nightmare
You dream…
We met in a pub near your place. Your friend knew you were meeting someone and assumed Tinder, so if by some weird inversion of roles you went missing, there’d be a trail to follow.
I was an odd mix of lots of things. I talked like I write: needlessly long words, jags where I’d get stuck on one topic and wax lyrical, lots and lots of questions. You could see me trying to hide just how much I liked you in the moments between trying to articulate some overwrought concept or engage you on something you said, when I’d stop and look at you with smiling eyes. I think you found it sweet.
You were a mix, too, veering from shy and quiet to laughing your head off and making witty or crude observations. When I asked your real name you smirked and told me your name was Raven, and I continued to call you that for the rest of my life.
I called you beautiful three times in the first ten minutes of meeting you. Each time it seemed to slip out unwittingly. You would see me flinch like I’d done something I hadn’t meant to do. Your reserve showed chinks of real warmth and tenderness but I loved it all: defences and vulnerabilities and suspicion.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Andrew? I mean really, really sure? I think you’ll regret it.”
I opened my mouth to give a glib answer then tripped over the words. Instead I met your eye and rested my head on enmeshed knuckles, elbows on table.
“Complicated. I know there’s at least one point I will, kind of. Two, if…” My cheeks colour when I fail to find the words. “If there’s more to life than this. But I’ll regret not doing it more. It’s a yearning. Sehnsucht. It’s written into me. Even as I’m… regretting my current place, I’ll still feel it’s right.”
You didn’t look convinced but you sipped your bourbon and looked at me with a weighing gaze. It’s always strange to be sitting opposite someone who knows this part of you but now that person has the opposite… orientation? And you didn’t understand how I could be so calm.
The way I looked at you now, adoration tempered by trepidation, gave you a head-rush sensation of power. You maintained eye contact. Behind your lips you licked your teeth, feeling the slowly increasing prominence of your canines.
I broke the tense silence, not demure but clearly forced to dig in order to fight back against the intensity of your gaze. “Are you sure you want to do it?”
A neutral “mhmm” accompanied another sip of your drink.
“And you can?”
“I think so. I can drink you dry if it doesn’t work. So either way, now’s your last chance.”
I held your eye. If you were steel then I was wood, bending but not breaking, whipping back into shape.
I reached into the backpack I’d placed by my feet. A familiar pack of cards came out.
“I’ve made my decision. I know how this ends for me. But… shall we play to see if the end is today?”
You grinned and my heart exploded. It was too much. From your coat you withdrew that same deck.
“Perhaps I should ask you to sign mine,” I teased, as you cut the deck and riffled the two halves back together.
“Maybe you can sign mine too,” you said, dealing yourself eight and plucking out the hearts. “To remind me your name long after I’ve sh— shit you out.”
We played mostly in silence, both feeling the weight of our decision, both feeling the freedom of it.
I knew I’d lost when my Ace of Hearts fell to your Ace of Spades and you had suit-advantage. You delicately placed three hearts, my only real hope, on top of the deck and then blended them in with the others.
I stared forlornly at your hands as they moved, then glanced up. Your expression was not smiling but your eyes were alight and fierce. It nailed me to my seat. You heard me catch my breath and saw a misting of complex tears redden my eyes.
I would be yours today.
Your home is empty. You’ve tidied your room and shown me your new computer, getting excited about it like she’s your baby. We play a little Skyrim together and you talk excitedly about the constellation of mods.
I nip and grab a shower.
You show me your voresuit, blushing a tiny bit as you do. “Won’t been needing this now.”
Ada still occupies a little box. “Look how fat she is!” you enthuse. Then you smirk at me. “Just like I’m going to be!”
It’s like we’ve been friends for years. We shit-talk and flirt and get excited about stuff. We talk about your plans. And then at one point, it ends.
“Okay, so.. get ready.”
I stiffen like I’ve been hit by a shovel. You hear my breathing become rapid. After a few moments I jerkily get my backpack and lay out the contents. Short lengths of braided leather rope, a stuffed envelope, pill bottles. You hold up one of the latter and shake it, looking quizzical.
“That one’s muscle relaxants,” I explain. “Make it so I’m less like to hurt you if I… start struggling. From what I’ve read they shouldn’t affect you if I take them half an hour before.”
“Take them now, then,” you say, casually handing me the bottle as you read the others. “Painkillers? No. They won’t do anything anyway. I’m going to digest your nerve endings.”
I nod, staring at the pills. Once they kick in I’ll be defenceless whatever else happens. You’re watching closely so you see my jaw clench with indecision. But without further promoting I pop a large dose in my mouth. You hand me a glass of water.
“Half an hour,” you say, mostly to yourself.
I nod. Then call out to the empty air, “Alexa, set a timer for— ah, not my house.” I laugh.
“This is your home now.”
That stops me laughing. You take my hands and gently place them on your gut, still softened by McDonalds and pizza and Chinese that hit all at once and never really went away.
I carefully kneel before your belly and place my ear against your soft, warm skin. It feels natural to stroke my hair.
“I can’t believe it’s here. Like, soon.”
“Mhmmmm. My stomach is ready for you. Dinner.” You’re teasing yourself as much as you’re teasing me with such words, seeking to squeeze every last ounce of sensation from this most unique of days.
“It’s so beautiful, the sounds.” I wrap my arms around your middle and squeeze. “You’re so beautiful, Rey.”
You turn your face away to hide your expression. “We should tie you up before you change your mind. Go on, get undressed and lie on my bed.”
I pull back and give you a tight smile. “Reconsidering your stance on men, Rey?”
You bop me on top of the head. “Actually fuck off. Men are food and that’s all.”
I laugh as I stroll to the bed. T-shirt and jeans come off casually, then socks. I hesitate at boxers and half-turn to ask a question you’re already answering.
“Off. Don’t want any clothing bunging me up.”
“Just, like, femurs,” I say, dropping and stepping out of my underwear.
Lying naked on your bed I pose. “Eat me like one of your French girls.”
But you’re distracted by the fact that your mouth has actually flooded with saliva. Your stomach, carefully starved for this meal, aches within you, and you’re sure it gurgles. This is real. You’re physically preparing to devour a living human being. And nothing could feel more natural.
My goofy grin softens into a gentle smile. I don’t know what’s going through your mind but I do know you’re looking at me like a hot dog, and you keep swallowing. I feel weirdly complimented.
Another power-trip: there’s something about being the only person wearing clothes that makes you feel in charge. Like the ring master.
This part we’ve discussed. You hand me two of leather slings. I smile thanks then sit up and start tying myself, swiftly and decisively. My knees and my ankles are soon bound together and utterly immobile.
“This part’s yours,” I say, handing you the remaining sling.
You’re not as fast as me but you’ve practised on your own legs enough to know your tie will hold. My wrists are soon double-column tied and cinched. The leather, chosen for its likely digestibility, flexes slightly but seems solid.
“Okay, step back, please.”
Once you’ve complied I start to struggle against my bonds. I don’t fuck about, twisting and tearing at them, tendons standing out. You get a good idea for how powerful I am, seeing my muscles work like that.
Ultimately it’s ineffective. I lie back on the bed, breathing hard. “Good, they’ll hold. I’ll try to hook my wrists under my knees once I’m—inside you, but if I don’t, I can feel the relaxant kicking in already. I don’t think I’ll hurt you.”
“I can’t say the same.” Your mattress depresses when you pounce on it, putting your weight on your knees. “Tell me you don’t want to go ahead.”
“What?”
“You’re so willing. I’m going to kill you. Murder you. Tell me you don’t want to go ahead.”
“But I… do…”
“No. Look.” You scramble over me. My scared and confused face looks back up at you. “I’m going to hurt you worse than you’ve ever been hurt. You’re not thinking straight. Like…” In exasperation you grab your pillow and flatten it against my face with your weight on one forearm. Then you crane your neck and bite my shoulder.
But not play bite. Your baby fangs slice effortlessly through skin but the crush between your two perfect horseshoes of teeth is agonising. I scream into the pillow and arch my back spasmodically. Meanwhile you can’t help but make a soft, pleased sound in the back of your throat. My blood taste fills your mouth and there’s just something so natural about seizing your prey this way.
You do your best to tear of a lump of my flesh before remembering you were only meaning this as a demonstration. Blushing slightly, aware you’re feeling a little high, you wait till my cries have died down before removing the pillow.
“Now imagine that, all over, until you’re dead.”
I stare up at you with gritted teeth. Blood trickles from the surface wounds but the skin is black from crush injury. What you’ve just done is a serious injury requiring medical attention.
“You wet?” I ask, still kind of glaring.
You lick your lips. With a small nod you acknowledge that you might be.
I let my head rest back on the bed, still grimacing with pain. “Then you can eat me in parts if you want, Rey. I’m fucking yours. For your pleasure. Bon—” and I raise my tied hands in a little salute, making you realise I didn’t actually try to push you off me when you bit “—appetit.”
You stare at me. I will break, you know. I can’t not. And when I do, when I beg for you to release me, you won’t listen. I’ll stay right there as your body processes me like any other food.
With that in mind, you move back to my feet and pick up my calves. I inhale slowly and deeply. Toes—manicured, attention to detail—point in anticipation.
“I’m not going to be able to talk for a while, so… It’s kind of hard to sum everything up but I wanted to say thank you. And I’m going to be here with you while you… digest. You won’t be alone. I’ve got you.”
How do you sum up everything in such an unusual friendship? Perhaps the best way is what you do next. You lick your lips to wet them, open wide, and then glide your teeth down to my ankles.
There is a sensation of fullness, then a sensation of space. Your throat opens smoothly to accept everything. My calves are passing your lips before you can believe it.
The rapture you feel is reflected on my face too. I’m watching myself disappear into your hungry maw with the expression of a priest meeting God.
There’s only one way this ritual goes. You’re forced to swallow, not least to avoid dribbling, and are thrilled to feel your oesophagus grip and pull me a few inches down the bed.
With a burst of panic you realise just how stuffed you’re going to be when you feel my toes squelch into your stomach lining when only my knees are facing the slick surface of your tongue. So much food lies before you. You want it. You want it all.
I try to raise my hips to help you take them but the pills make it difficult. Instead you push me to arch my back, stacking my shoulders on the bed. You’re surprised to feel that I’m only half-hard but I told you this might be the case, since I know you’re not into men. This man is into you, though, and all evidence of it slides smoothly into your gullet, just more meat for your belly.
My knees are folding nicely in your belly. The stretch in your virginal stomach is beyond description. Not just your stomach but the skin and supporting structures all blossom, providing space for your enormous meal to pack full.
When your jaws close around my chest I shudder. Perhaps I’m finding it harder to breathe. You don’t care, gulping me down with a need in-built since basically as long as you can remember, finally fulfilled.
“Raven,” I say, with a slightly strained voice. Your only answer is to slurp up my collarbones, force my bound arms above my head. You need only sit back, now, and enjoy the waterfall of sustenance pouring into your middle. “Raven, thank you. You’re wonderful. I lo—” Your teeth fall across my upper lip and eat the words I was about to say.
Those words along with my face are funneled between your hard-velvet palate and your constantly-grinding tongue. You see no sign of panic from me until they sluice into your tight throat. My fingers splay out as soon as the slick tube plasters itself across my airways.
I’m almost all inside you now. You suck down my arms, still panicked, until the fingers desperately grip your face. Far, far too late now. You play a fatal game of “this little piggy went to market”, peeling fingers away from your upper lip until the offending hand slides inside. A repeat with the fingers on your lower jaw and one last almighty gulp squeezes three tenacious fingertips through your pharynx and wholly into your digestive system.
Weight. You can’t believe how heavy I am in your belly. You protrude eighteen inches at least. I come to a rest curled up deep inside you, foetal-posed as befits someone waiting to be delivered into a new world.
The world of sucking, squeezing intestines is far ahead of me, though. You know I’m just beginning to burn. And I have absolutely no way of escaping. You’ve done it. A whole entire human life flutters within you, delicate and vulnerable. You’re minutes away from starting to leech away every last good thing from me and adding it to yourself.
“Rey!” comes the muffled call. It’s much fainter than you would expect but the fear comes through over the increasing gut noises.
Your first answer is to unlock your jaw and let it all erupt: ~bwooAAAAaaerpfff~.
“Rey, are you there?”
Where else would you be? “I’m here, pet.” You pat your belly, then begin to dig your fingers into the thin-stretched swell. “Fuck, you feel good in there.”
“I… I’m glad. Rey, it’s really…”
Whatever your stomach really is is obliterated by a surge of gas, followed by a rolling sequence of contractions. You feel me moving beneath the surface, can even see it as my joints try to make space or take advantage of purchase.
“…scared.”
“Don’t be scared. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.” Quietly you allow your fondling hands to work down lower. One remains with the human-sized bulge in your middle; the other wanders lower still. You tense as you touch yourself, fullness making the sensation more intense than any pussy pillow. “Doing exactly what you’re meant to do. Digest for me, pet. Give it all up. Give me everything. Just… keep squirming a little longer…”
Do I know I’m being used as a masturbation aid? I’d probably like that, if I could tear myself away from thoughts of asphyxiation, drowning, crushing, burning terror. As you fuck yourself I battle a frothy, lethal waterline, and strain against a muscular grip that grinds my bones together.
I surely hear you cum. Maybe that brings me comfort. Maybe the second and third time do too. Your second orgasm is brutal, a screaming and struggling belly bringing out a wildness in you that you never thought would see light.
By the third, I can barely be heard over the grinding gurgling chaos of your stomach. I am plaintive, broken. “Please let me go,” I say. “I don’t want you to forget me.”
“Shh, it’s okay, pet. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.” Your stomach contents feel less defined, more yielding when you massage yourself. Is your stomach smaller already? Do you have digesting human being pouring through your gut? Oh, am I already part of your blood? You fight off a post-meal head-rush. “You’re doing exactly what you’re meant to do. Digest for me.”
You lie back, hands forever probing and rediscovering the new terrain of your intense, greedy stomach.
“Let me go… could be like… the kisses…”
“Oh honey, this is just like the kisses.” You discretely belch up my remaining air supply into your fist. “Every night you give me something of yourself. Every morning I consume it. You’ve worked so hard for so long to feed me. It’s really quite sweet.” Your eyelids are becoming heavy. “Now give me everything.”
As you slip into vivid, powerful dreams, I yield everything to you.
Your eyes open in the darkness.