dinner date
Tonight’s the night. She’s here in front of you.
You’ve been out with Nataliya a few times now, one of those occasions drinking at her place where she showed you something special: her Megadrive, complete with Sonic and Knuckles tandem cartridge.
Nataliya is sweet. Her bluster and boisterousness falls away once you’ve been together for an hour or so, revealing a thoughtfulness that hints at inner depth. She laughs seldom at your goofy jokes, but so far on every date you’ve managed to say one thing that has made her lose her absolute shit, to the point of gasping for air. Trying to work out how to do that again is something you think you’d like to do for a while.
You were both playing the underwater level and quite tipsy when she asked you why you always said no to dinner. You were in the midst of a bout of rare hiccups, the tonic tickling under your ribs, but the gin made you want to tell her the truth.
You were silent for a long time. The running-out-of-air music seemed to sum up how you were feeling, like you both were holding your breath.
A deep breath. “I’m… eating is really intimate for me.”
Her Ukrainian accent coloured the words, gently spoken: “Tell me”. Maybe she sounded exotic enough you thought you could.
And now she’s here at your front door, holding a bottle of wine and smiling shyly. No bluster or boisterousness, just a small-framed girl with special-effect blue eyes.
Adrenaline floods your system. She knows you’re a predator. She doesn’t understand it, but she knows your deepest desire. And she came anyway. You actually can’t speak, only stare at her, while your hand grips the doorknob so hard it shakes.
She steps forward and places a kiss on your cheek, breaking the spell. You breathe for the first time in long seconds and invite your dinner inside.
“Red, yellow, green,” you say, pointing at the lamps of an imaginary traffic light. You’re both sitting on your bedroom floor, huddled together like schoolgirls sharing a secret. “You say red, I stop what I’m doing, make sure you’re okay. You say yellow, it means you need to talk, so we pause what we’re doing and we talk. Green means go.”
“Okay. Are you going to eat in front of me?”
You feel the traitorous blush creep into your cheeks. “I already had Chinese.” Yesterday, you had Chinese, but she doesn’t need to know you’ve been starving yourself to feel more predatory. “I’ll be eating you.”
“I told my friend I’m here,” she says, eyes glinting, “so if I go missing someone will know.”
Your stomach lurches, but you remind yourself that you’re not actually going to eat her. It’s strange how easy it is to forget the fact she’s not really going to be your fat. “I’m going to let you back out again.”
She opens her mouth to make a joke but you’re too shy to talk about your butthole just yet, so you steamroller her. “Want to see something that’s really special to me?”
How could she say no?
Your hand hesitates on the wardrobe handle. You half-turn your head and fix her with a look. You don’t know it, but every ounce of your predatory nature communicates itself in the set of your eyes, the tension in your mouth. All you see is that Nataliya’s eyes go a little wider and her lips part. “Undress yourself for me. I don’t like the taste of clothes.”
She starts immediately, awkward and cute as she rolls her top over her head. Then she visibly tries to take control of herself, not be completely dominated. She peels off her skinny jeans and stands imperious, chin raised, half-smiling at you. “Now it is your turn.”
“Food doesn’t speak,” you say. Your empty stomach growls loud at the sight of her. She hears it in the quiet of your room and makes an astonished half-laugh.
“You really would eat me, yes?”
“Take it all off.”
Under your predatory stare her shoulders hunch a little. She’s small to begin with, but she looks smaller as she reaches behind her back. The dark blue bra highlights how pale she is, giving you a run for your money. Then she folds to tease her panties down her legs. No imperiousness when she straightens: just a nervous touch of her hair
You examine her up and down, taking in her curves, her little belly, the blonde fuzz where two soft thighs squish together. Your mouth becomes wet: you have to swallow before you can speak. “Come here. I want to fatten you up.”
She holds her arms across her chest as you squeeze pillows under the first shirt. With her trapped arms and extra padding it’s surprisingly restrictive. She looks down at herself from her seat on the edge of the bed and then back up to you, shyly smiling. “Am I big enough for you yet?”
“Not even close,” you say, grinning and holding up dressing gown and blanket. “I’m hungry enough to eat a horse.”
More pillows, the dressing gown, a weighted blanket and shirts to hold everything in place. Boob pillows, XL bra. She’s packed in, showing a little fear as she tries and fails to rescue her arms from the layers of soft artificial flab.
It’s the first time you’ve seen your voresuit on someone else. She’s massive, an ocean of flesh on your bed. Her belly feels spongy when you grope her, the slightest bit of your weight sufficient to pin her without hope of sitting up or wriggling out of bondage. How much would someone have to eat to get that big? She would be so tender… you’d get fat from just eating her alone.
She’s also trapped. You wonder if you pushed her head into the suit how long she would last before she suffocated, or if she would roast first. Your artificial belly could crush the life out of her.
“You’re so big,” you say, feeling all up her flanks. Is this how you’d feel if you were huge?
Nataliya, who was looking uncomfortable, seems struck by the awe and desire in your voice. There’s a pause. “Do you like me this big?”
“Mhmm. I love big girls. They’re the best meals.” You kiss her exposed neck and she cannot do anything about it. She lets out a shaky breath. “Eating you would make me so fat…”
“I’m not for eating,” she says, though something in her tone tells you she’s being playful.
“It wouldn’t be all bad, would it?” You lick her audaciously from collar bone to jaw. Her perfume is bitter but her skin is smooth and yields to your fierce tongue. You feel her rock her hips inside the suit, turned on and unable to do anything about it. “To be eaten by me? You would make me so happy. I’d keep you inside me for days…”
Your hand strokes down the fake belly and goes hunting. Hidden beneath blanket-ends and thick cloth you find her cunt. Her heat might be due to the suit but her wetness as you massage her tells you everything you need to know about your captive meal.
“Yes, I think you’d like very much becoming a part of me. I can tell you like being trapped in the heat. My belly is hotter than the suit.” She mewls as your fingers slip inside her, a hot fleshy tunnel not unlike the one you crave to stuff her down. “Hot enough to melt you down.”
She rocks against your hand and stares at you, silently begging for more.
“Say it. Say, ‘I want you to eat me, Raven.’”
She purses her lips and shakes her head but doesn’t break eye contact.
You slip your fingers out of her and hold pressure against her, teasing, holding pleasure to ransom. She struggles inside the suit and screws her face up, trying to resist the slow, silky circles you trace against her pussy, but you both know how this will end.
“Please,” she says, voice small but urgent. “Please eat me. Please make me a part of you.”
That gets a gasp out of you. You shift your weight to sit astride her belly, pinning her and letting you crush her between your thighs. You feel her inside there, squirming like she’d squirm inside you.
She moans urgently when you begin finger-fucking her again. “I want you to eat me. I want you to put me in your belly and… and touch yourself.”
You’re panting as hard as she is, now. Either she’s so wet or she’s sweating so heavily but you can convince yourself that she’s literally melting down.
“I will make you so fat, Raven. You will look so big and round and greedy.” She notices the way you shuddered when she said that. “Greedy. Yes. You are greedy, like a pig. You… aah… you ate me, and now…”
When she cums her hips frantically buck against your fingers. Her motion within the suit rubs you just right, building on the pleasure and the excitement of the filthy things she’s saying. You’re not far behind. The spongy suit squeezes her like a vice between your thighs.
You collapse atop her. Both of you are breathless, but poor Nataliya is red-faced. “Is so hot. I’m hot. Please let me out, Raven.”
She asked in a reasonable non-play tone of voice. Poor thing must be roasting. Still, you have to work to make yourself care. She’s food you just ate.
“So that is your fantasy?”
“Bitch, please, we’re just getting started. What happens to food when you eat it?”
Your arse is enormous and padded. Your largest shirt is barely stuffed, though; merely spaced out with a weighted blanket. Or, to put it another way, you have a large gap to fill.
Nataliya, cooled down and having drunk a pint of water, appears upside down in your field of vision. Her face blocks out the ceiling light. She is smiling.
“You think I will go willing into your belly?”
“Kiss me.”
“This is a trick.”
“Yes.”
She leans down to kiss you anyway. Upside down you taste one another. Before today she has been a shy kisser, but now she is luscious, melting, unable to get enough of you. You’re just the same. You want to taste all of her.
You break the kiss and suck hard on her neck. It’s a good thing you forgot to put in fangs or there would be a reasonable chance you might kill her. She sighs and strokes her hands down your body.
You take those hands and push them down.
With the neck of the shirt wide enough, her shoulders slip through. You can feel her kissing all down the curve of one breast. You’re much less reserved, devouring each globe of flesh as it is offered to you.
You push her down deeper.
Her head is well and truly in your stomach, now. Her hair tickles your belly. A sudden eruption of sound fills her cramped chamber: ~grraAuUck- glk -grrrrlk~ Her laughter is muffled. You muffle it more by pushing her face into your belly, beneath the suit.
Her belly feels so soft. You long to bite—to really bite. Vore isn’t an unattainable fantasy if you tear apart your prey…
… maybe wait till the tenth date.
You push her down deeper still. Her pussy is a fleeting sensation of salt and earth. She parts readily beneath your tongue. Does she know this is your first taste of another woman? Later you will explore it more. Right now is time to feed.
She vocalises disappointment as you swallow up her thighs. “Curl up in there,” you command. “I want you packed into my middle.”
Once your lips, tongue and teeth have graced everything except feet—once you have, in fact, swallowed her all up into your voresuit belly—you realise just how heavy she is.
You thought the suit was heavy before. An entire living person is coiled up beneath your familiar prosthetic gut. She’s crammed into there, trapped beneath a layer of blanket-fat. She squirms and you can both watch and feel it.
You hug your belly. The decision to push her face into your crotch is unconscious but inevitable. Your prey is eager to please, diving into your pussy with abandon.
You are careless. She is a thing for your pleasure and you can feel how much she loves that fact. She shakes as she fingers herself in your belly.
You almost drown her.
You use her two or three times. It’s magical. Her tongue is so soft but her lips press firm against you with the pressure you crave.
Somehow, glutton that you are, you have your fill. She squirms contentedly in her fleshy prison and you let her, lying back in a white-out of pleasure.
You’re so relaxed a fart squeezes its way out.
Nataliya freezes.
You, you have a decision to make. You could feel embarrassed, apologise, make moves to let out your prey.
Or…
“So what happens to food once it’s digested?”
It’s a good thing you did all those squats and all that yoga. Thank you, Internet weirdo, for giving you the idea.
You lurch across the landing, your squirming belly clamped tight between your arms. You’ve lost the bottom half of your suit.
“Where are we… you’re joking right?”
You hit the light switch with an elbow. Sparking tiles greet you with their hygienic pale glow.
“I don’t… um, what was it? Yellow?”
“Food doesn’t get to talk,” you say, knowing it’s wrong. Extremely naughty. Bad BDSM. But you don’t think you can help it and, frankly, you don’t want to. “Neither does shit.”
She goes silent and still. Her head donks on the toilet seat when you sit. Your legs are parted. You know her orientation. She has a front-row ticket.
You open up a stream of piss. The sound of rushing water fills the little room.
Your belly begins to wriggle a little. Nataliya, inverted, is touching herself. In the dark you picture her unable to tear her eyes from your pussy, your spread backside.
“Ready to be let out?”
“You wouldn’t. Re— you wouldn’t.”
“You were a good meal. Goodbye, Nataliya.”
In your mind what hits the bowl is Nataliya, her beautiful, quirky body reduced to shit squeezing itself out of your body. Her ghost watches and masturbates furiously, appalled and fascinated by what you have done. After you have finished voiding your bowels of an innocent human life, you are going to make your new playmate clean you up, and then you are going to curl up together and watch something funny and simple while you both process what the hell just happened.
At least this way you and Nataliya got to share the Chinese.