food chain part 04

Someone’s coming. At first it doesn’t sound like me—the gait is too slow—so your post-gorging haze in the late twilight is interrupted by having to summon knives. But there I am, rounding the corner.

Oh yeah, you drank me half way to death. Of course I’m on the go-slow.

You experience a pang of guilt for dragging me out here, but then smother it. I’ve told you often that your pleasure and happiness is paramount. Well, Victoria and her passenger have been pleasurably scraping along the insides of your gut, violating the natural order of digestion and your filthy bowels at the same time. Their bulk has pressed against your belly and your pussy from within, giving you a craving for attention and release.

So you give me a warm smile of welcome and thanks, then immediately take what you want. I wouldn’t want you any other way.

“Lie here.”

“Rey, you’re huge!”

“Diet food. Explain later. Lie here now.”

I comply and you mount my face in one motion. Victoria’s kiss transfers to me even as her dead and softening bulk toothpastes its way through the gut that hangs ominously above me.

You’ve been touching yourself and your whole body for the hour it took me to arrive. You’re not going to rush. My neck creaks beneath your weight as you glide yourself against my lips, allowing me to find the spots you like the most. As you relax Victoria’s final words gust over my chest, making you laugh with embarrassment. You feel my hands begin to explore the pendant gut that threatens to smoosh me into darkness. That leaves your hands free to travel up your own body, caressing and teasing your skin, your breasts, your neck, your lips, until your fingers run through your hair and tease it up like a wild, sable crown.

It falls back around your shoulders in silky sheets as you lean forward, seriously threatening my ability to breathe. You help me keep up the pressure and place you desire by locking one hand into a fistful of my hair and moving my head yourself.

The feeling of my fingers digging into the serpentines of your intestines and helping slough away predatory flesh from bones is dizzying. At some point there is a noticeable pop within you and your belly gushes and gurgles: your patient intestines have rasped through her abs and torn apart her stomach. The unseen boyfriend, mostly intact from her inexperienced and terminated digestion, is exposed to your greedy, gleeful guts. He gets a much more thorough treatment.

You find climax reach you all of a sudden. Heat floods you, every muscle clenches, and you unwittingly water-board me between your legs. I don’t want to die, but actually literally drowning in your pussy juice does not seem a bad way to go.

Eventually your lust-swollen lips release my face with a wet schlick. You roll off me and lie flat, breathing as hard as I am. Our hands find one another and entangle. Your abdomen almost writhes as it toothlessly chews its meal, working ridiculously hard.

When I can move again I sit up, hip against your hip. My hands find your belly again like it were a magnet. You lie back and luxuriate as I knead you like a fat, greedy lump of dough, working the paste of your meal into every crevice within you. Your intestines kick into overdrive and the stolen blood leaves you warm, happy, disoriented.

When your abdomen is smooth and full of only paste we stand you up and walk to the car I brought. Home isn’t far away and you get to wrap around yourself with a sheer nightgown draped over your shoulders and a giant mug of hot chocolate. You’ve explained your theory about your arsehole being your diet mouth. I wasn’t convinced but trusted you, calling you a good girl and kissing your lips, your forehead, your belly button.

It’s almost bedtime when Victoria is ready to say goodbye. You excuse yourself and I watch you climb the stairs longingly, but you desire privacy today. The toilet bears your weight gracefully. An introductory stream of piss converted from the life-blood of the eaten couple rings like an alarm all through the house. It cuts off as internal muscles reconfigure, allowing soft cylinders to emerge smoothly from the same hungry little mouth that ate them both up just a few hours ago. The flush is quiet and efficient so you barely have to break stream, marveling at the sheer amount of fudge that flows out of you.

But it all does. How many people had Victoria devoured in her short time on the planet? But her strong, enhanced body melted like any of them in the annihilating embrace of your bowels. And the last you glimpse of her is crap the colour of her hair, disappearing beneath the turbulent waterline.

She’s so well-behaved and obedient you barely have to wipe.

In the morning you will see how much flesh you forged from her goodness.