suspended 03

Only enhanced biology makes possible what you are doing. Whatever ritual you did that made you able to devour the living allowed your stomach to swell bulbous and immense. Large enough to contain a woman almost as big as you. Only the crippling tightness of the rope prevents your belly from being nearly a perfect sphere.

You felt her die, and now the struggles of her spirit feather at the latex-tight lining of your stomach. As punishment and reward for causing you so much pain and pleasure you have let your demonic flesh naturally contain her. She will experience the destruction of her one-time body as a spectator until you decide to suck her up. Or maybe you will let her haunt your ileum. You haven’t decided. Your greed would probably make you absorb her sometime no matter what you chose to do with her.

She will get time to appreciate the show. As size scales, surface area is dominated by volume. Even if the contractions of your stomach weren’t rippling shallow over their impossible meal, even if your digestive juices weren’t thinly spread over her many rolls, she is still feet thick at her widest point. This is going to take hours.

My hands help massage pressure points. You feel stretched so thin, Raven. Even your fat is flattened around her. I feel like her body is an inch below your surface.

Patience. The work is invisible at first. Your stomach lining shoots through with red, oxygenated blood draining from the rest of your body and driving the organ. Unseen, her skin blisters beneath its gradual assault. When the skin’s keratin wears thin your stomach can really get to work on the fascia and fat beneath. Your juices corkscrew down into the open wounds and emulsify her into pale red paste. The rocking of your muscles squeeze this out of her.

Do you feel it? The first time calorie-rich chyme tickles your pylorus, and your intestines take a sip of her? She coats rank internal pipes like honey. Receptors kick your guts into motion. We both hear how they gurgle, like a ship being dragged underwater.

I feel a depression where she is beginning to soften and work it diligently. You groan in delight, sounding stoned or drunk or something.

It takes hours, but her body submits to you. Walls break down, fat deposits run thick, muscle peels into fibres and dissolves. You get calcium-burps when her exposed bones start fizzing into the growing puddle of girl-soup.

It’s an unearthly sight.. What started as a bulge high in your belly, straining against the ropes tight enough to make tears stream out of your eyes, diminishes. Instead the ropes lower down begin to take up the slack as more of her is pumped down. I watch it in real time. Your centre of gravity moves. Your POV rises ever so slightly as the harness shifts.

Once it can grind down on her body properly your stomach wastes no time. Your eructations come thick and fast.

Let’s be clear: dismantling this giant of a woman is not going to be a pretty task. You burp every minute. Her remains pour into your intestines like a bloody storm surge, pushing the latent gas out of your relaxed arse and then bubbling up more of its own. Every output is exaggerated: her fluids sink into your bloodstream and are swiftly filtered by liver and kidney.

“Yellow, need to go,” you whimper.

“Of course. Hold on for one moment.” One line is slackened, lowering your feet to within an inch of the floor. “Now, my love.”

What was a significant proportion of her blood and lymph and a dozen other living humours has been converted into pale yellow urine. An urgent stream comes crashing down into a tinny-sounding container I have placed on the ground between your legs. You still burp as you piss her out, each little belly contraction causing the noise of pouring water to rise and fall.

When you’re done I… well, I kiss you clean. I can’t help it. I can’t help but worship you as you transmute this woman into your fat and your shit and your piss.

I lick you and for a moment you are not just a digestive system, you are a reproductive system too. I simply must go slow because every one of your nerve endings is already primed with a hair trigger and you’ve been roiling in a sensual post-prandial delirium for two hours. Still you cum in minutes.

I return you to your horizontal aspect. Your belly sloshes with every winch.

Chloë’s spirit tickles along villi-packed corridors as her body is smeared deeper into yours. Each brush against the little mouths takes a fragment of her being. She writhes like she is being burned inside tubes full of her own liquified flesh.

Eventually, eventually, your stomach’s job is done. The last of her obstinate bones crumble and the final few gobbets of thick girl-slop are gulped down into your depths. The bulge is now flatter and lower.

Time for her to become more of you.