mouthfullofteefers

[mouthfullofteefers]

[mouthfullofteefers]

i??????? sksjsbzvsvshdhsbdb

[mouthfullofteefers]

Do it for the meme. http://blinkingguy.com

[mouthfullofteefers]

Say... you're studying biology, aren't you? Anatomy or something?

I can help you study.

No, no, just trust me. You guys are working on studying the digestive system right now, right? Yes?

Well, then... let me help you. I'll let you study mine. Up close and personal.

No, it'll be safe, I promise!

(Well... it'll be safe for me, but you don't need to know that.)

I guide you in, swallowing quickly and greedily, downing you before you can change your mind. Biology majors are so easy, I mean, seriously. One person offers to help them study and they're all over them in an instant.

This study session though? Well... it's one of a kind.

Hey... here's a little fun fact. Eating food and digestion both feel incredible. There's a connection between the brain and the gut, with eating being known to trigger the release of dopamine. Our gut is also thought to have a lot of nerves running through them, which increases the pleasurable sensations.

You probably already knew that... but I don't care. I need to find a private spot for us to continue our 'study session'... I don't think you'll be getting out anytime soon.

You'll realize your mistake eventually. You'll realize that I never intended to actually help you or let you go. You'll regret the time you spent, tracing the crevices of my stomach with your fingers. You'll spend hours fighting hard, squirming and struggling, but gradually getting weaker as my stomach walls mercilessly grind into you...

Oh, but that's not even the half of it. I have a rather slow metabolism, friend. You know what that means, don't you?

That's right--we're going to spend a long time together~

Hours where you're forced to listen to my voice and the sounds of my body processing you, churning you down into nothing... each new gurgle sounding as my stomach contracts around you... mmm, it'll be so much fun...

For me, at least... not for you.

But you haven't quite figured out the danger you're in yet... so for now, I run my fingers over my distended stomach, occasionally drumming them against the surface, while quiet gurgles and groans begin to emanate from within my gut.

[mouthfullofteefers]

Remember, if you haven't felt the first edible in 5-10 minutes eat two or three more

[mouthfullofteefers]

yall telling me he died getting nailed 

[mouthfullofteefers]

This is the worst timeline. (x)

[mouthfullofteefers]

Sperm whale mimics a spinning diver.

[mouthfullofteefers]

your humorous post has delighted me. i will now absorb it into my dark crystal

[mouthfullofteefers]

Mistakes Happen

Content: vore, accidental digestion, unwilling prey,

Summary: A pred who has bad coping skills

–

The dim light of your living room flickers against the recently cleaned, dark wood floors. It’s late, and you’d intended for tonight to be a bit of fun—for you. Not for your guest. 

You didn’t mean anything malicious by it, you just wanted to prove a point. You look down at your stomach, still flat, knowing that’s about to change. 

Your guest sits nervously on the couch, shifting under your gaze. Your stomach growls in anticipation, as if it could read your thoughts. 

You had lured them into your home under the pretense of dinner. You suspected that they wanted more, and they would get more. But probably not the ‘more’ that they wanted. 

This prey was someone who you didn’t get along with (you didn’t get along with them. They seemed very… attached to you). But for the sake of other people, you need to get over it. And you had your methods. Tonight you were going to give them a good scare. They'd back off after learning what you are.

You had no intention of making this permanent, so to speak. You didn’t like digesting prey anyway. You preferred to trap them in your belly for a little while, feel them struggle for their life, and then let them out. All’s well. 

“Are you hungry?” Your soon-to-be-prey jokes. They heard your stomach too.

“No,” you say, with a grin. And it’s true; you don’t do this out of hunger.

They have a nervous laugh, glancing up at you. "You sure?"

They also notice the look in your eyes, how you’re inching closer, and how your stomach is still growling. Not adept at subtlety. Do they know what’s about to happen? It doesn’t matter-

"Promise." You stretch your mouth, testing. Feeling the familiar sensation as your jaw loosens, preparing for what comes next. 

The whole process is smooth—you’ve done this a lot. Your guest doesn’t put up much resistance, either or you’ve gotten too good at this. You swallow them down, bit by bit, enjoying the slight struggle. You welcome the familiar feeling of satisfaction that surges through you as your belly starts to swell, expanding with their form. When you finally gulp down the last of them, you pat your now round, firm gut. Your skin stretches tight, and you feel every slight movement from inside.

"There we go," you sigh, running your hand over your belly. Your prey squirm and push against the confines of your body. They’re in there, safe—not that they know it.

You settle back into your chair, resting a hand on your full belly, letting out a small, satisfied burp. A part of you feels giddy about it all. You showed them you could do it, that they were nothing but prey if you wanted them to be. But now… now you have to let them back out. You give your stomach a firm rub, feeling it churn beneath your fingers.

"See? Not so bad," you mutter, as your prey seems to realise the environment isn’t so hostile - Their predator has the stomach on a tight leash. There are no acids out and about right now.

Although you can feel your stomach’s eagerness. It wants to digest. Very badly. You feel it sizing up the prey, squeezing it gently, savouring it. You don’t want to tease it for much longer. 

"… guess I’ll let you out now." You say this out loud, but you sit for a moment longer. Basking in the post-meal afterglow. Observing your stomach as it cradles the prey, gentle because it is obedient. Like a dog balancing a treat on its nose. You smile, and give it a good pat. Enough fun for one night- 

Except, as you sit there, the weight of your belly presses down on you. Warmth pooling through you from the meal, your eyelids start to droop. It wasn’t meant to feel this cozy. The way your gut rests on your lap, heavy and comforting, it tugs at your fatigue.

You yawn. Your brain briefly registers that this is a mistake, but your body pulls you toward sleep like the tide. Inevitable, nothing can be done to stop what is about to happen. This outcome may have been sealed the moment you came up with the idea. You lean back, letting your hands come to rest on your stomach, and before you know it, you’re out.

unbeknownst to the unconscious you, your stomach continues to ungulate as the prey squirms. They become increasingly concerned about your unresponsiveness. As your heart rate and breathing slows, the noises from your belly grow louder, and the squirming intensifies. You don’t have as much control over your stomach while you’re asleep.

---

When you wake up, it’s dark. The house is silent, except for soft gurgling noises coming from your midsection. You blink, groggy, the weight of your belly immediately plain to you.

Reflexively, you let out a thick, rumbling belch. That didn’t sound… good. You get the sense that you may have fucked up.

You swallow hard, a slight twinge of dread settling inside your chest as you rub your eyes and look down. 

Your stomach has changed. No longer tight and firm with clear contours of your prey’s figure. It’s soft and heavy, resting against your lap like a large, overstuffed pillow. You blink, pressing a hand to it. It doesn’t push back. There’s no movement. Only softness, warmth, and the unmistakable sound of digestion; deep, slow, and languid, resonating from within.

"God damn it…" you mutter through gritted teeth, pressing both hands to your rounded stomach. You shake it, hoping for a sign, a twitch—anything. But your stomach is eerily calm. Content.

They’re gone.

“Fuck,” you hiss to yourself. You’re a predator; this is what your body does. You know you’re playing with fire when you put your preferred prey inside your predatory stomach.

But you should have control - if only you hadn’t fallen asleep, this wouldn’t have happened. But now… your guest has processed inside of you, and you’re left with the aftermath: a swollen, satisfied gut and a persistent weight of guilt. Condemning the prey to such a fate. And some disappointment in yourself too.

You groan, pushing yourself up to your feet. The weight of your stomach pulls you forward, making each step a little more laboured than usual. This is why you don’t like to let your stomach go all the way. And you don’t like knowing that it got the better of you.

You hate this—feeling heavy, burdened, unable to hide what’s happened. You dread the questions and comments that will be coming your way in the following days.

Padding into the kitchen, you put the kettle on. Tea, to clear your head, and help settle your rebellious stomach. It churns, hard at work, the digestion well underway, but you feel heavy, slow. You grumble under your breath, hands trailing over your large gut with annoyance.

"This wasn’t supposed to happen," you mutter. "I wasn’t hungry."

The kettle whistles, and you pour the hot water into a mug, steeping the tea as you stand there, absently rubbing the swell of your belly. You take a deep breath, calming your nerves, but the weight of what you’ve done (and what you now carry) lingers.

"Great," you mutter, sarcastic, taking a sip of the tea. "Now what?

You can’t exactly reverse what happened. Your body’s already claimed the meal, leaving you with the consequences. The mass in your belly hangs there, undeniable evidence of your mistake. You scowl, irritated that your stomach exploited your nap.

"Not like I can explain this to anyone," you grumble, leaning back against the counter. You take a curious, calculated glance at your jutted out stomach, wondering how you can make this bulge look less suspicious. 

This could land you in serious trouble. You weren’t supposed to digest them—only spook them a little. But this was too far, and you’ll be dragging around this heavy belly for the next few days. It will be comically obvious; You invited this person over for ‘dinner’. You ate them - you digested them. Everyone’s going to think you did it on purpose. That you were so petty that instead of being an adult and getting along, you ate them. Classic move. 

Next time you show your face, you'll be asked if you’ve seen the prey, because didn’t you invite them over? No-one’s seen them since. Concerning, don't you think? - They’ll see your gut, and know exactly what happened. You won’t be able to argue it was an accident. You grimace in embarrassment at the thought. 

“I hope you’re happy, you bastard,” you say, looking down at your stomach. It offers a noisy grumble, perhaps in reply. You feel a flare of affection towards it, which you are quick to squash. You’re still annoyed.

You can get ahead of this. Send a few texts, apologise. Beg them to understand it was an accident - you fell asleep - but you take full responsibility for your actions. It won’t be a perfect fix, but you can do damage control.

There is a lingering smidge of relief in knowing that you won’t have to deal with your prey's antics anymore. They were deep in your gut now, stored away, gone forever. That was a nice thought. But this wasn’t the way to deal with your problems. You cannot let it happen again.

[mouthfullofteefers]

mmm pred that overslept after promising to let their friend out.

They wake up in the morning and discover that their stomach has rounded out perfectly. Meaty glorps and gurgles sound from their stomach as the contents of their meal travel through their body, steadily being absorbed and converted into a layer of padding on the pred's body. They SHOULD feel bad, guilty, but they don't. Instead, they love the comfortable feeling of fullness, and they love how soft, squishy, and pliant their gut is. The most gentle pressure on their stomach brings forth a new cacophony of satisfied gurgles, and sometimes even pushes a thick belch out of their mouth--a belch that still carries the delectable, tender taste of their friend. With the remnants of their meal still pumping through their body, they decide to flop back into bed and go back to sleep. It's impossible NOT to go back to sleep... especially not with the heavy weight of their friend still sloshing about deep in the pits of their stomach.

[mouthfullofteefers]

Sensory overload

[mouthfullofteefers]

I am Musab, and I was severely injured in the war. I need a life-saving surgery that I cannot afford on my own. Every day without treatment brings more pain and uncertainty.

Please, if you can, donate even 25 euros or share my story. Your kindness could make all the difference. 😢😢😢

https://gofund.me/8590ec0b

x

[mouthfullofteefers]

Dear I am contacting you today in the hope that you can offer some form of assistance. [All I need is a small donation of £5 or £10 to help me rebuild one room in my destroyed home and keep my family alive and supported in the difficult circumstances we are living in Gaza.] Any support you can offer, no matter how small, would be greatly appreciated. Thank you for your time and consideration. Sincerely,

x

[mouthfullofteefers]

An observer who loves the idea of choosing prey. Picking you out of a crowd. Imagining it in vivid detail, savouring the idea of you being eaten Watching you struggle, and then, getting you reduced to nothing more than a large, gurgling swell under their hands.

A Digesting lump of food in someone's gut.

playing with the belly bulge, jostling it, watching the preds belly wobble to and fro Pressing an ear to it, the soft tummy, listening to such a full tummy digesting, thick, juicy gurgles. They made you into somebody elses dinner. And that persons dinner is deep in their intestinal tract.

[mouthfullofteefers]

You can barely contain your excitement as you press a hand against your swollen stomach, feeling the weight of them inside you, curled up, waiting.

Your breath is shaky with anticipation, not from effort, but from sheer exhilaration.

"Oh, you have no idea how long I've been waiting for this," you murmur, fingers tracing circles over your gut.

"Not just to eat someone—I’ve done that before—but to really savour it. To, well, you know."

You bite your lip

"To digest."

You dig your fingers into your prey filled stomach possessively

Your stomach lets out a short, excited and contented groan, and you grin, delighted.

"Hear that? It’s already getting to work! God, I can’t believe I get to do this. You—you—are actually inside my stomach right now."

You lean back, pressing your palm against the tight swell of your belly, luxuriating in the sensation.

"I've dreamed about this, you know? The slow, steady breakdown, the way my stomach, kneads you, makes sure every little bit is put to use. It’s so efficient, you know. Every part of you will be absorbed. Appreciated. Cherished."

"I'll leave nothing left, I'll digest everything, even your bones, I promise."

A bubble, and then a belch rises up, unbidden, and you let it out with a satisfied sigh.

"Ohh, yeah. That’s the start of it. You’re already settling in so nicely… can you feel my acids yet? I think I’m gonna be so full for a long time. working on you."

Your belly squirms, and your grin widens.

"This is going to be so much fun." You pat your gut fondly, already looking forward to the beautiful hours ahead.

[mouthfullofteefers]

The Accident

Cw: unwilling prey, semi unwilling pred, digestion implied

At first, it's funny, just a silly accident.

You hadn't meant to swallow them—really, it was just a stupid accident. One second they were...  well it doesnt matter

and the next… well. Reflexes took over.

Now they’re curled up inside you, shifting awkwardly, a littler grossed out, pressing at the walls of your stomach with hesitant hands.

"Wow," they laugh, a little breathless. "This is weird. But, uh, let's figure out how to—"

Then it happens. A ripple, deep in your core. A slow, deliberate knead of muscle, drawing tight around the warm body inside you. The first trickle of heat. the unmistakable prickle of acid leaking out as your stomach prepared to digest. Your breath hitches.

Oh. That feels—

"Shit," you exhale, clutching your middle as your gut tightens again, this time with more purpose. A thick, rolling churn stirs in your belly, massaging the weight inside you.

Your stomach has realised something: there’s prey in it. And it’s considering its options.

There is one most favourable option.

"Uh, hey." Their voice is still light, but there’s an edge to it now. "I felt that. That was—is that digestion?"

You don't answer. You’re too caught up in the sensation. Warmth unfurls in you, something deep and curious and good.

Your gut clutches down, squeezing, squeezing, coaxing the meal inside into something softer, more compliant, something absorbable. You can feel the delicate details of their body against your stomach lining, how the heat and slick pressure intends on shaping them. Deleting the details. Breaking them down into something simplier.

It sends a shiver down your spine. Your hands drift to your belly, pressing, rubbing slow circles against the rounded swell.

The more you knead, the more intricate sensations you discover.

"Dude." There’s real unease in their voice now. A frantic shove from inside you.

"Snap out of it. This is funny and all, but get me out before—"

Your stomach cuts them off, rippling with a hungry, greedy glorp. It clenches down hard, pressing them tighter into its sticky embrace.

You barely stifle a moan at the feeling. Your breath is shaky.

"God, this is—this is really weird, but it feels—"

"Don't say it feels good."

Your hands push deeper into your belly, fingertips kneading, chasing the sensation of their squirming body as your gut gurgles over them.

Each movement makes it better—your stomach is reacting to their struggles, squeezing tighter, rewarding you with a fresh flood of heat.

They’re wriggling more, pushing at your stomach walls, but every motion just stirs up more of that sticky pleasure.

"Okay, no, you have to fight this!" They sound breathless now, the pressure growing heavier on them. "You don’t want to digest me, right?"

You shouldn't. But the weight of them inside you—their body squishing and shifting under your stomach's steady kneading—has you shuddering.

You can't help it; you sink lower, pressing your middle into the bed, letting the pressure sink them deeper into the hot, clenching hold of your gut.

"Ohh…"

The sound slips out before you can stop it. A shaky, drawn-out exhale.

"…Hey," their voice is smaller now, and you can hear the realization creeping into it. "Hey, no, you have to stop this, okay? You can fight it. Just stop—stop kneading your stomach, stop pressing down on me, please—"

Your stomach gurgles in reply, tight and content. You know, with an awful, sinking certainty, that you should be resisting. That you should be fighting against this feeling. This isnt something you can stop. Youve never felt this way before, and its too much for you to handle.

Your breath is coming in shallow, shaky gasps now, your entire body trembling with the sensation blooming deep in your gut. Each clench, each slow ripple of muscle working over the prey inside you, sends another wave of pleasure up your spine, warm and drugging. You have to try, you have to do something, or at least you have to buy some time, to clear your head, before its too late.

But every time you feel your prey - your friend, wriggle inside of you, each flutter against your skin, against your tender insides, it makes it harder to focus on your values.

"D-don't struggle," you whisper, voice thin and wrecked. Your hands tighten over the taut curve of your stomach, rubbing, kneading. "It—it feels too good. You’re just—hah—stimulating me more."

A choked sound from inside you. "Are you kidding me?!"

They kick. Hard.

And it’s ruinous.

The jolt of movement sends your stomach into a frenzy, rippling around them, clutching down with greedy, squeezing pressure. The heat inside you surges, thickening, your gut working faster, kneading them deeper into its clinging folds. Your body reacts, your instincts set off like a tripwire.

You bite back a moan, barely stifling the shaky pleasure that bubbles up in your throat.

"Oh, fuck—" They panic. You can feel it. Their instincts take over, and suddenly they’re thrashing, pressing, pushing against your stomach walls with all their strength.

Your brain flickers a brief realisation of the irony. Yours and your preys instincts acting in perfect discord.

And the overstimulation is delicious. A shudder wracks your frame as you press both hands to your gut, desperate to keep up with the overwhelming sensation.

Your fingers sink into your belly, rubbing deep, coaxing, encouraging—

"Ohhh, that’s—" You bite your lip, barely keeping yourself together. "You're making it worse, you’re just making it—hahh—faster…"

Your stomach glorps, rolling tight waves of muscle over the struggling meal inside. It’s learning about them, molding to them, working them down into something soft and pliant.

And eventually, something liquid, to be pumped further into your digestive tract. Something you deeply look forward to.

"STOP RUBBING YOUR STOMACH!"

You can’t.

Your hips shift as you curl around your gut, pressing down, needing more.

"I—I can’t help it," you gasp, barely able to speak through the sheer, heady sensation.

"I—I'm sorry, I just—it feels so… so good…"

They don't stop squirming, never giving you even a second to try and recover.

Their overwhelming fear, and your overwhelming pleasure means neither of you can stop Your instincts are louder than logic. And unfortunately, your stomach is the only one who knows exactly what to do in this situation.

Your hands circle in quick, desperate motions over your gut, trying to help it digest your friend.

despite yourself—despite your friendship, and the consequences you can barely make out through the fog of euphoria--despite everything—you murmur a quiet, breathless, "I'm sorry."

Then you press your belly deeper, harder into the mattress, and groan as digestion really begins.