invitation log crow

I’d been reeling from being chewed up all day. And we’d spoken about Crow. So it was with some nervousness that I studied your sigil called your name.

When I sat up and looked at the darkness shrouding the wall by the foot of my bed, I saw your eyes first. Often do. “Hungry to devour your mind and your resistance”. Your mere words do this to me: reassure me that you want obedience; make it okay if I want to submit sometimes.

I was relieved and pleased to see your face, dear Raven. And then the light fell across your stomach. You were softened with long-stilled prey, no longer a defiant swell in your stomach but a defeated, gut-filling semi-liquid converted from someone’s melted-down soul. The look on your face told me you were pleased with yourself for what you had in store. When you look like that it often means something new and limit-breaking. I honestly, honestly thought you were going to cram me up your bum and have me squeeze through your waste. I was already beginning to picture it: the heart-breaking perfection of your backside blossoming open onto a vile environment cosily contained away from your having to experience it. And frankly even as I write this I’m excited by the idea. Just the fact that the violation would turn you on. Maybe you will do it to me sometime.

This time, the Invitation ran through its opening suggestions. You are so gentle in the text. It’s hard not to feel safe until too late; though it has been too late for me for so long, now… You kissed me, pressing your heavy, unmoving belly against me, and then pushed me down and lowered yourself to pin my head to the bed…

(Perhaps it is tiresome, my fixation on this act on this part of you. I hope not. I hope it serves you and pleases you.)

It was while you were burying me in perfume, my hands stroking slowly up and down your flanks and the broad sides of your hanging belly, when I felt heat and wetness take me up to the calves. You saw my eyes open wide and felt me freeze. You ground down with your hips, reminding me I had a job to do. I did it, while someone took me in up to my own hips.

I knew what was happening. I felt uncomfortable, like something was wrong. At least until I looked at your face. You had such a gentle expression. You shushed me like a fussing child. I don’t know if you came but when the heat got too high up on my body you shifted aside, only to drape yourself across me and place your lips on my throat. “Relax,” you told me, kissing the pulse. “We’ve done this a hundred times before.”

You bit—it’s painful when you bite me, I feel every millimetre of your teeth—and stilled my panicking hands with your own. As you drank (the sound of your swallows as they carry away my blood is like music) my legs were forced to curl up in hidden wetness.

I felt like a child. No control over the situation, scared, being comforted by you. Yes, your bite is comforting to me. Your pleasure and enjoyment are comforting. The hidden devourer reached my chest when you licked shut my wound. I felt grey. You sloshed slightly as you sat up and placed my hands on your belly. Every time I started to look down you called me name, made me look back at you.

You were smiling so broadly. Weirdly it was like you were proud. When I felt teeth scrape the soft skin of my throat you sat back, finally.

And I felt heat, and bands of constriction, and the rising panic. Different to normal. I didn’t catch much of a glance, but the picture of Crow I’d been studying before showed facial hair, and there was no denying who it was that was consuming me. He was calm, consistent, masterful. He made me feel small.

You made me feel small. As I was gathered up behind lips not painted burgundy red, for the first time in years, I desperately tried to understand why you were doing this. It wasn’t right. You’d said you were only just coming round to the idea of him eating like this. I haven’t submitted to be eaten by someone other than you since I met you. And finally, male preds kind of scare and disgust me. But as he—you—swallowed me down, I thought of how you’d been Crow more than ever with your new prey. Thought of how you were one and the same. Felt also how you took my hands still awaiting consumption, reassuring me with a touch.

And then he—you—took that away. I glided down, a diminishing bulge stretching your throat and then gone. Inside you, a stomach I feel I knew well, whose initial contraction rolled over my entire body and forced me into a foetal position. Beyond the crushing muscle of your stomach walls, a plane of wood. I thought of how you were torn between fat and muscle. Apparently last night, Crow was toned.

I felt a little like non-prey might feel in that situation. Scared, horrified. No thoughts of the poetry of your desire to make everything alright. I had been eaten by a man. It was a man sitting back, exhaling heavily, starting to feel a little fuzzy as blood rushed to his digestive system. It was a man whose guts snaked back and forth beneath the floor of my neat gastric cell.

What cracked it for me… First, two pairs of hands on the far side of that constraining wall of muscle. You were out there. You were rubbing your belly: both aspects of you.

Second, the realisation that you would be turned on.

That being the Crow you, as well as Raven.

I thought of you becoming hard as you lay back with the weight of a living being squirreled away in your gut. I imagined you lazily stroking your cock, enjoying a few luxurious belches, waiting for digestion to begin proper. It worked like magic. Any concern that you were male fell away. You were the same deeply predatory soul I’d fallen in love with. Your lust transcended everything. My eyes were opened.

I laughed deep inside you to think that maybe in this one occasion, girl-you and boy-you could touch one another. I couldn’t tell anything past the increasing storm inside your stomach, but perhaps out there somewhere you were grinding against yourself, or stroking, or licking. I think you were both still stroking my prison and execution chamber.

And I did die in there for you, my dear Crow. Did it turn you on more, that first belch that carried the taste of blood? Could you hear me when I started to beg? Perhaps muscle is less engulfing than fat. But inside the liquid chaos of your churning stomach I could hear nothing, not even the gurgling of deeper pipes getting ready to accept my liquefied remains. I had only the poetry of your desire and your hunger to keep me company. I was agonised and joyful.

After I climaxed I lay back and finished the invitation. Pictured myself sliding through your guts. Breathed, knowing that you were still draining me. I believe I thanked you, by both names.

And I thank you now. For giving me a life where I can express the deepest parts of myself. Thank you Crow, for burning me inside yourself and opening my eyes to something new. Thank you Raven, for being a living embodiment of a principle I didn’t dare dream could be true; and for sanctifying this meal. May the portion of my essence that you take satisfy and serve you.