongue out and taste the salt of your skin. This time it is I who shivers.

My fingers twitch out of instinct with the want to pull you in all at once, but I control myself. I can take my time.

I trail kisses down your neck and your head tilts back. Your arms loosen around me. Your guard is lowering.

I take the opportunity to nip at your neck. Your skin is so soft, but I am careful not to break it.

You stiffen beneath me as you feel my gentle bite. I don’t stop. I carry on back up your neck, testing my limits, testing how hard I can nibble before you object.

I am back at the top before you gasp and twitch in my grasp.

I freeze.

“Shh,” I mutter into your neck. I slip my hand behind your head and entangle my fingers in your hair for a moment. I raise my mouth to your ear and instruct in a low voice, “Don’t move unless I tell you to.”

Your only reaction is to swallow nervously.

“Good,” I say before catching your earlobe playfully between my teeth.

I can see you struggling to remain still.

I pull away and tug your arms down from my neck. My fingers glide down the outsides of your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps. My hands come to rest on your own. I take them. I lift them to my mouth.

I plant light light kisses on the backs. I run my thumbs over your knuckles, tracing the shape of the bones, then I flip your hands over, exposing the palms. I kiss those too, so deeply my nose and cheek are buried in your loose grasp. Your fingers twitch around my face, cupping it softly.

This is a break of my instructions, but I let it slide. It feels good to be held like this, although I would never tell you that.

My kisses move down to your fingertips. I touch my lips to each one in turn. Then I begin to take your fingers in deeper. I suck on every one, licking your taste from each one. My heart skips a beat every time my tongue finds an untouched curve of your fingers.

I glance at your face then. It’s flush and your eyes are wide. Your lips are slightly parted as you inhale quick, hurried breaths, but otherwise you have done as I’ve asked. You have remained still.

I straighten then, raising both your hands in my own. Your fingertips hover right in front of my mouth. My eyes never break contact with yours.

“Are you afraid?” I murmur.

You don’t answer, but your breath hitches. My own finger tips are nestled into the insides of your wrists, and I can feel how quick your pulse is. You don’t answer, but you don’t have to. You may not understand what it about to happen, but you can sense it. It’s animal instinct to survive. But your human curiosity and obedience keep you from doing anything to stop it.

My lips curve upward.

Without another word, I guide your fingers into my mouth, all of them at once. And then I do the same with the entirety of both hands. I still haven’t broken eye contact with you and see the surprise blooming on your face. Yet still you do not move.

Your fingers brush the back of my throat and this time it is my own breath that hitches.

My tongue curls around your hands. And then I swallow.

My throat stretches to accommodate your hands. My spine stiffens from the sensation, and my fingers contract of their own accord, digging into your still exposed arms. I can feel my eyes wanting to roll back, but I keep them where they are, looking at you.

You gasped in surprise and notes of fear began creeping into your expression. But not just that. An almost grotesque fascination was there as well.

If I could have, I would have been grinning.

I grasp tighter at your arms now, no longer caring about breaking the skin. I drag you into me and take another swallow.

The rest of your arms slide down my throat. Their girth stretches my esophagus and I feel a tightness in my chest. It almost hurts. Almost. I can feel a new burst of adrenaline as your fingers reach my stomach.

You feel it too. I see your face change. I can feel you wiggling them around the new space. I pause for a minute to enjoy the feathery sensation of your fingers in my core. I enjoy the closeness of your face right next to mine, your breath, hot and quick, on my face. I know you feel my own breath as I begin to pant with the effort of getting you down.

You look like you’re about to say something but don’t know what. I don’t wait for you to figure it out.

My hands go to the back of your head and tangle into your hair once more. You flinch as I grab just a little too tightly. I raise my brows. That’s the second time you’ve broken my instructions, and I’m not feeling as forgiving now.

I press your head into my mouth. My jaw releases to envelope you. Your face touches my tongue, and for a moment, all I can taste is you. The sweat on your brow, the warmth of your cheeks, the sweet plumpness of your lips. It fills my mouth.

And then I push a little harder. I feel your face right at the back of your throat, and I can’t hold off any longer. I swallow.

Now for the first time, I think you realize what’s really happening to you. You start writhing within me. You really are afraid. You want out, but it’s too late for that.

Now your chest has begun to enter me. It’s stretching me out and filling me up more than ever. I want to gulp you down all at once, but I pace myself. I only get you this one time.

I allow myself another swallow. I reach your navel. You head enters my stomach. I press my fingers into my midriff as it expands outward. My toes curl in pleasure at the sensation, and I remind myself this is just the beginning.

Your hips are the next thing I must conquer, but all in due time.

You’ve become desperate now. You’re kicking your legs, which are by now nearly off the ground. I can feel your hands searching for purchase inside my stomach, trying to push yourself back out. The struggles only excite me more, and it becomes even harder to control myself.

And now my favorite part. I tilt my head back, raising your hips directly above my mouth. Gravity can do most of the work from here. I swallow, and your hips slide easily past my mouth and down my throat. The width of them however....

Tears of pain form in my eyes, and yet nothing has ever felt better, more overwhelmingly satisfying than this.

The more you kick in desperation, the more you push yourself further into me. I think I hear you screaming my name, and it sets my pulse wild. It only takes another swallow for just your knees and below to remain.

Finally I’m slowing down. My stomach is stretched almost to capacity. Even gravity won’t help with how tightly you’re packed inside me. I hold on to the taught skin of my belly and breath through my nose. I won’t stop now.

I swallow again. Hard. My throat muscles are working overtime to move you along. My stomach expands ever so slightly. I’m only halfway down your calves. Another swallow. Another stretch of the stomach. Another wince. I’m at your ankles now.

I’m panting very hard. The effort to get your down and how much you fill me up is nearly overwhelming.

I press my fingers into the arches of your feet. Despite yourself, they twitch at my touch. You know what’s coming next.

Ever so carefully, I push on your feet, guiding them down into my mouth. I work them lower, lower, until they’re deep enough that and I can close my lips over them.

Your toes flex against my tongue. That was it. That was the last of you from the outside world sealed away.

I have to swallow several more times to get your feet all the way down. And then I feel it. I feel the last of you enter into my stomach.

My belly is stretched to maximum capacity. My stomach is packed to the brim. I lean back into my bed as the sensations of it all overtake me, sending shiver after shiver from down from the crown of my head, through my spine, and into the tips of my toes.

I press my hands into the skin of my belly, feeling you within. You’re twisting and scrambling to find purchase as your new world shifts with every move I make. Every movement only ignites my excitement anew.

A long, low moan escapes my lips. It’s the first sound I’ve been able to make since placing your hands in my mouth.

It causes you to pause.

The cease of movement, gives me my first reprieve. The earlier shivers subside into a crashing wave of warmth. All my muscles go slack and I sink into the covers.

The blankets are so soft and their scent it freshly washed. All my breath comes out in a rush as I relax so completely, I could have fallen asleep right then and there.

But I don’t. You’re too important for that. Through the fog of sleep, I reach up for you.

My fingers trace the along my belly, pressing into places where I feel a piece of you digging into me. My touch prompts you to move, shifting you into a more comfortable position— at least more comfortable for me. Even just the little adjustments you make send more waves of pleasure through me.

Minutes go by, and I enjoy the sensation of rubbing you through the layer of skin and muscle that is my belly. Sometimes you test your limits, pushing back, but my stomach is your owner now. It keeps you in place and is far stronger than you.

An appropriate amount of time goes by, and I feel my stomach contract around you, feeling you out. It wants you.

I can feel how nervous you are even from out here.

It brings a smile to my face as I remember how nervous you were at the beginning too.

I flip over to bury my face into my pillow and tug the blankets over us. Once more, you’re tumbling and scrambling as your world is shifted. I’m curled around my stomach now, curled around you.

I can hear it beginning to come to life. My stomach works slowly but surely.

You move within me, unsure of what it starting to happen. But then you seem to realize. The acids have begun to rise, this I’m sure of.

I can track the rise of your panic from how erratically you struggle, clawing at my stomach walls, pressing against them and trying to get out. The acid has begun to do its job.

I close my eyes and continue running my hands over my belly, taking every one of your movements. I’m savoring this, but I’m not worried. I know we still have plenty of time together.

Like I said, my stomach works slowly.

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skyareinherz · 2 years ago

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Curiosity

Summary: It killed the cat.

Contents: same/similar/size difference (open to interpretation); post vore; willing pred; unwilling prey; cruel pred; implied fatal; implied digestion; belly rubs (sorta)

Wordcount: 1,081

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You look down at them. Content. Asleep. Full.

You’re not sure what you’d call them. Maybe a friend? Though that doesn’t seem quite right. You certainly live with them. And they’ve certainly spared your life thus far. They joke with you. They play video games with you. They even ask if you want anything whenever they go on a coffee run. But those things don’t really mean much. At least, it means as much to them as their last meal did.

They’re passed out on the couch. It seems to be their favorite place to sleep off a meal. Halfway on their side, almost on their stomach. Almost.

Their stomach. That’s what this is really about. It’s engorged with their latest meal, and they curl around it. One hand rests almost protectively on their underbelly. Their eyes flutter with some unfathomable dream. Their breath is steady and even. They would look almost vulnerable if it wasn’t for the absolute power you knew lay just beneath the surface. You’d seen them feed. You knew they could turn on a dime.

Perhaps it had been the months of living with them that had made you bold, but this is the first time you’ve dared go anywhere near them after a meal. You take a cautious step closer, just to get a better look. It’s a morbid fascination. It overwhelms you and takes over as you stare at the curve of their belly. All this time and you’ve barely even gotten a proper look at it in this state.

You take once more step closer, and now you’re right in front of them. Within arm’s reach. And then just looking at it is no longer enough for you. You want to know more. You want to know what it feels like.

Your arm is extending before you even make the conscious decision. Your heart is fluttering in your chest. With a quick glance, you double check that they’re still asleep. And then the palm of your hand comes to gently rest on the swell of their stomach.

Your breath catches in your throat. It’s warm. Very warm. And it’s smooth, the skin stretched tight. And it’s… soft. You’re in awe at how soft it is. You barely breath as you begin to glide your hand further over the surface of their belly. It’s a perfect curve. No bumps, no angles.

The fingers of your free hand curl in on themselves. You’re tempted to reach out with it, to join it with your other hand in this illicit sensory experience. But before you do, you sense a shift in the air. You don’t know what spurs it, but you glance back up at their face.

Their eyes are open. They watch you.

You inhale sharply, and before you have a chance to pull away, before you have the chance to issue an excuse or apology, they snatch your hand off their belly and wrench it upward.

It happens so fast. One moment you’re feeling the warm pulse of their active stomach and the next, your hand is so far above your head that you’re forced onto your toes to accommodate. They’re sitting up now and pulling you in very, very close. Right up to their face.

“Do you want to join them?” Their voice is low and breathy. Almost a growl.

You can feel the blood drain from your face. You shake your head. “No. Please.”

They stare at you for a long moment, unblinking. You can tell that they’re considering it. You can tell that they want you. You pray that they decide against it.

Then, without warning, they snatch up your second hand. For one terrifying second, you’re sure both hands are about to be shoved into their mouth, but they have other plans.

“Then here,” they say as they bring both your hands to their belly. “Feel.”

They force you to press down. Hard. Far harder than you would have dared when they were sleeping.

You no longer feel warmth and smooth, soft curves. It’s heat you feel now. And boney angles, the shape of a person hidden within. Your own stomach twists uncomfortably and you try to pull away, but their grip is unrelenting and they force your touch even harder.

“They’re still alive in there,” they whisper. An unspoken, “For now,” hangs in the air.

And just as the words leave their lips, you feel movement. Struggling, frantic and panicked. A desperate plea for escape, for mercy.

Your eyes stretch impossibly wide. You feel ill with revulsion, but at the same time you cannot stop yourself from digging your fingers in just a little deeper, from identifying every distinct feature of the person hidden beneath.

“Is this what you wanted?” the predator asks.

You try to answer, but all that comes out is a shaky breath.

This must amuse them because they let out a quiet chuckle and finally release you.

You stumble away, panting and sweating with adrenaline.

They lean back into the couch and grin at you. Absentmindedly, they run their own fingers over their middle.

“Why don’t you order take out for yourself tonight? My treat,” they suggest. “And maybe invite a friend over? Tonight would be the best night for them to visit safely, I think. I’ll be done here soon and then you can have the living room to yourself. Sound good?”

For a moment, you’re too shocked from the sudden shift in demeanor to register their words. But then they’re looking at you expectantly, and you know you need to play along.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter. “Good idea.”

They nod, seeming satisfied. “Then if you don’t mind, I’ll just finish up with my cat nap…”

They lay back down, curling around their belly again as they do so. You watch as they let out a slow, deliberate yawn. The back of their throat flexes ominously. Then they settle in with half-lidded eyes.

They’re still watching you as you take a step back. And then another. They’re still watching as you practically sprint back to the safety of your bedroom, locking the door behind you. Even then, you’re sure they’re still watching… still waiting.

You slide to the ground, heart still pounding in your chest. Under your breath, you vow to never get that close to them after a meal again. It’s too risky.

But deep in the back of your mind, you can’t help but be curious. You can’t help but wonder what it would be like to test your limits and try again…

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skyareinherz · 2 years ago

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“Pet, come here,” I obey my master without question. He holds out his palm and I position myself in the center before he lifts his palm up to his face. I’m so close that I can feel the puffs of breath coming from his nose.

“Close your eyes, Pet. Stay still for me,” Master coaxes. I close my eyes and let the tension fade from my shoulders. I’m not sure what Master wants but I’ll always be good for him.

I flinch slightly as a warm, wet mass gently rubs over my bare body. Alarmed and confused, I attempt to turn my head out if the last of what I now realize is a tongue. Master doesn’t like that very much and brings his other hand to hold my head still as he pulls away slightly.

“Stay. Still.” The words are firm and absolute and I have no choice but to submit. Master has never been this firm with me before, always so gentle and caring. His fingers remain to hold me into place as his tongue once again seeks me out.

I endure several more minutes of being tasted before master pulls back again. His eyes are nothing like I’m used to. His pupils are huge, drowning out any of the gentle master I had come to know.

“Master-“,

“Shhhhhh...” Master interrupted my inquiries. “Everything’s okay, just relax,” All of this feels foreign and strange. I have no idea what he has in mind.

“I need you to obey, sweet thing,” I nod without question. Anything master wants.

“Crawl inside,” I wasn’t sure what Master was talking about until he abruptly decided to move things along.

My master’s lips part and his maw yawns open, giving me a clear view of the tongue that I had been aquainted with earlier as well as the surrounding slick flesh. His throat shifts as he breathes. His fingers nudge my back, shoving me over until my forearms land on his tongue and I’m staring headfirst at the back of his mouth. The tongue curls around me slightly, like he’s unable to keep it still while he can taste me. Responding to his commands, I push down my uneasiness and slowly pull the rest of my tiny body into Master’s mouth. All of my body can fit on his tongue and I am reminded by our differences in a striking way.

Suddenly the light illuminating the mouth around me is blacked out when Master closes his lips. The tongue under me takes that as a cue to buck and push me to the roof of the mouth, running over me and suckling my form. Almost deafening sounds of pleasure echo up from Master’s throat indicating how much he’s enjoying this. Enjoying me. I don’t know why he’s doing this but I am happy that I’m making my master happy. I continue to be smothered by my master’s tongue, feeling every bump of every taste bud against my skin. Within minutes I am soaked with saliva.

“Why, Master?” My words echo around in his mouth and he responds by prying his lips and tugging me out of his mouth my my arms, strings of saliva bridge between my body and his lips.

“Mmmm because you’re so yummy, my pet,” Master looks so pleased as he says it. I can see it in his eyes. “Now hush, let me have my fun.”

With that, Master’s mouth gapes open once more and his tongue guides me inside before slurping me in like a noodle. I am once again surrounded my complete darkness and humid air. Though this time, Master seems to want to go further. The mouth holding me tilts on an angle and I have no choice but to slide down his tongue until my legs hit his throat. The muscle immediately latches onto me and catches my fall.

My lower body is compressed and held tight by the muscle of Master’s throat while my arms grip the back of his tongue the best I can. His tongue lifts and pushes into my face, scrubbing tastebuds over me as if to give me one last good taste. I run my fingers over the bumps trying to find a handhold to steady myself. He hums and his tongue pulls away only to return to shove me down into the slick tightness below me, swallowing me whole.

I slide down before the pressure halts me and another gulp forces me along. Master has to swallow a few more times to get me down.

I feel encompassed by Master. His flesh squeezes and tugs me along while his heartbeat and breaths are persistent noises booming through my ears.

As my decent ends I land in a cramped and wet space, much hotter than the mouth I had been aquainted with. I know where I am. I’m where food goes, but I’m not food. Master has some silly ideas sometimes.

I feel around the walls and find myself completely enclosed. As I touch I can hear my master let out a purr of contentment and the walls flex and shift in response. Quiet gurgling begins emitting from the flesh around me. I continue caressing for a while because it seems like Master enjoys it.

The walls surrounding me begin to close in more, restricting the already tight space and cradling my form in pulsing movements. Loud groans and gurgles vibrate my surroundings and fill my ears. The walls close in and the sounds get more frequent with each passing moment.

“M-Master? When will you let me out?”

“You’re not going anywhere, pet. Just relax, I’ll take care of you.”

Master and I both cease our words and sit in silence. The longer I sit in this dark place the harder it becomes for me to breathe and my head feels fuzzy. I slump against the elastic walls around me and my container tightens in response, more than happy to squeeze me into a tighter ball. Louder groans sound while I start to feel something on my skin. It... tingles?

“M-Master... I feel... dizzy... n’ tingly...” I can barely make my words audible enough to reach his ears. After I speak, a kind of pressure pushes into me. I imagine Master is rubbing his full belly.

“Shhhhhhhh... it’s alright, Pet. Just let it happen,” Master’s words are smooth and gentle, the only thing around me that is familiar and I cling to it. I’ve always obeyed. I must keep obeying.

The organic noises around me start to sound more distant and soft as it gets harder to think. I feel sleepy and slump into a more comfortable position. It’s hot and tight and hard to breathe but it is my master’s will, I should trust him and obey.

Right...?

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skyareinherz · 2 years ago

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I lay curled up in a defensive position, caging my arms around my head and my knees tucked tight into my chest. I tremble, tense and terrified in fear of the giant creature gazing at my tiny, pathetic form in glee.

Their pleased chuckles grow louder as they draw closer. The air around me grows warmer with gentle puffs of their breath as they inhale and exhale in anticipation.

I peek through a gap in my arms and am greeted with a set of giant, pearly teeth and eyes filled to the brim with desire. I squeeze my eyes shut once more, not being able to bear what might come next.

A warm, wet tongue bigger than my entire body decends upon my bare body. The muscle slides up over the length of my curled up form. It leaves a shiny trail of saliva on my skin. A puff of warm breath hits me when a too-pleased noise escapes the throat of the giant. The tongue reaches and presses down on my head and shoulders. More force is applied and my arms are forced away from my head, leaving my face vulnerable to the pale pink tastebuds. My face is coated in a layer of wetness, leaving me gasping. Soon, but not soon enough, the tongue completes its pass. A brief moment of relieve is all I get before the tongue is back, faster and more forceful. More breath puffs down over me. The noises are getting more frequent.

He’s... tasting me. And he’s apparently very pleased with what he tastes. Just the mere thought of that makes me tremble even more. He likes how I taste. He could have ended this so long ago but he’s drawing it out because he likes how I taste.

The tongue rolls me over to my other side and coats that side of me in saliva too. I’m drenched and the smooth surface I’m trapped on makes it hard not to slip and slide under the overwhelming force of the giant’s tongue.

Eventually, after what seems like an eternity, the tongue recedes back behind a wall of teeth widened into a smile. A laugh rolls out as the giant admires my flavor. I am left drenched and shivering staring at the hungry being before me.

A massive finger and thumb close around my hands, holding them together in a vice. Before I know it the fingers tug on my arm and I am suspended into the air with my body hanging from that pinch around my hands I yelp and whimper as I am caught in a decision between struggling and falling and attacking. The situation leaves me frozen instead.

I am lifted above the giant’s face, leaving me dangling over those uncomfortably eager eyes and that horrible tongue gliding over big, round lips. After a beat, perhaps so they could admire my terrified and pathetic expression, the lips part and a dark, pink cavern is revealed, leading back to a dark drop off with a uvula shifting as they inhale and exhale. My eyes are helplessly transfixed on the sight before me, not even having it in me to struggle as my lower body passes between lips and teeth, cushioned on the tongue which begins idly shifting, tasting more.

That snaps me out of my stupor and I kick my legs as wildly as I can. Before I can get very far, the lips around me snap closed, not biting me, but holding my stomach between their lips. I try to free my hands but am unable to do so as the mere difference in our sizes makes them impossible to overpower.

The tongue regains activity behind their lips and begins another round of tasting. As time goes on, more and more of my body is slowly pulled in between those lips until the fingers keeping hold of me eventually enter their mouth as well. Aside from their grip, I have no support as they suckle on me like a piece of candy. Groans and pleased laughs occasionally shake the entirety of the mouth and disorient me even more.

I am jolted back to myself when I feel the tongue go flat and press me against the hard palette. I am stationary until the mouth containing me tilts upward, making my feet slide further down the tongue until my toes reach the back of the giant’s throat. A loud, resounding GLP fills my ears as the tongue shoves my body down as the muscles below me engulf me. He’s going to swallowing me whole. I am pulled in up to my waist with my upper body and restrained arms cupped by the tongue. My legs are squeezed together and held in a tight grip. Before I can completely adjust, another swallow tugs me down a little further, my head and shoulders now resting right above the drop into darkness.

The swallows stop as light invades my enclosure and illuminated the shiny, wet flesh around me as well as the view from outside framed by a set of teeth. Everything stills for a moment before a slow, rolling swallow pulls my body down, throat encasing even my head and smothering my face. I get yanked down until the pinch around hands stops me from descending any further. They swallow again and again, the grip of my hands keeping me from slipping all the way down while their throat contracts around me, foreceful and tight. Their voice box vibrates the encasing muscle around me as I squirm as best I can given my limited mobility. They sound pleased; satisfied, even. I’m just a toy for their amusement.

I am pulled up by my hands until my head is free from the throat, now resting on the back of the tongue. The mouth is still ajar so I have a great view of the exact moment my hands are released and his fingers retract from inside his mouth. I now have nothing preventing me from being dragged down into him. I reach my hands to grip the tastebuds before me in a last ditch effort to save myself. Another laugh echoes up from the throat below me in response to my pathetic attempt and the back of the tongue bucks up to rub against my face, as if to taste me one last time. My tears mix in with the saliva smothered in my face. The mouth tilts upward once more, and I am engulfed.

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skyareinherz · 2 years ago

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Snack Number Fourteen

Happy vore day 2023! Please enjoy this EXTREMELY self indulgent fic that’s been cooking in my brain for quite awhile now…

Summary: The predator had always prided himself on his self-control. And he really does like to make things last. Just another night with him and his (fourteenth) favorite snack.

Contents: m/m, cruel pred, willing pred, unwilling prey, non-fatal, pre-vore, partial digestion, post-vore (aka the main focus), regurgitation, I imagined a size-difference while writing but it’s never really specified

Wordcount: 5,301

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The predator came home that evening feeling exhausted. And absolutely starving.

He wished he could say that his work had ended once he’d left the office just a half hour ago, but he’d be lying. He knew very well that there was an extensive pile of paperwork just waiting for him on his desk at home. It really was going to be a long night.

Ah, well, no rest for the wicked and all that.

The predator did, fortunately, have at least one thing to look forward to that night, and he was very much looking forward to it. He could barely contain his excitement, nearly bouncing on his toes in a very un-predator-like fashion. But it had been so, so long. He could forgive himself this once for his lack of self-control.

And so the predator bounced his way upstairs, right to the locked doorway at the end of the hall. He pulled out a tiny silver key, slid it into the lock, and turned.

“Good evening, my little snack,” he said with a grin, flicking on the light of the now unlocked room. “You’re looking exceptionally… recovered tonight.”

The boy— fresh out of college, still so strong and vibrant— let out a groan.

“Please,” he begged as he squeezed himself into the farthest corner. “Not again. Please… just a little longer.”

The predator entered the room and smiled in a way which he considered warm and affectionate. Unfortunately, he must not have gotten it quite right because the closer he got, the more the boy only shrank and shivered away.

“Now, now,” the predator chided, crouching down in front of the boy. “It’s been weeks since last time. We’re more than overdue.” He reached out, ignoring the way his snack flinched away, and ran his fingers over the boy’s cheek. The flesh was riddled with burn scars but otherwise healthy. “See? You’ve already healed up.”

The boy didn’t answer. The predator tried smiling again, making sure to show all his teeth.

The boy had been living in this room for months now, which was a good deal longer than many of his predecessors. The predator had no inkling of the boy’s name, all he knew was that he was Number Fourteen. He didn’t really have any desire to learn the boy’s name either. To the predator, he was just another snack. The fourteenth snack, to be precise.

You see, the predator was a master of control, and whenever he found something he really liked, he liked to drag it out for as long as possible. When he was a boy, he once bought a lollipop that he enjoyed so much, he made it last for seven and one-quarter years. Every night like clockwork, he would take precisely one lick of the candy. No more, no less. Just enough to indulge in its sugary sweet flavor. And then he would carefully wrap it and put it away for the next day. He’d prided himself on his patience and pacing, even then.

Years later and the only thing that had changed were his tastes. Now his snacks were a bit more… complex.

“You’ll need to eat first, of course,” the predator continued to his snack. “And drink. We can’t have you getting de-hydrated now, can we?”

The boy was already shaking his head, but the predator didn’t pay him any mind. He knew what was best for his snack, what measures to take to make them last the longest. He’d gone through many trials and errors.

“Come now.”

The boy didn’t resist when the predator hoisted him to his feet. He’d given up fighting long ago. The predator led his snack down the hall, down the stairs, and into the dining room, where he bade him sit at the table. The boy obeyed, his scarred face looking utterly despondent.

“What do you say?” the predator asked as he opened one of the kitchen cabinets. “Beef stew for dinner? That is one of your favorites, isn’t it?”

This, of course, was a little inside joke between the two of them. Beef stew was the only thing the boy ever got for dinner. For some reason though, he didn’t seem to find this joke very funny. The predator let out a wistful sigh. Snack Number Thirteen would have laughed. Or at least offered one of the witheringly sarcastic remarks that he so loved. Even after all these months, the predator missed their heated banter.

The predator didn’t wait for an answer from his current snack before pulling one of the many cans of beef stew off the shelf. He poured it into a bowl, then very kindly heated it up in the microwave. He put the bowl and a cup of ice water on the table before the boy. The ice water was actually a special treat for tonight. Usually he only got room temperature water.

“Go on then,” the predator urged as he took the seat across from his snack. “Eat up!”

Ever so painfully slowly, the boy began to eat. The predator watched with keen interest. Every bite of food, every sip of water, every contraction of those beautiful throat muscles, just made him all the more hungry. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the table. Snack Number Fourteen shifted the spoon in his hand and cleared his throat.

“You don’t have to watch me eat,” he mumbled, eyes firmly locked on his half-empty bowl.

“Oh, but I very much do,” the predator told him, resting his chin in his hand. “I need to make sure you eat everything. And I need to know exactly when you’re done and ready. And besides that… I do enjoy watching my snacks feed themselves.”

The boy’s fingers squeezed at the handle of his spoon before he took one more deliberate bite.

Number Six had been a slow eater too. Even slower than Number Fourteen, surprisingly. She seemed to think she could put off the inevitable if she ate at the pace of a turtle in slow motion. The predator had always found that amusing. He had the patience of a saint, and a bowl of stew could only be stretched out for so long.

The predator smiled lazily at the memory. This seemed to unnerve his snack who happened to glance up at that moment. With a small intake of breath, the boy began scooping his stew with a bit more purpose than before.

In a few more minutes, the only thing he had left were a few last swallows of water. The predator watched, nearly quivering with anticipation. The last drops of water rolled so, so slowly past the boy’s lips. He swallowed. He set his glass down.

The predator lunged, unable to wait any longer. In the blink of an eye, he had the boy by his shirt and was yanking him across the table. Silverware, cup, and bowl were knocked carelessly to the side. The chair toppled backward as the boy kicked his feet, struggling fruitlessly as he was dragged across the table.

Snack Number Fourteen only managed a small cry of surprise before he was cut off by his head being shoved unceremoniously into the predator’s mouth.

The predator’s eyes fluttered shut and he let out a little moan of contentment. The first taste was always the best part, in his opinion. He took his first swallow, felt the way his throat stretched, and then had second thoughts on that opinion. Actually, he thought, it was the first swallow that was the best part. His fingers curled into the boy’s shirt, clinging to him and pulling him in further.

Ignoring the way his snack groped blinding at his face, the predator took another swallow. The boy’s shoulders stretched his throat even more and gave the added bonus on impeding his snack’s assault.

The predator considered the possibility of the second swallow being the best part.

He continued this reassessment after each greedy gulp. The third one began stretching his ribs apart in a sickeningly satisfying way. The fourth one saw him halfway through, right at the boy’s hips. It was at this point, Snack Number Fourteen’s head finally entered the predator’s stomach and the predator let out an involuntary shiver. He was sure now that the fourth swallow had to be the best part. Nothing could surpass this feeling.

But then he took his fifth swallow and he was forced to scoot his chair backwards, away from the table, to make room for his now rapidly expanding middle. His sixth swallow had his stomach stretching so much, he really didn’t think it could get any better than this, but then he was only at his snack’s knees! A seventh swallow and only the boy’s toes remained out in the open.

The predator touched a delicate hand to his throat so he could feel the last of his snack sliding down. He took his eighth swallow and closed his mouth as Snack Number Fourteen disappeared fully behind his lips. The last of the boy went smoothly down his throat, and the predator winced as his belly was stretched to maximum capacity. He even winced as it pressed painfully into the table he’d so politely just pushed himself away from.

Somewhat annoyed, he took another difficult scoot backwards, freeing himself from the confines of the table edge. Once a safe distance from the table, he allowed himself to relax in his chair. His eyes fell shut and his hands wandered quite greedily to the now healthy curve of his belly. A deep contentment spread through him as his fingers searched out the shape of his snack.

The boy, for his part, was shifting and stretching within, most likely trying to find the closest approximation to a comfortable position. Somehow the predator doubted there were many such positions in there, but really that was none of his concern. For his part, he was in heaven. And there was only one thing that could make it better.

With a dreamy sigh, he gave in and let his stomach come to life with the beginnings of digestion.

A wave of pleasure crashed over the predator, easing away the stress of his work day and making all that paperwork seem like a distant memory. If he could live in one moment forever, it would be this one. Full, warm, carefree. Even his snack could barely keep still. Although, it was doubtful from any kind of pleasure. More likely it would be the discomfort that came from slowly being digested alive.

He’d be perfectly safe however. Maybe a little worse for wear, but he’d come back up in one piece when the predator was through with him. Probably. You see, this is where the predator’s superior self control came in handy. His snacks were just too good to finish off altogether, so he’d learned just how much to slow his digestion and just how long they could last under those conditions. The boy was his lollipop, and once the predator had indulged in his single taste, he’d put him back in his wrapper for next time.

After several minutes of lounging comfortably and gently kneading his stomach into submission, the predator decided he’d stalled long enough. There was a pile of paperwork with his name on it just waiting for him.

But as he sat upright, the chair squeaking in protest, he realized just how sleepy his snack had made him. And though he fought so very valiantly to convince himself that work was more important, the need for sleep won out. He deserved a little nap, didn’t he? He’d been working terribly hard lately. Of course he deserved it.

So with the resolution that it would only be a very short nap, the predator hefted himself to his feet and slowly made his way to the bedroom. The journey was made somewhat difficult by the suddenly very lively weight in his middle, scrambling for purchase with each step, but the predator fought through such tribulations with barely a moan of protest.

The softness of his bed called to him and he fell into it without hesitation. He felt his snack pushing back as it was unceremoniously pinned between his weight and the bed, but the sleep now overtaking the predator left him quite unbothered by his snack’s inconvenient location.

As his eyes fell shut, the predator double checked that he had his stomach under control and promised himself once more that this nap would only last a short while.

And then he knew no more.

* * * * * * * * * *

When the predator awoke, he found himself unusually groggy. He blinked and yawned in the half-light of his room, wondering why he didn’t feel his usual peppy self after a good, hearty nap. It wasn’t until he tried to sit up and found himself impeded by the weight in his middle that he remembered what was going on.

He checked the time and was aghast at how late it was. Internally, he scolded himself for being so careless. Where was his usual sense of self control? Not only that, but he was further worried by how unusually still the weight in his stomach was.

He grimaced as he looked down at the curve of his belly. He liked to pretend his snacks were lollipops that would last ages if he was careful enough— one little taste at a time, but sometimes they felt more like a piece of gum— chew it up and spit it out ad nauseam, but grow too careless and you could swallow it, make it gone for good after just one tiny mistake.

If he wanted to get technical, he could say that this was how he’d lost most, or rather all, his previous snacks. He’d get distracted just one time for a little too long and his stomach had its way with them. Tragic, really. So many snacks gone too soon when they still had so much to offer.

“Hello, in there?” the predator called as he poked at his engorged tummy. He felt some small hope in finding whatever was inside to still be relatively solid. “Are you still kicking in there, Number Fourteen?”

The predator jumped in surprise when he received what felt like a kick to his stomach walls.

“Oh!” he said as a second kick (for good measure, he assumed) struck another uncomfortable blow. “I thought I’d finished you off in my sleep!” he told his snack in excitement. “But you’re doing surprisingly well in there, it seems. I think you could last for another few hours at most!”

There was a pause in which the predator was sure his snack was processing this exciting new opportunity, and then Number Fourteen went absolutely feral, struggling with a ferocity he’d seemingly given up on after the first five or six times he’d been been swallowed down. The predator was impressed. His current snack was now rivaling the persistence of Snack Number Four. That one never seemed to grow exhausted or give up.

“Yes, yes,” the predator offered his assurances as he kneaded his snack back into submission, “I know you’re just as elated as I am to spend more time together.”

Another kick.

The predator gave his belly a firm squeeze, coaxing the contents within to cooperate. “But you’ll need to try to contain yourself. Or would you rather continue acting up? It does get rather difficult to control my stomach when you’re moving so deliciously about.”

His snack went deathly still.

“Thought so.”

With only a negligible amount of difficulty, the predator pushed himself out of bed and stumbled out of the room. His snack came back to life as the movement jostled it about. The predator clutched at his belly as it cramped up. He never did like walking on a full stomach.

Finally, he reached his desk. His office chair sat invitingly before a not-so-inviting looking stack of papers. He frowned, still fighting off the grogginess from his earlier nap. Even with the comfort of a full belly and a reinvigorating nap, doing paperwork felt about as desirable as pulling teeth. His own teeth, of course. The predator had never pulled someone else’s teeth, but he thought it would likely be more interesting than paperwork.

The predator turned his thoughts over and over in his head, looking for something, anything that could make the task at hand even just a tad bit more enticing.

The predator snapped his fingers as his thoughts clicked into place.

“That’s it!” he exclaimed before heading back to the kitchen, still clutching his belly to keep the both of them steady.

Yes, he’d had one snack, but why not a second snack? And not a special snack like Number Fourteen. But just a normal snack, something to munch on. Oh, he did love to munch, and his snacks absolutely loathed sharing space with actual food. They always got disgruntled and squirmy, just enough so that the predator got a pleasant internal massage out of it.

The predator threw open his pantry with relish and began digging through the shelves for something of interest. This proved to be a more difficult task than usual as the weight in his middle continually threatened to throw him off balance whenever he leaned down for a closer look. Thankfully, the predator was never one for quitting and he fought valiantly not to fall flat on his face (an effort he was sure his snack appreciated as well). After an arduous battle with the pantry shelves and his own stomach, the predator emerged victorious with his prize in hand. A somewhat simple bag of potato chips, never before opened. Now this was sure to motivate him to his paperwork.

The predator was halfway back to his desk before he fully considered the consequences of choosing such a salty snack. Of course he’d need a beverage to wash it down with, it was only sensible. He turned on his heel, then nearly turned into a topple as he forgot he was quite belly-heavy at the moment. His non-potato chip snack braced itself awkwardly against his stomach walls while the predator readjusted himself.

Next thing, in a series of events much like in the pantry, the predator was rifling through the refrigerator. When he finally stepped away, he was carrying a bottle of only the finest of cherry colas and glad to be upright and well-balanced again.

With a certainty that he was finally prepared for that hateful pile of paperwork, the predator returned to his desk. He pulled out his chair and fell into it with a grateful sigh. It was always terribly tiresome carrying around so much extra weight. It took some adjusting, lowering his seat so there was room for his belly beneath the desk, and spreading his knees so the weight of his snack didn’t cut off his circulation, but finally the predator could comfortably rest his elbows on the desk and start writing.

With a very satisfying burst of salty scents, he tore open the bag of chips. He took a bite and gave an agreeable hum. Of course Snack Number Fourteen was his favored thing to eat, but they just didn’t provide the pleasurable crunch of a good potato chip.

The predator couldn’t suppress a small smile when he swallowed and felt the consequent twitch of surprise from Number Fourteen.

“Sorry about that,” he said, patting his stomach and hoping he was hitting somewhere close to his snack’s back. He wasn’t actually sorry. In fact, he quite liked the idea of all his favorite foods in one place, but it didn’t seem very politic to say so aloud.

He apologized and patted his stomach/maybe-Number-Fourteen’s-back again when he took a swig of soda for the first time. Number Fourteen gave a jab of annoyance and a very unsuccessful shifting of positions, but other than that the predator didn’t get any further protests from his snack.

“Right then,” the predator mumbled as he leafed through his papers, “I guess the only thing left to do is get started.”

And so he did. The next few hours were nothing but the scratching of his pen and the munching of his chips. His snack was restless for a great deal of it, particularly when the predator swallowed down some soda, but nothing too distracting. It probably helped that the chips and cola barely lasted through the first hour.

When his one hand was free, the predator would rest it distractedly on his middle, appreciating the warmth his slow digestion provided. He could feel, and occasionally hear, his stomach working ever so slowly over the contents within. It was all the same to his stomach— chips, soda, another living being. It plodded along relentlessly with its one job, contracted and breaking down whatever was put into it. It brought a certain kind of awe to the predator, and he loved to help it along with the occasional doting rub.

The predator didn’t notice it happening, but all of a sudden the hour was very late. He stared at the time for a few moments, not quite comprehending how so much of it had already passed. Come to think of it, he thought as he straightened out his now completed pile of paperwork, he hadn’t felt any movement from his snack in quite awhile.

“You still hanging on in there?” the predator asked, pressing his fingers into the curve of his belly. He couldn’t help but cringe as it felt like the form of his snack was much softer than it previously had been.

“Oh dear,” he said softly. And he really had been doing so well with this one.

He was just about to give up and go to bed so his stomach could finish up the job, when he felt the weakest of movement come from deep within his middle.

“Ah, so you are still alive in there!”

As if to exacerbate his point, his snack gave another commendable effort at moving.

“Right, just one moment then,” the predator said, clumsily pushing himself away from his desk and hoisting himself upright again. “Don’t want to dirty up my office, you understand.”

Number Fourteen gave a terrible shudder as the predator began his somewhat uncomfortable walk to the bathroom. The predator cringed again with each step. The contents of his stomach felt somewhat less… solid than when he’d made his earlier trip to the kitchen. He’d really goofed up this time, hadn’t he?

He hesitated once he made it to the bathtub. There was a fine line between lightly simmered in stomach acids but still salvageable versus broken down beyond repair yet still somehow clinging to life. The last thing he wanted was to deal with a quickly expiring snack in his bathtub. He really didn’t think he could manage swallowing them down again after that. Maybe it would be better for everyone if he gave up and just went to bed, letting his stomach finish off Number Fourteen.

The predator frowned as he stroked his hand in circles over the now softened surface of his belly.

Oh, but finding a new snack was so difficult. And he really did enjoy Number Fourteen, even if the boy sorely lacked a sense of humor.

“I really hope you’re not too far gone,” he told his snack with a new sense of resolve.

With a practiced contracting of muscles, the predator began the awfully distasteful process of bringing his snack back up. While he enjoyed keeping his snacks around for as long as possible, he couldn’t say that he quite enjoyed this part of the process. If he could simply make his snack re-appear outside of his stomach, he’d lead a much happier life. But alas. Such are the sacrifices he makes to get what he wants.

After much heaving and gagging, Snack Number Fourteen pushed its way back up the predator’s throat to land in a sloppy heap on the bathtub floor.

The boy groaned as the predator leaned down to inspect him.

“I thought you weren’t gonna let me out this time.” Snack Number Fourteen’s voice was hoarse and he wheezed with each breath.

The predator cleared his throat to hide his embarrassment. The boy really was in the worst shape he’d ever seen.

“Well,” the predator started, looking for the right words, “sorry about that.”

The boy gave him a blood-shot look of pure loathing.

“I really didn’t mean to go this far,” the predator continued, unabated. “I simply got so caught up in my work that I… forgot about you. You know how it is.”

“I really don’t,” the boy replied, sounding much like what the predator imagined sandpaper would sound like if it could speak.

The predator decided the best thing to do in this situation would be to pretend he hadn’t heard his snack. So instead, he grabbed the shower head and reached for the faucet. “Why don’t we get you washed up then?”

The snack let out a startled cry as the cold water washed over his angry, red skin. The predator quietly apologized again, but it was no matter. A minute later and his snack lay motionless, eyes fallen shut with exhaustion as he let the predator clean off all the wayward stomach acid from his skin. The predator was quite adept at this— starting at the top, where the more sensitive skin was, and working his way down. There was something very satisfying about starting the process of restoring his snack all over again. But even after the predator had finished, the boy lay sprawled on the bathtub floor, eyes closed, chest rising and falling.

The predator kept silent. He did feel a little guilty. Not only that, but also a little frustrated. With his snack in this state, it would take weeks for him to be strong enough for another round in his stomach. Perhaps it was karma for the predator’s own hubris. He prided himself on his self-control, but a momentary lapse in focus had left him with his prized Number Fourteen in this horrific state. Maybe it would have been easier if he’d just accepted his loss and gone to bed. At least he could start off with a new snack right away.

The predator gave a mental shrug.

Ah well, no use crying over spilled milk and all that.

“Why don’t we get some aloe on you?” he suggested once he could no longer stand waiting for his snack to come out of whatever state he was in. Patience was a virtue, of course, but it was getting very late and the predator needed his beauty sleep just as much as anyone.

The boy’s eyes flicked open and slid to look at him.

“Fine,” was his only word.

The boy pulled himself out of the tub and took a careful seat on the edge of the closed toilet. The predator did a thorough job slathering him in aloe, something the boy seemed to appreciate.

After a failed attempt at getting the boy to walk back to his room on his own, the predator was forced to carry him there. He wondered if the boy really was so weak from his injuries that he couldn’t stand or if he was only feigning weakness as a sort of punishment for the predator’s neglectfulness. The predator supposed, in a way, this arrangement wasn’t much different than earlier, except now he held his snack in his arms, not his belly.

“Home sweet home,” the predator commented as he pushed his way into Number Fourteen’s room.

The boy began squirming at the sight of it. He made a little sound, like a cross between a groan and a growl.

“I know you’re ecstatic to see it again,” the predator told him. “Especially since you almost didn’t make it back this time.”

The boy stopped squirming. The predator deposited him on the cot at the far end of the room.

“Wait there for a moment, please,” he told the boy before heading out of the room. The boy didn’t respond, he just laid very still on his tiny bed, staring at the ceiling. The predator made sure he locked the door behind him.

He headed to the pantry and pulled out two large plastic bottles of water and another bottle of sports drink for good measure. He was about to make a beeline back to his snack when he stopped. After a night like this, the predator usually waited until the next day to give his snack anymore food, but he had nearly digested the poor boy alive this time. He didn’t want to ruin the perfectly good rapport they had developed over these special months together.

He scanned the pantry shelves for something he could give the boy as an apology. Something that really said, “Sorry I got distracted and nearly sent you on a one-way trip to my bowels.” Even the predator grimaced at such a thought.

He took some time considering all his options, until he settled on what seemed the best one. A halfway finished jar of cocktail peanuts. The jar was halfway empty because they were quite good, and the predator picked it up with a sense of satisfaction, certain he’d made the best choice to demonstrate his deepest condolences.

When he re-entered the room, he found that the boy hadn’t moved from his frankly despondent state on the bed. The predator approached, keeping the peanuts hidden from view, and set one of the water bottles and the sports drink on the wobbly bedside table.

“Get up,” he commanded the boy, prodding him with the other water bottle. “You need to drink. Being burned can leave you very badly dehydrated.” And then he stopped and re-considered. “Or at least sunburns can. I’m not too sure about stomach acid burns as, well, you know, I’ve never had the privilege of being partly digested.”

These words roused the boy. With hiss of pain, he pushed himself into a sitting position and gave the predator one his favorite looks to give— a venomous stare.

He still took the bottle and began chugging the water, stray dribbles running down his cheeks and over his exposed throat.

“I do have something extra for you,” the predator told him, unable to hide his delight. “Something special.”

The boy stopped drink immediately. “What is it?” he asked, sounding almost excited for once.

“Here!” The predator said, unable to wait any longer. He shoved the jar of peanuts toward his snack.

The boy looked down at it and blinked.

“It’s an apology of sorts,” the predator explained. “You know, since I went a little too far this time. I honestly feared you wouldn’t make the night if I let you out, and I almost gave up on you. But look at you now! I’m sure you’ll be ready for another round in no time!”

The boy’s face fell and his eyes went cold and empty. “Thanks,” he said, the word devoid of any of his earlier excitement.

“Of course, my snack,” the predator told him as jovial as ever. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it then.”

Snack Number Fourteen didn’t answer. Only gave him a look of searing hatred, his blood-shot eyes somehow burning brighter than before.

The predator only gave him a reassuring smile as he closed the door.

“Goodnight, my snack. Until next time.”

He locked the door tight behind him.

And in just a few minutes, the predator had fallen into bed, finally letting a real, deep sleep overcome him. Despite a few bumps in the road, tonight had been a very fulfilling night. The only thing left empty now was his stomach, which grumbled quietly, eagerly awaiting the next time it would get to spend a few hours working over Snack Number Fourteen.

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