food chain part 03

You find her alone. She hears you coming and gasps in astonishment and guilt. The girl, scarcely out of teenagehood, is sprawled out on the leaf-litter floor. Her top has rolled up to her boobs and her custom daisy-painted shorts are already unbuttoned. Between them her lover still squirms, wearing the flesh of her smooth, olive-committed belly like a smothering coat.

The predatory girl tries and fails to get to get feet. You stare at her, your belly painfully envious of hers. Both of you are silent, though a young man’s voice screams for mercy in a place a world away from the tranquil clearing.

“This ~braaaap~ isn’t what it looks like!”

You blink slowly then look around the clearing. No hint of anyone nearby. “What does it look like?”

But the girl is looking at you with narrowed eyes. She places her hand on her squirming belly and pushes at a protruding bulge—a shoulder by the shape that glides beneath the surface. “You’re not surprised by any of this. Who are you?” A thought occurs to her and she scrabbles away from you, placing her back against the trunk of a tree. “Shit, are you one of us?”

“I doubt it,” you say, closing the distance. A few metres away you drop to match eye-level, sitting on your haunches. Your belly squeezes comfortably against your thighs, spilling a little to the sides. You realise and decide not to care that the pose lets your miniskirt ride up and reveal waves of smooth, packed flesh all the way up your legs to your panties.

“I’m a friend! Victoria! I’m Victoria. Don’t—” she screws shut her eyes. Freckles are visible on her cheeks, unusual with her Mediterranean colouration. She speaks with a small voice—“Don’t eat me.”

The young man lets out a scream that cuts off in a burble as her stomach clenches and slathers him with more juices. Your stomach answers with a growl loud enough to be heard over the sound of struggle. Her eyes open, red-rimmed but hopeful in her youth.

“I won’t swallow you,” you say. “I’m on a diet. You know, you should be far more careful. You’re vulnerable while you digest.” You’re being careful right now, letting your puissance bleed out into the area, tendrils immaterial and invisible as glass in water brushing every inch of her skin. You sense no magic that is not common to all mortals; no seeing eyes; a hundred connections, but all just natural-forged.

She’s alone and vulnerable.

Victoria nods rapidly, clinging to the possibility that you are really a friend even while her subconscious notes the methodical way your eyes survey the area. “I won’t make that mistake again. Um. Why are you on a diet? You’re really… pretty.”

Your businesslike manner breaks at the compliment. Victoria blushes when you look at her with a faint smile and one eyebrow raised.

“A desire to be rid of a thing. Would you like to become fat one day?”

Victoria nods again. “Only my mum would hit the ceiling. Says fat is a giveaway for a predator.”

“On the contrary. How conspicuous is it be for you to suddenly gain a belly like the one you’re sporting now? Someone your size is far less noticeable tucked away in here.” You illustrate by hefting your belly with both hands. It purrs out a loving gurgle in return. Inside you, your body is configuring itself.

Victoria goes gradually paler.

“You think I’m pretty?”

Still watching your belly she nods, slowly, like one in a daydream. “So pretty.”

“My eyes are up here, sweetie. So you’re interested in girls?”

Victoria’s hand goes to her gut, which is quieter now but still rippling against her meal’s diminishing struggles. “Only ever had boys, but…”

“Well, I can see you’re interested in me.” You wet your lips and delicately perform a dip as you ease your panties down your legs. You leave them behind as you step towards Victoria. “Tell you what, I’ll do you a deal.”

Complex expressions cross Victoria’s face as she looks up at you. Fear and lust combine and war. “What deal?”

“I’ll give you your first experience. But I’m a selfish lover, and I’m hungry.” She flinches but also wets her lips. You notice the hand that was on her belly is now touching her thigh. “If you make me cum before your dinner stops struggling, I won’t eat you with my bum.”

Victoria’s eyes go wide. “You said you wouldn’t e—”

You stride to step over her, feet planted either side of her chest. Her head presses back against the tree-trunk as she tries to look up at you. But the sight of your rose-touched lips, reddened in part by my blood, arrests her attention like a prowling lioness. Above it hangs your belly, a funeral shroud made from other bodies you claimed before her.

“I said I wouldn’t swallow you.”

“But… your diet—”

“Eating you this way is harder on the digestion. You will give me fewer calories.” You cast a disapproving look at her middle. “Though there are two of you. Oh, he’s almost gone, sweetie. Those are terminal motions. Feel how repetitive they are?”

She gasps and then forcibly swallows air for the boy inside her. When he doesn’t revive she digs the heel of her palm into her belly and pushes him around. Evidently he finds a pocket of air because her gut comes to life again.

Then she takes a moment to inspect you. Yours might be the first—and frankly, only—vulva she’s seen up close and personal. Her first touch is delicate, exploratory, gently running her finger between your lips. You resist the urge to grab her and make use of her, letting her choose her own pace. You will be satisfied in the end, anyway.

You have to smile when she places a chaste kiss on your pussy. But then she comes to life. Her small tongue darts between your lips and strokes the length of you, and again, fresh and peckish. You sigh and rest your hands against the birch tree, feeling its rough bark a counterpoint to the smooth glide of her tongue.

Her lips surround your clit and she sucks it, getting a sharp exhale of disapproval. So her lips soften and she begins to lap. When you start rocking your hips in time she gains confidence, placing more pressure, bringing a hand back to tease at the entrance to your vagina.

The mass of intestines hanging above her head emit a wet-sounding glorp. She plunges her fingers smoothly into you, spurred on with fear.

“During orgasm— aaah— the stomach stops moving,” you breathe. “If you do yourself your boyfriend might last a little longer.”

She barely needs the excuse, not bothering to do anything other than unzip her jeans and plunge her hand in. Maybe she’s stroking herself in time with you. You don’t care, you’re focused exclusively on the sparks she’s sending up your nerves.

It’s a brutal tease, of course: for yourself and for her. You won’t cum till she’s inside you. Orgasms feel so much better when someone is massaging your internal cavities.

Victoria tries, though. She learns that you like pressure, and her neck muscles stand out from the strain of burying her face in your cunt. Her fingers find the little rough patch among the belly velvet and mercilessly massage. You begin to wish you’d already eaten, so you could let loose and drown her.

Her orgasm-cry is muffled by your flesh. Your tip turned out not to help, though: you feel the whisper of a freshly released soul brush your thighs. With a flex of your will, scarlet lines erupt across your left hand. Enough to guide, you coax the confused and scared spirit on a brief journey beside your belly, past your neck, to hang before your wetly parted lips. A sharp inhale and the spirit is gone from the world and sealed within your astral body, the only afterlife it will ever know.

When you cease rocking and instead grip the back of her head you can just about make out Victoria’s forlorn protest. “He’s still fighting! I can feel it!”

“He’s not fighting anymore, sweetie,” you say. Your cunt aches with desire so it stretches greedily to engulf her entire head. You tease yourself by holding her in that space while involuntary spasms of excitement ripple up and down the walls. When you release her she is slick and gasping. “At least, not inside your body.”

“Please please please don’t eat me. Please, I don’t—”

A curl of the pelvis and a drop of the hips and the rest of her request is told only to the slippery lining of your rectum. Her hands immediately leap to defend so you half-turn to slot her shoulders into the crack of your arse and then sit. Lubed up as she is you can feel your anus greedily consume her down to the tits without any particular difficulty.

Prey you take this way tend to be less vocal, you’ve noticed. As you rearrange yourself on all fours, bumhole clenched tightly to keep your frantically kicking prey on place, you briefly picture her world. Crushing muscle must be adorned by light anal slime but what is she squeezing into?

Two breasts pop through as you ponder, stroking yourself as Victoria has sadly left you neglected. Most of your meals this week have been blood feeds. The substance painting her face will be the iron-heavy remnants of one of those, thick, dark and tar-like.

You have to widen your legs to encourage your backside to take her swollen belly. Thankfully they were both slender, or you’d be screwed. As it stands there’s a crunch from her stomach as some large bone snaps, and her legs start can-canning in pain. Somewhere beneath your left ribs, Victoria screams in agony.

Won’t be long before that scream emerges as a fart.

Downward dog is your friend. The dying light glints with artistic bathos off the stretched and shining rim of your anus. Dragged in by an inexorable slide two legs kick desperately. When the hips are swallowed only the shins kick; when the knees plop inside she goes quietly, crushed into submission.

You’re tight enough to pop off her shoes from her feet as they glide in. Your sweet bumhole squeezes shut, only to gape again as you expel pints of air, a filthy requiem for a fellow predator.

Overcome by the sensation, reduced to animal instinct by the intense squirming all through your abdomen, you desperately massage your pussy. You long to be fucked and briefly consider sending me your coordinates in a message but that would take too long. Instead you skillfully revive the fever-pitch of excitement as your virginal lover squeezes ever deeper, dragging the trove of a belly so stuffed its bulge visibly moves beneath your skin. When she screams you bite your bottom lip, relishing the barely-audible sound.

Victoria is supple. She does not break until your body has folded her quite in half. What consistency of slick filth must she have encountered so deep inside you? She has the opportunity to kiss the entrance to your appendix before something vital breaks and the pleasurable struggling stops dead. You moan and rub your cheek against the soft and mossy grass as you begin your long-held orgasm, letting waves of pleasure roll over you and root in your stuffed bowels.

When you have finished you roll into your back and shuffle to rest against that same tree. Your belly is monstrously large and two souls are gently dissolving into meaninglessness inside you. You decide to stay put and do in fact send me your coordinates. I’ll arrive and take care of you, bring fresh panties, and when you tell me a pretty girl left a kiss for me on your pussy you’ll get to cum again.

So you wait, head-rush half-conscious and slightly sore but smiling, as the warm evening sun turns its face away to think about the secrets you have shown it.