prey like marianne
You travel a lot, my dear Crow. And as a young man, or at least as an entity in the body of a young man, you have needs. Some of those needs require even more intimate physical contact than is normally required on even the most liberal dating scene, and preclude the development of long-term, stable relationships.
What I’m trying to say is that you’re on a lot of dating apps, Crow.
Your Bumble buzzes as you walk through the gym airlock-style doors. 24/7 gyms are lifesavers for night owls like you. This one, like most, is deserted at this time of the night.
Well, mostly deserted. A fellow night-owl looks up from her phone and smiles crookedly at you. Seated in the lifting area, scattered dumbbells and the sheen of perspiration on her forehead indicate that she has already been working out.
The Bumble is from her. “where my spotter? how’m I supposed to throw around something heavy?”
She waits a tiny bit longer while you slam a change of clothes in a locker. You’re already dressed for working out. By the time you’re walking towards her she’s down for her next set, dumbbells raised above her then flying out to the sides. There is approximately zero chance that her position—on her back, legs widely parted and leaving you to picture what lies behind stretchy fabric—is accidental.
“Eleven, twelve,” she says, a warning that she can’t talk. You come to her side and watch.
She’s pretty. High brown ponytail, dark eye shadow around hazel eyes. Fit as fuck, in every sense. Conventionally slim but stacked with muscle. A midriff just this side of a six pack lies exposed, showing tanned skin. Her chest is beautifully sculpted in the boob-tube-style gym top but it’s her backside and thighs that really make her stand out. They’re anatomical models. You can see each cut of her quad muscles. She definitely does not skip leg day.
She watches you check her out, not bothered by the attention. She herself sees a man powerfully built, whose body carries what appears to be an oversized belly in the manner of power-lifters, who often develop a chubby look. There is fat there, but functional training has left you with incredible muscle in your core.
“Fifteen, sixteen.” She lets the dumbbells tumble to the ground and sits up on the bench. “Crow?”
“Marianne? It’s good to finally meet you.”
“You too. You’re even hotter than your pictures. ‘Tasche looks less silly.”
“Thank you,” you say with exaggerated formality. “So do you. Spandex is definitely your material.”
“You should know. I saw you checking out the material. So… Do you need to warm up?”
“No.” You stride to the weight station and grab a sensible feeder weight. Fixing her with an over-the-shoulder Look, you say, “I’m always ready.”
It turns out you both have chemistry. It’s not always the case that a good in-text connection leads to a good in-person connection, but you guys have it. In fact you both flirt shamelessly, with an ease that makes it seem like you’ve known one another for months.
She’s good. So stacked with muscle, it is no surprise that she knows her way around a gym. You don’t push yourself too hard but you’re no slouch either and you can feel her checking out your body as you lift.
You’re pretty certain she’s getting hot and bothered. Her voice has got lower, and her flirting is wierdly absent. Half way through a set of dumbbell presses, your back to the bench, your spotter neglects her post to instead brush her hand over the bulge between your legs, rhythmically in time with your lifting.
She stops after three, when you stop prematurely. “Go on,” she says in a commanding tone. “You’ve got five more in this set.”
For the remaining, she slips her hand into your tracksuit bottoms. Her hand around your stiffening cock is warm and exciting. The brush of her skin again you sends tingles up to your belly.
Strangely, the weights don’t weigh anything at all.
“It’s your set,” you say, staring into her eyes and making as if to get up. Marianne pushes you back down by your chest while the other hand continues to play with your dick.
“You’ve got more in you.”
Yes. She’s right. You concentrate on your form and snap off eight presses, fully hard in her hand..
She’s looking at the glass doors in the front of the gym, only access point. No one is coming through. It’s very, very late. You watch her bite her lip and come to a decision.
This wasn’t covered in the gym induction.
She pulls your bottoms and boxers down to reveal your dick, rising high and feeling very exposed in this public space. “Nine,” she prompts to get you to make another press, and then…
At the apex of the push, heat engulfs your cock. The dumbbells waver but don’t fall, even when she sucks, which makes you squirm in place. Being sucked feels like… well, it’s like the blood is rushing down there, and something’s being drawn out of you. A slightly panicky, pleasurable feeling. Makes you want to buck your hips.
She times each stroke into her mouth with your remaining reps. You’re faster but your form goes to pot. Doesn’t matter. Her mouth’s a little furnace and her tongue never stops moving, driving you to growl with the need to go deeper.
“Hold ’em,” she says, meaning the weights.. You do so, though your chest is burning. She’s naked from the waist down, and tearing a tiny packet with her teeth.
The condom rolls over your cock, tight and cool. It quickly becomes a second skin. The heat of her pumping hand translates almost like natural. The sensation is less. But it’s not her hand you want to be in, right now.
She clearly feels the same. For a second you’re treated to the sight of Marianne stretched over you, one foot on the ground and one on the bench, her sharply raised leg displaying a trimmed little bush itself split in readiness.
“Fifth set,” she says breathlessly, then sits down on your cock. Heat, wetness, tightness. The scent of her arousal. The sight of her arching back, angling to rub you where she wants you. The sight of you cock disappearing inside her, then reappearing… It’s enough to drive a man mad. You somehow continue to push metal into the air while she rides you.
She counts you till half way through, when she just says, “fuck it,” and closes her eyes. She goes completely to town, bouncing hard enough her arse thuds audibly on your thighs. You drop the weights and grab her hips. Her eyes roll up to the ceiling and she starts to massage her clit even as her other hand curls and claws on your chest. You let it happen. The pain is hot.
When she cums she at first goes rigid. Then she lets out a series of short, panicked-sounding vocalisations: “oh! oh!” It sharpens your senses. She sounds like prey.
The thought makes you cum. She senses it and rides your pumping cock.
A moment while you both bliss out.
You come to and find her climbing off. She peels away the condom but doesn’t tie it off. After a deep smirk in your direction: “wanna see something naughty?”
Before you can answer she pops the little sac of your cum between her lips and swallows it with a tightening of the corners of her mouth.
“What?” you exclaim.
“I dunno!” she says, flushing bright red.. Her brown ponytail flops forward to cover her eyes when she inclines her head bashfully. “I just love it. Like your little swimmers were all set to find a nice warm egg to snuggle up in. But now they’re inside my stomach instead and I’m going to fizzle them all out.
“I dunno.” She looks back up at you shyly. “Does that make any— wha?!”
You don’t get to hear her question because there has never been a clearer time to impress upon her her place in the food chain. You feel her mouth open and close on the back of your tongue and then swallow her head into your throat. No more speaking for a while.
She’s strong but you’re stronger. With a hand under her naked butt you lift her even as you curl your body downwards. A foot of her slides inside you, stretching out your cheeks and throat. Despite struggling she has no answer to the muscular ripple of your oesophagus.
You bolt her down like a bird with a fish. She swims into your stomach.
For a moment there’s an airy hollow feeling as she keeps away from all walls bar the wet ground and oozing ceiling of your stomach. Then you crack open your jaw and announce with a belch that the world has no more use for Marianne: ~grrraAuuouUUp~. The sensation of hollowness is replaced instantly by a gorgeous feeling of fullness. She struggles so hard when the walls close in on her.
“Let me out! Please! Please, Crow, please!”
You pat your stomach, grown large enough you won’t be able to do much with a barbell until you’ve mulched and absorbed her. You lie back for a moment and just let her tire herself out. Your gut moves of its own accord, frantically but minimally struggling as your abdominal muscles keep everything in place.
When your date quietens down a little, just sobbing, you tuck yourself back into your clothes and rock yourself to your feet. A shriek accompanies the delicious slide of girl flesh within all of your stomach walls as she reacts to the change in orientation.
The gym mirrors reveal your new figure to yourself. Huge, with your shuddering belly resting in two hands. A pitched scream inside you indicates the realisation that she is beginning to be digested. It’s around now that her skin will be inflamed red and the acids will begin flaying her nerve endings everywhere, not just sensitive surfaces. Whatever hell she is experiencing is just a cosy warm feeling for you as your body proceeds to tear her apart for itself.
Still, she was a fun date. And she sounds so terrified in your gut. You decide to have mercy.
In the mirror you change your stance a little, bringing your hips further forward. Abdominal muscles that anchor there flex as you breathe in deep.
Your meal quietens down. Perhaps she senses something is coming.
You exhale sharply and tense your abdominal muscles. Tight. Tighter. Your stomach and it’s unfortunate living contents are squeezed back into place.
Marianne begins to scream again. There is a crunch and the scream goes up in pitch. Still your abdominals tense further. She thrashes about, fruitlessly searching for a way out of the vicelike pressure.
There is none. Her beautiful, strong body is crushed and broken by your own. For a long while the silence is because she cannot speak or move, and then something critical breaks and the silence is because she has passed away inside you. You relax, allowing thick enzyme slop and vengeful walls to complete the job of turning her into soup for your guts.
As you ponder her strange cum-eating fixation it strikes you that, at some point, the very eggs in her ovaries will be infiltrated by seething stomach juices and boil away. Fair’s fair, you suppose.
You finish your workout. Later you’ll be too tired. And Marianne is the best protein shake you’re likely to find in a while. She is pure muscle. She’ll end up laid down in your muscles, including those muscles that killed her. She’ll make you stronger.
Prey like Marianne is what makes you so dangerous to prey like Marianne.