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bannanasrus · 6 months ago

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Halloween Special (Blake and Cecil)

I really wanted to do a Halloween Special with these two idiots so here we are, Blake and Cecil go to a Halloween party and spooky vore related shenanigans (as well as really over the top silliness) occur

Contains M/M safe vore, belching, body worship, belly worship, silliness ect. Mention of M/M fatal vore

“Blake” called Cecil from the bathroom as he fixed his cape around his bulging shoulder “We need to leave, soonish”

“I’ll follow on after you” called Blake from their bedroom “I just need to put some finishing touches on my costume”

“Are you sure you’ll be ok making your own way down there”

“I’m perfectly sure” replied Blake “I’m more worried about you catching a cold in your costume”

“I’ll be fine” Cecil replied flexing his biceps in the mirror, hell yeah he was big, bigger than he had been before, he placed a hand on his thickened abs, Blake had knocked some assholes out who’d been bothering him on his way home from work and proceeded to feed them to Cecil. Blake had then sat on his lap and rubbed his distended gut until they were sludge being pumped around his body to make him even more huge. Blake was so very, very into his boyfriends size and his boyfriends muscles, in fact when he saw the costume that Cecil had decided on for the party (Hercules), Cecil could not help but see the slight look of what might have been termed pre-emptive jealousy, in his eyes. Sure the Hercules costume didn’t exactly leave much to the imagination, but Blake didn’t need to be jealous.

“If you’re sure… I’ll see you later, at Elsie’s”

“Make sure you get there safe - Love you”

“Love you too” Blake called back, the fondness in his voice setting Cecil back at ease.

He arrived at Elsie’s House which sat in the shadow of a large and ornate building. Her house was surprisingly cheap to buy, largely owing to rumours of it being haunted. Elsie, had immediately jumped on it, and to be perfectly honest the ghosts would need to be a bit more worried about Elsie than Elsie needing to be worried about them.

Cecil went up to the door and pulled on the chain, there was the sounds of feet and Elsie opened the door “Cecil Darling” she said as Cecil pulled her into a hug

“How are you” he asked

“I’m good I’m good, halloween’s my favourite time of year you know” she said cheerily. Unsurprising Cecil thought to himself - Elsie always loved the weird and wonderful - she was also a literal witch so that definitely contributed to it. No one had anything to fear from Elsie, unless they provoked her, or happened to be low flying aircraft. If Elsie’s boyfriend wasn’t already un-dead he might possibly end up dying again from the sheer panic of how terrible she was at flying her broomstick. “And how about you” she asked “and where’s your cute little cat” she said looking over Cecil’s shoulder

“I’m great” said Cecil “and I’m assuming you’re talking about Blake - he said he’d follow along”

“Well I hope he makes it here safely” said Elsie as she lead Cecil down the hallway and into the main room “Oh and we’re having some entertainment later”

“oh what kind”

“Oh well I can’t spoil it, but it’ll be great fun” said Elsie

Cecil circulated round the couples and singletons alike at the party, there was a fairly good mix some from the university some from the gym - still in gym clothes - his attention was however drawn by the elderly lady in the corner of the drawing room.

Done up like every stereotypical fortune teller, bangles dripping from her wrists, her hair curly and grey, covered by a long veil, shawls, long and flowing draped around her arms. She looked, Cecil felt like she belonged in a novel, or on a stage, but here she was in front of him reading fortunes of those who came by her table.

“Cecil” came her voice

“Sorry” he said “wait how do you know my name”

“I know everything” she said as he approached her. “It is my business to know” she gestured to her tarot cards and her crystal ball “for instance, you have a boyfriend named Blake, who works in Wrightman and associates and Wrightman - don’t forget about Wrightman”

“How on earth do you know that” said Blake

“Like I say it’s my business to know, but in this case I must claim that I would be predisposed to have such information”

“How?”

“I used to work at Wrightman and Associates and Wrightman don’t forget about Wrightman”

“It is a bit of a mouthful” said Cecil

“It is”

“Any idea why it’s called that”

“I think it was a typo” said the fortune teller

“Can you tell that from your crystal ball” asked Cecil

The fortune teller passed her hands across the object it question

“It was” she replied

“Ha” said Cecil as he sat opposite the fortune teller he noted that her eyes studied him scrupulously

“Do you not hold true the art of Scrying?” She asked

“Well” said Cecil “I suppose that I can be persuaded, though I hardly think it is possible to gaze into a crystal ball and see the future, like it’s a movie”

“Perhaps, but it is not to see the future as a movie that I scry, rather-more it is to see what possibly might happen”

“Do you mean you can see possibly futures?”asked Cecil

“I divine information from a variety of sources, take the rune stones when one is found face up the meaning of that stone takes its course, when found lying reversed…”

“the reverse occurs”

“Yes, perhaps, or perhaps the wrong question was asked”

“Forgive me but this seems to obfuscate the truth”

“which is what”

“That you seem to be a very observant woman who observes everything about someone before spookily telling them their fortune, in a sense you are a fortune teller who can see into the future and devine information but, I can’t see you doing it through supernatural means.”

“Indeed, well I do pride myself upon observation. But how about I tell you some things that I couldn’t possibly know”

“For instance?”

“The fact that you are concerned - mildly, for you know he has no reason to be - that your boyfriend is a bit jealous of you walking around in such a revealing outfit. He also might well be a little, though he knows equally that your heart and his heart are in each-others hands - and yes, I do see that he might…”

“How on earth do you know that” asked Cecil, “are you Martha?” He said very confused

“No my dear, Martha Oldcapple is a very sceptical person” said the fortune teller, “and in any case, how would Martha Oldcapple know about you fearing Blake was a bit jealous?”

He moved backwards as the Fortune Teller continued “Nothing escapes the Great Griselda” said Griselda spreading her arms wide “she sees all she knows all” she smiled in a grandmotherly fashion “would you like me to read your tea leaves dear?”

Somewhat later Elsie had dragged Cecil from a conversation he’d been having, to bring him to a back room of the house. The room had been turned into a temporary intimate theatre, staging had been set up and various mismatched chairs had been pulled to face the stage.

“I take it this is tonight’s entertainment?” Asked Cecil

“Yes” said Elsie cheerfully as more people filed into the room

“Is it everyone at the party?” Asked Cecil

“Not quite” said Elsie

“Huh”

“Oh just wait and see” said Elsie skipping away

The lights in the room dimmed and Cecil looked up at the makeshift stage as on to it came a number of people dressed in costumes, all were fairly skimpy, they danced honestly quite excellently and Cecil was enjoying himself until he suddenly realised that he hadn’t seen Blake since he left their flat. Blake was supposed to meet him here wasn’t he?

He looked back up on the stage as a third figure entered, small slight and wearing cat ears and a cat tail. Dark haired and grinning.

It was Blake, the feline in him being exemplified by his movements and of course the Cheshire Cat smile he had on his face, he blew kisses to the audience stopping at Cecil to give him a wink.

Oh you little brat thought Cecil to himself grinning genuinely impressed at Blake’s makeup and costume skills.

“Hello all you big handsome Gentlemen and Big Beautiful Ladies” called Blake from the stage, for being small Blake had a voice that carried “This man really wants a place to spend the night of all hallows eve in, after all tonight is when the spooks come out, and I don’t mind telling you, I’m scared to death!” He made an exaggerated gesture to raucous laughter.

“But I am not choosing just anybody” he said smiling “Whoever I chose needs to be able to be my hero”

A piano began to play in the corner of the room, as Cecil turned to look it was played by Elsie

“Where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods” began Blake dramatically passing his hand through his hair as he said the Hercules he winked at Cecil

Is he dancing in heels thought cecil as he realised the couple of inches of heel Blake had on his boot, he also noticed with some mild jealousy that Blake was flirting playfully through the song with a slender man with Sandy hair in the front row dressed in Ripped jeans as a cowboy. Then with a Bulky Man in the back row with Red hair dressed as some random horror movie character Cecil was pretty sure, he hated horror movies, but besides that, both looked like they wanted to devour Blake then and there and were practically out of their seats. Blake turned on the second “Larger than life” looking directly at Cecil and grinning again, challengingly Oh thought Cecil to himself that’s his game is it? Well if he wants to play the flirt to make me jealous, he’s got me jealous.

Cecil rose from his seat even as the two other men did the same hurrying to the base of the stage, he had no idea what was in his mind but whatever it was it excited Blake as he only continued to get more and more dramatic and flirtatious as the song, fabulously sung, came to its finale. As Blake delivered the Final “I need a hero” a few things happened number one the ginger man and the Sandy haired man both practically leapt for Blake and Blake who had done a spin on his last line overbalanced and toppled off the stage, right as Cecil stuck out his arms and caught him.

Blake breathed s steady sigh of relief and then, looking up into Cecil’s face brushed his hand along his jaw and smirked.

“Ladies and Gentlemen I hope you are good losers cause this man, this gorgeous hunk just won the right to eat me up tonight”

“Hey” said the Sandy Haired man “that’s not fair”

“Not it’s not” grumbled the red-head

“And I thought you were a primadona” said Blake

“Watch your tone Prey” snarled the Sandy Haired man

“Or what” said Blake smiling

He didn’t wait for an answer lunging for Blake instead, for his trouble Cecil promptly kicked him in the groin The red-headed man possibly sensing that he maybe shouldn’t be bothering either of them scarpered.

Blake and Cecil then headed out of the room Blake smiling gently up at Cecil the whole time. His cuteness and feline qualities only being exacerbated by his costume.

That soon changed into a frown when both became aware of the sight of a small man dressed in a tight fitting all black costume who stomped up to them and scowled up at Cecil

“Oh so you’re here with your boy-toy” he said glaring daggers at Blake though his question was addressed to Cecil

“Oh for goodness sake” groaned Blake hating the antics of Cecil’s Ex

“What do you want Beau” asked Cecil

“My name is Jett” snapped Jett

“Of course it is”

“Did you forget my name?”

“Well you wanted to be treated as food and food doesn’t need a name” replied Cecil, this might have been intimidating for someone who was normal but I am sure you’ve gathered that Jett wasn’t really normal

“Hmmmmph, I’m sure that he wants to stay with you outside your gut”

“Yes, but he also doesn't mind spending time inside it”

“Argh” snapped the angry little man again “I don’t get it, I would have been the perfect protein meal why did you never eat me?”

“Because against all conceivable logic I cared for you, even now I wouldn’t do that to you, I don’t eat friends or Boyfriends unless they ask me to”

Possibly out of frustration Jett made a swing at Blake who smirking swung back knocking into Jett’s jaw.

“That’s enough” came Elsie’s voice

“Come on you’ve had your fun” said Ezra Elsie’s Undead boyfriend who carried Jett out of the front door of the house

“I apologise for any Trouble Elsie” said Cecil

“No need to apologise” said Elsie smiling “I’m just Glad that the Plan worked out”

“What plan?”

“That little show, Blake wanted to do it for you as well as the little competition for who would eat him up tonight”

“Kind of an unfair one since I already decided the winner” said Blake

“Top of the stairs on the left down to the bottom of the corridor,” said Elsie

“Is what” asked Cecil

“Your room for the night silly” she said smiling

“Thank you, thank you so much, but-”

“No need to thank me” said Elsie “just enjoy yourself, its a nice and quiet room”

The two of them got up to the room and sat on the bed. Blake sat in Cecil’s lap.

“Blake”

“Yes Darling” said Blake

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Fire away”

“Were you jealous”

“Jealous of you having your muscles out for all the world to see”

“Yes I suppose I was a bit worried and then the great Griselda told me you might be Jealous”

“I don’t know who she is” said Blake “I suppose I’m not so much jealous as a bit possessive, I know I don’t have to worry but like, whenever I see you talk to Prey guys, I suppose I feel a bit like you do when I’m around Preds, like you’re mine stay right beside me”

“I guess I was quite jealous when you were flirting with those guys”

“I know, but I also know I don’t have a reason to be jealous whenever you spend time around other prey guys,” he smiled again “Besides I get to touch kiss and worship your muscles and they don’t get to do all that and don’t worry about me flirting with preds, I’m all yourst”

Cecil gently bit on Blake’s ear “Mmmm all mine”

“Oh yes, you were going to be getting your rewards for being my hero” said Blake grinning “Well first things first I and you have to get out of these clothes”

Quickly they began throwing off their clothes it didn’t take much for Cecil to get down to his underwear but for Blake it took a bit longer and thus he gave Cecil a bit of a show as he stripped off his top and moved to his high heeled boots.

“I gotta say” said Cecil as Blake deliberately turned round to show his ass to him “Those boots make your ass look fantastic”

“You really are a gem” said Blake

“You danced fantastically in them” said Cecil grinning

“Thank you” Said Blake “Though would you believe it, I nearly fell over multiple times when I first put them on!”

“I am not surprised” said Cecil “Though knowing how clumsy I am I would have fallen over even more”.

Blake fell atop of Cecil (deliberately this time) running his hands all over Cecil’s massive body. “You are so hot” he said massaging Cecil’s pecs and his Biceps

“It’s all for you to admire” groaned Cecil as Blakes hands gripped his thighs and quickly kissed his way down his torso

Cecil for his part also felt up his meal who was groaning at the feeling of his hands everywhere on his frame and eventually they broke appart.

“You are still sure you want to do this tonight?” asked Cecil

“As long as I get let out yes” said Blake kissing him

“Good” and then Blake became engulfed by his massive boyfriend whose Jaws opened wide to swallow his Boyfriends slender form down his gullet and into his stomach, a safe spot to spend the night.

“OUUUUUURRRRRRRRP” Belched Cecil feeling the meal he had consumed settling into his gut

His distended belly left him beached on the bed, but it wasn’t like his other meals and another massive “UUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRP” erupted from him. As with every time he ate Blake, it was a different feeling of being stretched out, this time it was a glutenous sated fullness. Blake curled in his bed for the night and Yawned

“Good night”

“Good-UUURRRRRP -night” belched Cecil rubbing his distended gut with both hands “You always fill me OURRRRRRRRRRRRPP - out so URRRRRRRRRRRRRP” well

His massive gut was gently massaging it’s guest for the night, not in the way in which it might normally have done for any of his other meals that were being sent on a one way trip, but rather gently and carefully. Blake was willing Prey, but more importantly, Cecil adored him and his body knew to be gentle and caring with this Prey in particular.

Cecil Lay back letting Sleep overtake him “Sleep URRRRRRRRRRP well my favourite meal” he said to his stomach. “OUURRRRRRRRRP, let my BOOOOOOOOOOOURRRRRRRRRRRP belly take goood URRRRRRRRP” care of you

“I love you Cecil” murmured Blake Quietly pressing a hand to the stomach wall

“I love you too Blake” said Cecil hiccupping and burping slightly.

Epilogue.

After rising in the morning and regurgitating Blake. Cecil and Blake went to Elsie to see if there was anything they could do to help her tidy up.

“You are very kind, but you need not worry” said Elsie “I’ve got everything under Control”

“I feel kind of bad, though said Cecil, like I’ve taken advantage of your hospitality”

“Good Gracious no, Blake provided the entertainment last night, and he wouldn’t have done that without you, and you helped rid the house of some very annoying house guests - so you absolutely are fine”

“Well I should probably go and thank the Great Griselda she was a very interesting lady and I wanted to talk to her again”

“The great Griselda?” asked Elsie confused

“Yes she did fortune telling last night” said Cecil “She had a Crystal ball and all”

“The only person who told fortunes last night was my Cousin Effie” said Elsie

“But she was there” said Cecil pointing to where her booth was to find no booth or even someone taking down a booth, but merely some glitter on the floor and a note written on blue paper he read it.

Many thanks for an interesting conversation, you have something special with your boyfriend. Treat him well and good things will come to you. You’re a lovely young man with a good kind heart so I know it won’t be hard, oh and say to Elsie thank you for the space to perform again and remind her to visit her aunty in Much Benning

The Great Griselda.

“How mysterious” said Blake

“I suppose we all have a fairy godmother” Said Elsie Dreamily

“A fairy godmother - she was a fortune teller”

“Yes but I mean someone who looks out for us” said Elsie “It’s a nice thought isn’t it”

“I hope to meet her again and I can introduce Blake to her” said Cecil

“Perhaps you will have to wait until next Halloween” said Elsie smiling

“Or it could be sooner than you think” said Blake smiling up at his boyfriend

“Who knows” Murmured Griselda to herself as she watched the two men hug their friend and her boyfriend before heading off “One things for sure, that’s a couple that’s staying together, I don’t need my crystal ball to tell me that!” she laughed and then vanished in a puff of smoke.

I wish you a spooky happy Halloween may all your nights escapades go off safely and fun-ly and I will see you with another tale at some point in the future xxx

#male pred #vore belly #same size vore #vore writing #m/m vore #safe vore #male prey #soft vore #Blake and Cecil

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mmmleckerlecker · 2 years ago

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Snack Number Fourteen

Happy vore day 2023! Please enjoy this EXTREMELY self indulgent fic that’s been cooking in my brain for quite awhile now…

Summary: The predator had always prided himself on his self-control. And he really does like to make things last. Just another night with him and his (fourteenth) favorite snack.

Contents: m/m, cruel pred, willing pred, unwilling prey, non-fatal, pre-vore, partial digestion, post-vore (aka the main focus), regurgitation, I imagined a size-difference while writing but it’s never really specified

Wordcount: 5,301

* * * * * * * * * *

The predator came home that evening feeling exhausted. And absolutely starving.

He wished he could say that his work had ended once he’d left the office just a half hour ago, but he’d be lying. He knew very well that there was an extensive pile of paperwork just waiting for him on his desk at home. It really was going to be a long night.

Ah, well, no rest for the wicked and all that.

The predator did, fortunately, have at least one thing to look forward to that night, and he was very much looking forward to it. He could barely contain his excitement, nearly bouncing on his toes in a very un-predator-like fashion. But it had been so, so long. He could forgive himself this once for his lack of self-control.

And so the predator bounced his way upstairs, right to the locked doorway at the end of the hall. He pulled out a tiny silver key, slid it into the lock, and turned.

“Good evening, my little snack,” he said with a grin, flicking on the light of the now unlocked room. “You’re looking exceptionally… recovered tonight.”

The boy— fresh out of college, still so strong and vibrant— let out a groan.

“Please,” he begged as he squeezed himself into the farthest corner. “Not again. Please… just a little longer.”

The predator entered the room and smiled in a way which he considered warm and affectionate. Unfortunately, he must not have gotten it quite right because the closer he got, the more the boy only shrank and shivered away.

“Now, now,” the predator chided, crouching down in front of the boy. “It’s been weeks since last time. We’re more than overdue.” He reached out, ignoring the way his snack flinched away, and ran his fingers over the boy’s cheek. The flesh was riddled with burn scars but otherwise healthy. “See? You’ve already healed up.”

The boy didn’t answer. The predator tried smiling again, making sure to show all his teeth.

The boy had been living in this room for months now, which was a good deal longer than many of his predecessors. The predator had no inkling of the boy’s name, all he knew was that he was Number Fourteen. He didn’t really have any desire to learn the boy’s name either. To the predator, he was just another snack. The fourteenth snack, to be precise.

You see, the predator was a master of control, and whenever he found something he really liked, he liked to drag it out for as long as possible. When he was a boy, he once bought a lollipop that he enjoyed so much, he made it last for seven and one-quarter years. Every night like clockwork, he would take precisely one lick of the candy. No more, no less. Just enough to indulge in its sugary sweet flavor. And then he would carefully wrap it and put it away for the next day. He’d prided himself on his patience and pacing, even then.

Years later and the only thing that had changed were his tastes. Now his snacks were a bit more… complex.

“You’ll need to eat first, of course,” the predator continued to his snack. “And drink. We can’t have you getting de-hydrated now, can we?”

The boy was already shaking his head, but the predator didn’t pay him any mind. He knew what was best for his snack, what measures to take to make them last the longest. He’d gone through many trials and errors.

“Come now.”

The boy didn’t resist when the predator hoisted him to his feet. He’d given up fighting long ago. The predator led his snack down the hall, down the stairs, and into the dining room, where he bade him sit at the table. The boy obeyed, his scarred face looking utterly despondent.

“What do you say?” the predator asked as he opened one of the kitchen cabinets. “Beef stew for dinner? That is one of your favorites, isn’t it?”

This, of course, was a little inside joke between the two of them. Beef stew was the only thing the boy ever got for dinner. For some reason though, he didn’t seem to find this joke very funny. The predator let out a wistful sigh. Snack Number Thirteen would have laughed. Or at least offered one of the witheringly sarcastic remarks that he so loved. Even after all these months, the predator missed their heated banter.

The predator didn’t wait for an answer from his current snack before pulling one of the many cans of beef stew off the shelf. He poured it into a bowl, then very kindly heated it up in the microwave. He put the bowl and a cup of ice water on the table before the boy. The ice water was actually a special treat for tonight. Usually he only got room temperature water.

“Go on then,” the predator urged as he took the seat across from his snack. “Eat up!”

Ever so painfully slowly, the boy began to eat. The predator watched with keen interest. Every bite of food, every sip of water, every contraction of those beautiful throat muscles, just made him all the more hungry. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the table. Snack Number Fourteen shifted the spoon in his hand and cleared his throat.

“You don’t have to watch me eat,” he mumbled, eyes firmly locked on his half-empty bowl.

“Oh, but I very much do,” the predator told him, resting his chin in his hand. “I need to make sure you eat everything. And I need to know exactly when you’re done and ready. And besides that… I do enjoy watching my snacks feed themselves.”

The boy’s fingers squeezed at the handle of his spoon before he took one more deliberate bite.

Number Six had been a slow eater too. Even slower than Number Fourteen, surprisingly. She seemed to think she could put off the inevitable if she ate at the pace of a turtle in slow motion. The predator had always found that amusing. He had the patience of a saint, and a bowl of stew could only be stretched out for so long.

The predator smiled lazily at the memory. This seemed to unnerve his snack who happened to glance up at that moment. With a small intake of breath, the boy began scooping his stew with a bit more purpose than before.

In a few more minutes, the only thing he had left were a few last swallows of water. The predator watched, nearly quivering with anticipation. The last drops of water rolled so, so slowly past the boy’s lips. He swallowed. He set his glass down.

The predator lunged, unable to wait any longer. In the blink of an eye, he had the boy by his shirt and was yanking him across the table. Silverware, cup, and bowl were knocked carelessly to the side. The chair toppled backward as the boy kicked his feet, struggling fruitlessly as he was dragged across the table.

Snack Number Fourteen only managed a small cry of surprise before he was cut off by his head being shoved unceremoniously into the predator’s mouth.

The predator’s eyes fluttered shut and he let out a little moan of contentment. The first taste was always the best part, in his opinion. He took his first swallow, felt the way his throat stretched, and then had second thoughts on that opinion. Actually, he thought, it was the first swallow that was the best part. His fingers curled into the boy’s shirt, clinging to him and pulling him in further.

Ignoring the way his snack groped blinding at his face, the predator took another swallow. The boy’s shoulders stretched his throat even more and gave the added bonus on impeding his snack’s assault.

The predator considered the possibility of the second swallow being the best part.

He continued this reassessment after each greedy gulp. The third one began stretching his ribs apart in a sickeningly satisfying way. The fourth one saw him halfway through, right at the boy’s hips. It was at this point, Snack Number Fourteen’s head finally entered the predator’s stomach and the predator let out an involuntary shiver. He was sure now that the fourth swallow had to be the best part. Nothing could surpass this feeling.

But then he took his fifth swallow and he was forced to scoot his chair backwards, away from the table, to make room for his now rapidly expanding middle. His sixth swallow had his stomach stretching so much, he really didn’t think it could get any better than this, but then he was only at his snack’s knees! A seventh swallow and only the boy’s toes remained out in the open.

The predator touched a delicate hand to his throat so he could feel the last of his snack sliding down. He took his eighth swallow and closed his mouth as Snack Number Fourteen disappeared fully behind his lips. The last of the boy went smoothly down his throat, and the predator winced as his belly was stretched to maximum capacity. He even winced as it pressed painfully into the table he’d so politely just pushed himself away from.

Somewhat annoyed, he took another difficult scoot backwards, freeing himself from the confines of the table edge. Once a safe distance from the table, he allowed himself to relax in his chair. His eyes fell shut and his hands wandered quite greedily to the now healthy curve of his belly. A deep contentment spread through him as his fingers searched out the shape of his snack.

The boy, for his part, was shifting and stretching within, most likely trying to find the closest approximation to a comfortable position. Somehow the predator doubted there were many such positions in there, but really that was none of his concern. For his part, he was in heaven. And there was only one thing that could make it better.

With a dreamy sigh, he gave in and let his stomach come to life with the beginnings of digestion.

A wave of pleasure crashed over the predator, easing away the stress of his work day and making all that paperwork seem like a distant memory. If he could live in one moment forever, it would be this one. Full, warm, carefree. Even his snack could barely keep still. Although, it was doubtful from any kind of pleasure. More likely it would be the discomfort that came from slowly being digested alive.

He’d be perfectly safe however. Maybe a little worse for wear, but he’d come back up in one piece when the predator was through with him. Probably. You see, this is where the predator’s superior self control came in handy. His snacks were just too good to finish off altogether, so he’d learned just how much to slow his digestion and just how long they could last under those conditions. The boy was his lollipop, and once the predator had indulged in his single taste, he’d put him back in his wrapper for next time.

After several minutes of lounging comfortably and gently kneading his stomach into submission, the predator decided he’d stalled long enough. There was a pile of paperwork with his name on it just waiting for him.

But as he sat upright, the chair squeaking in protest, he realized just how sleepy his snack had made him. And though he fought so very valiantly to convince himself that work was more important, the need for sleep won out. He deserved a little nap, didn’t he? He’d been working terribly hard lately. Of course he deserved it.

So with the resolution that it would only be a very short nap, the predator hefted himself to his feet and slowly made his way to the bedroom. The journey was made somewhat difficult by the suddenly very lively weight in his middle, scrambling for purchase with each step, but the predator fought through such tribulations with barely a moan of protest.

The softness of his bed called to him and he fell into it without hesitation. He felt his snack pushing back as it was unceremoniously pinned between his weight and the bed, but the sleep now overtaking the predator left him quite unbothered by his snack’s inconvenient location.

As his eyes fell shut, the predator double checked that he had his stomach under control and promised himself once more that this nap would only last a short while.

And then he knew no more.

* * * * * * * * * *

When the predator awoke, he found himself unusually groggy. He blinked and yawned in the half-light of his room, wondering why he didn’t feel his usual peppy self after a good, hearty nap. It wasn’t until he tried to sit up and found himself impeded by the weight in his middle that he remembered what was going on.

He checked the time and was aghast at how late it was. Internally, he scolded himself for being so careless. Where was his usual sense of self control? Not only that, but he was further worried by how unusually still the weight in his stomach was.

He grimaced as he looked down at the curve of his belly. He liked to pretend his snacks were lollipops that would last ages if he was careful enough— one little taste at a time, but sometimes they felt more like a piece of gum— chew it up and spit it out ad nauseam, but grow too careless and you could swallow it, make it gone for good after just one tiny mistake.

If he wanted to get technical, he could say that this was how he’d lost most, or rather all, his previous snacks. He’d get distracted just one time for a little too long and his stomach had its way with them. Tragic, really. So many snacks gone too soon when they still had so much to offer.

“Hello, in there?” the predator called as he poked at his engorged tummy. He felt some small hope in finding whatever was inside to still be relatively solid. “Are you still kicking in there, Number Fourteen?”

The predator jumped in surprise when he received what felt like a kick to his stomach walls.

“Oh!” he said as a second kick (for good measure, he assumed) struck another uncomfortable blow. “I thought I’d finished you off in my sleep!” he told his snack in excitement. “But you’re doing surprisingly well in there, it seems. I think you could last for another few hours at most!”

There was a pause in which the predator was sure his snack was processing this exciting new opportunity, and then Number Fourteen went absolutely feral, struggling with a ferocity he’d seemingly given up on after the first five or six times he’d been been swallowed down. The predator was impressed. His current snack was now rivaling the persistence of Snack Number Four. That one never seemed to grow exhausted or give up.

“Yes, yes,” the predator offered his assurances as he kneaded his snack back into submission, “I know you’re just as elated as I am to spend more time together.”

Another kick.

The predator gave his belly a firm squeeze, coaxing the contents within to cooperate. “But you’ll need to try to contain yourself. Or would you rather continue acting up? It does get rather difficult to control my stomach when you’re moving so deliciously about.”

His snack went deathly still.

“Thought so.”

With only a negligible amount of difficulty, the predator pushed himself out of bed and stumbled out of the room. His snack came back to life as the movement jostled it about. The predator clutched at his belly as it cramped up. He never did like walking on a full stomach.

Finally, he reached his desk. His office chair sat invitingly before a not-so-inviting looking stack of papers. He frowned, still fighting off the grogginess from his earlier nap. Even with the comfort of a full belly and a reinvigorating nap, doing paperwork felt about as desirable as pulling teeth. His own teeth, of course. The predator had never pulled someone else’s teeth, but he thought it would likely be more interesting than paperwork.

The predator turned his thoughts over and over in his head, looking for something, anything that could make the task at hand even just a tad bit more enticing.

The predator snapped his fingers as his thoughts clicked into place.

“That’s it!” he exclaimed before heading back to the kitchen, still clutching his belly to keep the both of them steady.

Yes, he’d had one snack, but why not a second snack? And not a special snack like Number Fourteen. But just a normal snack, something to munch on. Oh, he did love to munch, and his snacks absolutely loathed sharing space with actual food. They always got disgruntled and squirmy, just enough so that the predator got a pleasant internal massage out of it.

The predator threw open his pantry with relish and began digging through the shelves for something of interest. This proved to be a more difficult task than usual as the weight in his middle continually threatened to throw him off balance whenever he leaned down for a closer look. Thankfully, the predator was never one for quitting and he fought valiantly not to fall flat on his face (an effort he was sure his snack appreciated as well). After an arduous battle with the pantry shelves and his own stomach, the predator emerged victorious with his prize in hand. A somewhat simple bag of potato chips, never before opened. Now this was sure to motivate him to his paperwork.

The predator was halfway back to his desk before he fully considered the consequences of choosing such a salty snack. Of course he’d need a beverage to wash it down with, it was only sensible. He turned on his heel, then nearly turned into a topple as he forgot he was quite belly-heavy at the moment. His non-potato chip snack braced itself awkwardly against his stomach walls while the predator readjusted himself.

Next thing, in a series of events much like in the pantry, the predator was rifling through the refrigerator. When he finally stepped away, he was carrying a bottle of only the finest of cherry colas and glad to be upright and well-balanced again.

With a certainty that he was finally prepared for that hateful pile of paperwork, the predator returned to his desk. He pulled out his chair and fell into it with a grateful sigh. It was always terribly tiresome carrying around so much extra weight. It took some adjusting, lowering his seat so there was room for his belly beneath the desk, and spreading his knees so the weight of his snack didn’t cut off his circulation, but finally the predator could comfortably rest his elbows on the desk and start writing.

With a very satisfying burst of salty scents, he tore open the bag of chips. He took a bite and gave an agreeable hum. Of course Snack Number Fourteen was his favored thing to eat, but they just didn’t provide the pleasurable crunch of a good potato chip.

The predator couldn’t suppress a small smile when he swallowed and felt the consequent twitch of surprise from Number Fourteen.

“Sorry about that,” he said, patting his stomach and hoping he was hitting somewhere close to his snack’s back. He wasn’t actually sorry. In fact, he quite liked the idea of all his favorite foods in one place, but it didn’t seem very politic to say so aloud.

He apologized and patted his stomach/maybe-Number-Fourteen’s-back again when he took a swig of soda for the first time. Number Fourteen gave a jab of annoyance and a very unsuccessful shifting of positions, but other than that the predator didn’t get any further protests from his snack.

“Right then,” the predator mumbled as he leafed through his papers, “I guess the only thing left to do is get started.”

And so he did. The next few hours were nothing but the scratching of his pen and the munching of his chips. His snack was restless for a great deal of it, particularly when the predator swallowed down some soda, but nothing too distracting. It probably helped that the chips and cola barely lasted through the first hour.

When his one hand was free, the predator would rest it distractedly on his middle, appreciating the warmth his slow digestion provided. He could feel, and occasionally hear, his stomach working ever so slowly over the contents within. It was all the same to his stomach— chips, soda, another living being. It plodded along relentlessly with its one job, contracted and breaking down whatever was put into it. It brought a certain kind of awe to the predator, and he loved to help it along with the occasional doting rub.

The predator didn’t notice it happening, but all of a sudden the hour was very late. He stared at the time for a few moments, not quite comprehending how so much of it had already passed. Come to think of it, he thought as he straightened out his now completed pile of paperwork, he hadn’t felt any movement from his snack in quite awhile.

“You still hanging on in there?” the predator asked, pressing his fingers into the curve of his belly. He couldn’t help but cringe as it felt like the form of his snack was much softer than it previously had been.

“Oh dear,” he said softly. And he really had been doing so well with this one.

He was just about to give up and go to bed so his stomach could finish up the job, when he felt the weakest of movement come from deep within his middle.

“Ah, so you are still alive in there!”

As if to exacerbate his point, his snack gave another commendable effort at moving.

“Right, just one moment then,” the predator said, clumsily pushing himself away from his desk and hoisting himself upright again. “Don’t want to dirty up my office, you understand.”

Number Fourteen gave a terrible shudder as the predator began his somewhat uncomfortable walk to the bathroom. The predator cringed again with each step. The contents of his stomach felt somewhat less… solid than when he’d made his earlier trip to the kitchen. He’d really goofed up this time, hadn’t he?

He hesitated once he made it to the bathtub. There was a fine line between lightly simmered in stomach acids but still salvageable versus broken down beyond repair yet still somehow clinging to life. The last thing he wanted was to deal with a quickly expiring snack in his bathtub. He really didn’t think he could manage swallowing them down again after that. Maybe it would be better for everyone if he gave up and just went to bed, letting his stomach finish off Number Fourteen.

The predator frowned as he stroked his hand in circles over the now softened surface of his belly.

Oh, but finding a new snack was so difficult. And he really did enjoy Number Fourteen, even if the boy sorely lacked a sense of humor.

“I really hope you’re not too far gone,” he told his snack with a new sense of resolve.

With a practiced contracting of muscles, the predator began the awfully distasteful process of bringing his snack back up. While he enjoyed keeping his snacks around for as long as possible, he couldn’t say that he quite enjoyed this part of the process. If he could simply make his snack re-appear outside of his stomach, he’d lead a much happier life. But alas. Such are the sacrifices he makes to get what he wants.

After much heaving and gagging, Snack Number Fourteen pushed its way back up the predator’s throat to land in a sloppy heap on the bathtub floor.

The boy groaned as the predator leaned down to inspect him.

“I thought you weren’t gonna let me out this time.” Snack Number Fourteen’s voice was hoarse and he wheezed with each breath.

The predator cleared his throat to hide his embarrassment. The boy really was in the worst shape he’d ever seen.

“Well,” the predator started, looking for the right words, “sorry about that.”

The boy gave him a blood-shot look of pure loathing.

“I really didn’t mean to go this far,” the predator continued, unabated. “I simply got so caught up in my work that I… forgot about you. You know how it is.”

“I really don’t,” the boy replied, sounding much like what the predator imagined sandpaper would sound like if it could speak.

The predator decided the best thing to do in this situation would be to pretend he hadn’t heard his snack. So instead, he grabbed the shower head and reached for the faucet. “Why don’t we get you washed up then?”

The snack let out a startled cry as the cold water washed over his angry, red skin. The predator quietly apologized again, but it was no matter. A minute later and his snack lay motionless, eyes fallen shut with exhaustion as he let the predator clean off all the wayward stomach acid from his skin. The predator was quite adept at this— starting at the top, where the more sensitive skin was, and working his way down. There was something very satisfying about starting the process of restoring his snack all over again. But even after the predator had finished, the boy lay sprawled on the bathtub floor, eyes closed, chest rising and falling.

The predator kept silent. He did feel a little guilty. Not only that, but also a little frustrated. With his snack in this state, it would take weeks for him to be strong enough for another round in his stomach. Perhaps it was karma for the predator’s own hubris. He prided himself on his self-control, but a momentary lapse in focus had left him with his prized Number Fourteen in this horrific state. Maybe it would have been easier if he’d just accepted his loss and gone to bed. At least he could start off with a new snack right away.

The predator gave a mental shrug.

Ah well, no use crying over spilled milk and all that.

“Why don’t we get some aloe on you?” he suggested once he could no longer stand waiting for his snack to come out of whatever state he was in. Patience was a virtue, of course, but it was getting very late and the predator needed his beauty sleep just as much as anyone.

The boy’s eyes flicked open and slid to look at him.

“Fine,” was his only word.

The boy pulled himself out of the tub and took a careful seat on the edge of the closed toilet. The predator did a thorough job slathering him in aloe, something the boy seemed to appreciate.

After a failed attempt at getting the boy to walk back to his room on his own, the predator was forced to carry him there. He wondered if the boy really was so weak from his injuries that he couldn’t stand or if he was only feigning weakness as a sort of punishment for the predator’s neglectfulness. The predator supposed, in a way, this arrangement wasn’t much different than earlier, except now he held his snack in his arms, not his belly.

“Home sweet home,” the predator commented as he pushed his way into Number Fourteen’s room.

The boy began squirming at the sight of it. He made a little sound, like a cross between a groan and a growl.

“I know you’re ecstatic to see it again,” the predator told him. “Especially since you almost didn’t make it back this time.”

The boy stopped squirming. The predator deposited him on the cot at the far end of the room.

“Wait there for a moment, please,” he told the boy before heading out of the room. The boy didn’t respond, he just laid very still on his tiny bed, staring at the ceiling. The predator made sure he locked the door behind him.

He headed to the pantry and pulled out two large plastic bottles of water and another bottle of sports drink for good measure. He was about to make a beeline back to his snack when he stopped. After a night like this, the predator usually waited until the next day to give his snack anymore food, but he had nearly digested the poor boy alive this time. He didn’t want to ruin the perfectly good rapport they had developed over these special months together.

He scanned the pantry shelves for something he could give the boy as an apology. Something that really said, “Sorry I got distracted and nearly sent you on a one-way trip to my bowels.” Even the predator grimaced at such a thought.

He took some time considering all his options, until he settled on what seemed the best one. A halfway finished jar of cocktail peanuts. The jar was halfway empty because they were quite good, and the predator picked it up with a sense of satisfaction, certain he’d made the best choice to demonstrate his deepest condolences.

When he re-entered the room, he found that the boy hadn’t moved from his frankly despondent state on the bed. The predator approached, keeping the peanuts hidden from view, and set one of the water bottles and the sports drink on the wobbly bedside table.

“Get up,” he commanded the boy, prodding him with the other water bottle. “You need to drink. Being burned can leave you very badly dehydrated.” And then he stopped and re-considered. “Or at least sunburns can. I’m not too sure about stomach acid burns as, well, you know, I’ve never had the privilege of being partly digested.”

These words roused the boy. With hiss of pain, he pushed himself into a sitting position and gave the predator one his favorite looks to give— a venomous stare.

He still took the bottle and began chugging the water, stray dribbles running down his cheeks and over his exposed throat.

“I do have something extra for you,” the predator told him, unable to hide his delight. “Something special.”

The boy stopped drink immediately. “What is it?” he asked, sounding almost excited for once.

“Here!” The predator said, unable to wait any longer. He shoved the jar of peanuts toward his snack.

The boy looked down at it and blinked.

“It’s an apology of sorts,” the predator explained. “You know, since I went a little too far this time. I honestly feared you wouldn’t make the night if I let you out, and I almost gave up on you. But look at you now! I’m sure you’ll be ready for another round in no time!”

The boy’s face fell and his eyes went cold and empty. “Thanks,” he said, the word devoid of any of his earlier excitement.

“Of course, my snack,” the predator told him as jovial as ever. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it then.”

Snack Number Fourteen didn’t answer. Only gave him a look of searing hatred, his blood-shot eyes somehow burning brighter than before.

The predator only gave him a reassuring smile as he closed the door.

“Goodnight, my snack. Until next time.”

He locked the door tight behind him.

And in just a few minutes, the predator had fallen into bed, finally letting a real, deep sleep overcome him. Despite a few bumps in the road, tonight had been a very fulfilling night. The only thing left empty now was his stomach, which grumbled quietly, eagerly awaiting the next time it would get to spend a few hours working over Snack Number Fourteen.

#honestly really obsessed with this pred don’t look at me #he is so delightful #and tbh I like the dynamic between him and the prey too #soft vore #v.ore #non fatal vore #same size vore #size difference vore #(up to interpretation)#willing pred #unwilling prey #male pred #male prey #cruel pred #vore day #vore day 2023 #vore day 2k23

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voraciousvore · 3 days ago

Note

Heey there! Can I ask for a Martin and Candy short story? In the pov of Martin

Miss those two I love them

Of course!

Plot: Martin reveals to Candy his traumatic past and finally comes to terms with it. The events referenced are from The Origins of Martin Maneater.

Word Count: 3.8k (sorry, I know it's long, hopefully it's good, I didn't reread it beginning to end because I'm tired, but I don't want to wait to post)

CW: Soft fatal unwilling vore, trauma, blood/violence

------ Confronting the Past ------

Candy adored shopping. She’d been scraping by on crumbs and secondhand clothes for what felt like an eternity, so to finally have discretionary income was an inordinate luxury. She had fun trying on colorful frilly dresses, fancy shoes, ruffled skirts, and silky blouses. She perused the novelty knick-knacks and tchotchkes with amusement, imagining how they would look next to her giant boyfriend’s model cars.

Martin, for his part, loved to see Candy happy. The way her eyes sparkled as she skipped through the shelves swelled his heart with delight. She looked absolutely precious in all the outfits she modeled for him, like a perfect little doll. She lit up under the influence of his praise like a beam of sunshine. She was the light of his life, and he’d do anything to keep that smile on her face.

He took her regularly to Quentin’s Collectibles, a hobby store that sold all sorts of human products scaled to Candy’s size. He lavished gifts on his sweet miniature girlfriend, providing her with cute little sets of furniture, silverware, clothes, and whatever else she wanted. She didn’t cost much, since everything was toy-sized. He liked to spoil her, especially with how grateful she was for the smallest, most trivial little things. Candy wasn’t a materialistic girl by any means, but she deeply cherished every indication of affection that Martin had to give.

There was one section of the store that Martin hated, however: the dollhouses. They were amazing handmade works of art, ornately crafted and oftentimes furnished with functional appliances. Every time he saw them, his forehead would bead with sweat, his heart would palpitate like he was ill, and his fists would clench defensively. His traumatic past drained him like a hungry leech, regardless of how much he tried to buck it off.

“Martin, sweetie, can you take me over to the dollhouses?” Candy piped up from her perch alongside the plastic dolls, most of which still dwarfed her in size.

Martin stiffened, his heart dropping into his gut like a stone. “Um…” He swallowed, though his mouth was dry as cotton. “Let’s not. Those are a bit out of our price range anyways.”

“Oh, no, I just want to look, silly!” Candy replied with a twirl, full of happy energy.

“Well…” Martin stalled, fumbling for a plausible excuse. She gazed up at him with eloquent doe eyes that melted him into a warm puddle of sappy love. He couldn’t possibly say no, and disappoint her for no good reason. “Alright. Hop on.”

He cupped his hand alongside the shelf and Candy eagerly jumped into his soft palm. Martin tried to quell his rising anxiety as he thudded over to the dollhouses like his feet were encased in blocks of concrete. He reluctantly set Candy down and observed while she explored the neighborhood of replica homes. As she disappeared inside one, only to pop her head out a window on the third floor, Martin’s intestines slithered and curled in his abdomen like a nest of snakes.

“Ooh, this one has an electric stove!” Candy called out from the interior. “And a shower!”

“Uh huh,” Martin managed to grunt.

“Gosh, it would be so lovely to be able to bake on my own,” she continued. “Even if my cakes would hardly be the size of your fingernail.”

“Right.”

“And if we had one of these, you wouldn’t have to pour me a bath in a cup. You wouldn’t have to take care of my every need.” Her voice dropped into a mournful note. “I wouldn’t be as much of a burden on you.”

“Oh, Candy!” Martin protested. “You’re never a burden!”

Candy stepped out of the house with an almost sheepish expression. “If you say so. I just wish… sometimes that I could be more independent. I don’t like having to rely on you all the time, when I have so little to offer you in return.”

“No, no, Candy, you’ve got it all wrong! You know I love to dote on you!” Martin insisted. He hastily wicked his clammy palms on his trousers before scooping Candy up off the porch of the tiny house and nuzzling her with his stubbled cheek. “You give me a wealth of happiness. I love you, darling.”

Candy hugged the bridge of his nose. “I love you too. You’re my whole world, Martin.”

He drew his hands back to gaze upon her tenderly. She looked so small and fragile compared to his colossal palms: She could get lost in the furrows of skin like canyons. To imagine that some giant—a barbaric beast like his father, who shared his flesh and blood—wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her, to chomp her up like a grape, made him sick.

“You’re so tiny…” he murmured softly. “You couldn’t be a burden on me if you tried.” He stroked her thigh gently with his enormous thumb, marveling that a delicate being like her could trust him so readily. “My responsibility is to protect you.” His stormy eyes grew distant with painful memory.

Candy studied him quietly for a long moment, examining the subtle muscle movements in the topography of his facial features. “Martin? Are you okay?”

Martin blinked. “Yeah.” He lowered his hands to chest level, cradling his diminutive lover against his sternum. “Let’s go home.”

Candy didn’t protest. Though she didn’t press him further, Martin could tell that Candy knew something was bothering him. He’d never brought up his past to her, nor did he ever mention his parents. As far as he was concerned, they were dead to him, an unpalatable vestige of a former life he wished to cut away and discard like a cancerous tumor.

That night, Martin dreamed of dollhouses. He was back in the store, with Candy. She ran inside one of the houses and vanished. When he opened the roof to find her, she was gone. He began to panic, searching frantically for her. She was nowhere.

Huge rumbling footsteps rattled the houses as a foreboding shadow wreathed the landscape. All of a sudden, Martin was small, human-sized, lost among the merchandise. He yelled for Candy until his throat was stripped raw, running in the alleyways between the toy structures that now loomed over him. The dollhouses had an uncanny resemblance to real houses, complete with a maze of sidewalks and lawns strewn haphazardly in an irrational tangle.

The thunderous footsteps waxed louder and more menacing, leaving spiderweb fractures in the foundations and stucco of the houses. The shadows stretched and deepened like black ink spilled across a page. A leviathan boot stomped down nearby, smashing one of the buildings into rubble. Martin jumped with a yelp and spun around to behold a horrific sight.

His father, Mr. Maneater himself, leered down at him, larger than life. His black irises burned like coals in his sockets, his bright teeth glistened wolfishly, and his dark hair, usually combed down in a neat part, whipped around his face wildly. Martin froze as an icy ball of sweat traced his spine. He was helpless.

Candy began to scream with an agonizing wail that pierced his eardrums. Martin sprinted towards the torturous sound with desperation. His father stepped over him, crushing houses and splitting the sidewalks in his wake, effortlessly outpacing his son with his powerful long legs. Martin’s own limbs pumped like pistons, but he had no chance of catching up as his lungs pleaded for air.

The giant reached the house where Candy was screaming and tore it from the earth, lifting the entire structure high into the blackened sky. Martin lobbed threats and curses to no avail as dirt and splinters of wood rained down from above and blinded him. He stared in horror as the house was ripped open like a flimsy cardboard box; chunks of walls and furniture tumbled the ridiculous distance to the ground, where poor Martin scrambled to avoid them.

Mr. Maneater rummaged about in the crumbling ruins of the house until his fingers grasped his desired target. With a widening grin, he pulled the squirming woman from her hiding spot.

“Martin! Help me!” Candy squealed. Mr. Maneater licked his lips, opened his mouth wide, and dangled her teasingly over his extended tongue.

“NO! LET HER GO!” Martin demanded. He rushed over to his father’s shoe, grabbed the cuff of his pants, and began to climb in a last-ditch effort to save her.

His father watched him with amusement before turning to his desired prey. “Down the hatch,” he proclaimed, before dropping her inside his maw and snapping his jaws shut like a piranha. Her cries were abruptly cut off; the resulting silence felt terribly wrong. Martin filled it with his own invectives, punching the solid tower of the giant’s leg until his fist was bloody and bruised.

“Delicious,” Mr. Maneater taunted, thrusting Candy into his cheek with his tongue and sucking on her. Martin shrieked hoarsely, incoherent with the lacerations in his throat. He heard the swallow more than he saw it: a revolting, wet, lengthy squelch, followed by a deep, satisfied sigh that sent tremors through the wall of flesh towering over him.

He had no time to react before gargantuan fingers squeezed around him and ripped him away, raising him high in the sky. With Candy sealed away in her living tomb, he felt feeble and weak. A pair of glowing hateful coals seared into him. His father didn’t have to speak to convey his upmost contempt and disapproval, his condemnation of his son as unfit to uphold the Maneater bloodline. He flicked his worthless son away, sending him flying to his death.

“Martin? Martin?”

A soft, gentle, feminine voice cut through the fog of his nightmare with the crisp clarity of a sunrise. Small hands pressed into his chest, tickling his carpet of hair. He opened his eyes and a wave of relief cooled his feverish skin. She was safe. She was okay.

“Martin, are you alright? Your heart is racing.”

“Y-yeah, I’m okay. Just a bad dream.” He hesitated. Should he tell her? He didn’t want to frighten her. He didn’t want to dredge up his ugly past, his secret shame. But he loved Candy, and trusted her with his life. He was ready to let her in. “I… I dreamed of my father.”

Candy perked up with interest. “Oh?”

Martin swallowed. At least his throat no longer felt like he raked it across a cheese grater. “Candy, I need to tell you something.”

He spilled his guts. He told her about his first time encountering a human: Emma. How she was given to him on his dinner plate, treated as nothing more than a birthday treat, nutrition to fuel a growing young giant. How he saved her instead, and kept her hidden from his parents. How she was so afraid, and small, and vulnerable, unable to hear or speak. How he tried his best to communicate with her, and make her comfortable around him.

And the day that he used his birthday money to buy her a dollhouse. Relating the traumatic event was like extracting a porcupine quill embedded deep in his chest, the barbs resisting his pull. But he forced himself to say it out loud. How his father scolded him, beat him—and found her. And just like that, her fate was clinched permanently behind Mr. Maneater’s lips.

By the time he finished, his gray eyes were stormy with tears. Candy listened attentively the entire time, clinging to every word. Her eyes became glassy as well. “Oh, Martin… I’m so sorry, I had no idea…”

Martin sniffled, hugging Candy close to his heart. “It’s… hard to talk about. But now you know why I’m estranged from my family. And why I was so nervous about hurting you, when we first started dating.”

Candy kissed him and patted his pectoral. “I understand. But I never felt I had anything to fear from you, my love.”

Martin smiled through his sorrow, soothed by her words. “I know it’s not entirely my fault, but I still carry this guilt with me. I atone by being the kindest, gentlest giant I can be, and keeping you safe.”

“Awwwww, babe, you excel at that! You shouldn’t feel responsible though: You did all you could to protect her. You were only a child, after all. I’m glad to know you’ve always been my sweet Martin that I know and love.”

Martin raised Candy up to his lips and kissed her. “Thank you.”

As painful as the retelling was, Martin felt as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders, a knot of tension untied in his core. He could finally forgive himself for his failure; he was able to let go and heal. Candy was the center of his cathartic release, his guiding light, his treasure, his beloved. He felt like a proper gentleman, no longer a monstrous giant cursed with Maneater blood, while in her presence.

He wanted Candy to have the best life she could live with him, unencumbered by her size disparity as much as possible. He decided he needed to overcome his past and get her a dollhouse, or at least the functional set-ups. While they sold individual miniature “rooms” with all the necessary hook-ups, he knew that Candy was entranced by the cute toy houses with all their little decorations and furnishings. Though she never said it explicitly, Martin inferred that she probably found comfort in having a residential space scaled to her for once, a break from living in a world of giants. And they really weren’t that expensive, when he considered how much she would use it.

He surprised her one fine afternoon after work. He took her into Quentin’s Collectibles and let her browse the shelves for a while. He didn’t feel that same sick dread curdling his innards as much as he did before when he approached the faux houses, though some of the unpleasant aftertaste still lingered. He endured it for Candy.

She was ecstatic when he revealed his intentions. She settled on one of the cheaper, more modest houses that she found quite charming, and Martin agreed it would make a lovely addition to their apartment. He carried it out of the store under his arm, with a shopping bag full of furniture in his other hand and Candy bobbing eagerly on his shoulder. A warmth radiated through him when she lovingly kissed his neck.

He was careful not to knock Candy off his shoulder as he stepped through the threshold to their apartment, closing the door behind him with his foot. He hastened to move his model Bombardier Learjet 35 off the coffee table to make room for Candy’s new house. He opened it up and began arranging the fixtures to suit her preferences. His heart soared as he soaked in her enthusiasm, but a small twinge of pain strummed his heartstrings as he was reminded of little Emma.

Nevertheless, he was glad that he had made this difficult choice. He would do better this time. He was a man, no longer a child. He was strong. He was secure. Candy loved him and trusted him with her life, and he would do everything in his power to uphold that trust.

As he watched her frolic through the rooms of the tiny house, he heard a firm, heavy knock on the front door. He turned his head, only to see the knob twist and the door open on its own. Since his hands had been full earlier, he hadn’t bothered to lock the door behind him.

A man stepped in with confidence, a man that he’d had no contact with for years, but one he recognized all too well. His features were unmistakable, despite the advance in years: eyes like coals, black hair neatly parted and slicked down, refined clothing concealing a sturdy build that barely restrained a feral intensity. Martin’s blood ran cold.

His father.

Candy peeked out a window. “Martin, who’s that?” she asked innocently. “Do you know him?” She glanced up, only to behold Martin’s face frozen with horror. Fear crept up her throat, choking her. She didn’t know what to do, when her big strong protector looked so scared.

Mr. Maneater surveyed the apartment, his dark eyes pausing on the dollhouse. He narrowed his lids and curled his lip with obvious disdain. “So it wasn’t just a phase,” he remarked, venom lacing his tone.

Martin couldn’t move, couldn’t respond. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, the impossible scene unfolding before him as if an infernal pit to hell had split open the carpet in his living room. Replaying in his head, over and over at a dizzying speed like a macabre film, were terrible flashbacks to that nightmarish day: his dad picking up the dollhouse; his dad holding him to the ground, beating him senseless; Emma languishing in a puddle of blood on the ground, barely alive; the poor girl squirming between his dad’s fingers; his Adam’s apple throbbing as he swallowed her. Martin feared he would vomit before he could even do anything.

His father said something with an irritated inflection, but Martin couldn’t hear through the blaring static in his ears. His heart was pounding into his lungs with a stabbing pain. Panic electrified his nerves. Mr. Maneater scowled, clearly annoyed that Martin didn’t seem to be listening to him, and strode through the threshold into the living room.

The threatening movement snapped Martin into action. Without thinking, reacting on pure protective instinct, he lunged forward. He couldn’t allow tragedy to strike twice. He would keep Candy away from the dangerous giant even if he had to spill his own father’s blood, or die in the attempt. His heart would not be able to bear another loss, another victim to his tainted bloodline.

Martin was a large giant, but he’d inherited his genetics from his father, who was also very tall and broad. Where Martin was soft, his father was hard. Mr. Maneater had a keen, cruel edge to him, honed from his earlier life of hardship and grueling labor before he’d been lucky enough to land himself a cushy accounting job. He was not the type to be easily bested in a fight by a gentle giant like his son, even if caught off guard. When Martin swung with a wild fist, he dodged the blow and planted his elbow in Martin’s solar plexus. Martin collapsed to the floor with a breathless gasp and a clumsy thud. His father planted his foot between Martin’s shoulder blades, pinning him down with his weight.

“This is how you greet me, after all these years,” Mr. Maneater complained with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “I guess I should’ve expected that.”

“GET OUT!” Martin roared, struggling to recover the air in his lungs. He coughed thickly, pushing up against his dad’s shoe. “Don’t you dare touch her! I’LL KILL YOU!”

“Look, I’m not here to judge you for your weird fetishes,” Mr. Maneater grumbled. “Or eat your pet human or whatever.”

“She’s not my pet, she’s my girlfriend!” Martin protested hotly, compelled to defend Candy’s honor as much as her physical body.

The older man rolled his eyes, clearly even more disgusted. “Whatever.” He heaved a sigh. “I came here to...” He paused, gritting his teeth. “To... reconcile.”

“Huh?”

“I want to be in your life again, son. I want to have a relationship with you again. I miss you. Your mother misses you. We... we still love you, despite your flaws.”

Martin finally shoved off his father’s foot and scrambled back to his feet, dusting off his clothes. “Really,” he said incredulously. “You expect me to forgive you for what you did. Without even bothering to apologize.”

Mr. Maneater’s gaze, so intense and hot, finally faltered. “I’m... sorry.”

Now Martin was on the offensive. “No you’re not.”

Mr. Maneater frowned. “Look. I can’t change the past. What do you want from me? Do you want the truth? I regret that I hurt you so deeply. I’m sorry for what I did, even if I don’t agree with your perspective. Maybe... maybe I don’t understand why you care so much about humans, but... I’m willing to move on from that, and accept your bizarre lifestyle choices. I want my son back.”

Martin ruminated on his words, unsure how to respond. He crossed his arms. “Hmph.”

His father raised his hands with exasperation. “Your mother and I discussed the matter. We’re willing to give up eating humans, if that’s what it takes.”

Martin’s eyes widened with shock. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” he confirmed resolutely.

“I...” Martin studied his father for a long moment. His father stared back with flaming coals. “I... I need some time to think about it.”

“Of course. Of course,” Mr. Maneater replied, slumping with relief. “Come to us when you’re ready, okay?” He glanced down at Candy, giving her an uncomfortable nod, before turning back to Martin. “Right. Uh. I’ll be on my way now.” He backed out of the apartment, shutting the door behind him.

Martin deflated like a balloon, sitting on the floor next to the coffee table, bracing himself on the surface with his shaking hand for support. “I can’t believe this.”

Candy came out of the house over to his hand. She stroked his knuckle to comfort him. “Martin...”

“I can’t risk it,” he declared. “My family is savage. I can’t put you in danger. No way.”

“Martin...” Candy repeated. “I think he really meant what he said.” Martin stared into the distance, deep in thought. Candy watched him for a minute before poking his finger to get his attention. He carefully flipped his hand over so his girlfriend could crawl into his palm, then cradled her against him protectively. Candy snuggled up to his enormous, warm body, listening to the frightened beating of his elephantine heart.

“It’s good for you to have your family in your life,” Candy pointed out. “I wish I could have a good relationship with my parents. They rejected me and told me I wouldn’t amount to anything. I wish I could've proved them wrong. But I couldn’t do it, not on my own.”

“Oh, Candy...” Martin massaged her gingerly with his fingers. “You’re a remarkable, strong, brave woman. If they can’t see that, it’s their problem, not yours. I’ll always be here for you. I’m your family.”

“Yes, of course!” Candy kissed his fingers reverently. “But, you know, Martin... you don’t have to carry the burden of the world on your shoulders alone. I’m here to support you too. And by the sound of it, so are your parents.”

Martin smiled down at her, wrapped up snugly in his palm. As always when he saw her, his heart swelled with tenderness. With the love of his life in his hand, small enough to tuck away in his pocket for moral support, he felt that everything would be okay. “Perhaps.”

#tumblr asks #my writing

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eldritchnoms · 1 year ago

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I need to make myself clear a little bit-

TW: Mention of safe, non-fatal digestion, reformation

I know I said I enjoy digestion, but I try to always say that it's always all safe, painless and gooey (no blood and gore), even when it's a bastard character. I don't enjoy the idea of getting unalived in such a grotesque way. At all. I also don't like the idea that in the world where vore is normalized anyone can just be plucked up and killеd randomly. I always try to avoid this kind of content, even if it's only implied. Vore for me is comfort.

Getting digested by a pred for me is also for comfort, for the idea of adding some pudge to them and giving energy and/or even becoming one with them temporarily while being able to talk and feel, and in both scenarios you just come back to hug and cuddle the pred. I, of course and obviously, absolutely love endosoma or just keeping prey in a pred's belly for some time. You don't need to doubt that. But I just want to convey that I enjoy digestion not because I enjoy the thought of someone getting murdеred, but because I love it as a gesture of prey and pred getting as close as it's physically possible with each other, helping each other and such.

Please, try to understand me. If you think I'm a wuss - that's your problem, not mine. And I don't need to be "vibe checked" or have the "reality kick in" I hate you if you say that. If you love vore for its grotesque side then you can go to Ekа's and have it all for yourself. Please don't try to drag me onto that side.

For the good measure, look at this banner:

I made it for a reason. If I will need to post it under every piece I do, be it writing or art, then so be it.

#eldritch talks #or rather eldritch rants at this point #vore talk #nonfatal vore #soft vore #safe digestion #reformation

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sillyromance · 5 days ago

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Edward is there any possible situation were you would want to be eaten by Vincent? And would you be OK with him just eating you, just like he does with Archie and Marcella?

Warning: implied fatal vore; psychological trauma;

Edward (eyes saddening):

" I'm not a coward, my friend. But being swallowed is one of the few things which make my skin crawl. Especially, after the tragedy me and my sister were witnesses of.

I was only a prince back then. We had been travelling home from our cousin's domain when the cortege was attacked by a troop of thieves in the middle of the forest.

Don't be surprised, my friend; Helena and I had to remain anonymous for political matters, and those poor souls had no idea what they were dragging themselves into.

Vincent was with me as a member of the convoy. He and my other servants stood against the criminals while my sister and I could only helplessly watch. It was horrible. For the first time in my life I saw Vincent from a completely different perspective.

Some thieves were man-eaters. One of them tried to swallow my human soldier; Helena cried in terror, and Vincent swiftly brought his attention to the scene behind him. In a flash the roles changed; unfortunate predator turned into prey uselessly struggling to escape their demise in another man-eater's stomach. I was in shock and couldn't force myself to look away...

Few escaped the same fate. Eventually, Helena found the will power to close the curtains of our carriage, but we still could hear the noise, the screams - and we knew all too well what was causing them...

You can tell, I'm not fine with being eaten. I can bare it if necessary, but it's pointless to ask me for more. There are only two reasons for which I could agree to do this: my life is in great danger; my life can't be saved.

As for making it casual... I decline."

#soft vore #extreme cuddling #e a/t #sfw vore #nsx vore #lord n.#vorefixation #vincent nor #king e.#princess h.#take care!#have an awesome day!#good luck #❤️

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blametheeditor · 7 months ago

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Voretober Day 13 | Peaches

Voretober Prompt List

First | Previous | Next

If given the opportunity, would you take the chance to go to space and travel the stars? What if the person offering to take you was someone you trusted more than anyone else?

What if that person is no longer entirely human?

CONTAINS SOFT VORE

Content Warnings: Soft, non-sexual vore. Unwilling prey. Mentions of body horror. Mentions of experimenting on people. Mentions of death and murder, violence. Being trapped against one's will. Dehumanization. Abductions. Cursing. Darker themes/tone

___________________________________

Scott realizes a moment too late that he’s never seen Vincent standing at his full height as a giant from the floor.

For some reason, he never considered such a thought when he decided to make the trek to the pilot’s room, nor the entire time he walked past the looming table and towering doorway. It was only when he saw his best friend sitting in front of the controls to land the ship did it occur to him that while everything else stood dozens of feet above his head, so would the person such items are scaled for.

And there he was, standing beside the wall, staring at shoes capable of grinding him into dust, the giant they belong to able to stand up at any second.

Even from across the room, it made Scott’s heart skip a beat at just how big Vincent is. Just when he thinks he’s finally wrapped his mind around it, knows just how miniscule he is in comparison, another perspective completely throws him for another loop.

He thought the giant kneeling in front of him was bad, and yet Vincent isn’t even standing right now.

Scott takes a shuttering breath to try and calm his nerves. Opens his mouth to tell the catastrophic being he’s currently standing by the doorway so please watch where you step. Feels panic erupt when his voice refuses to work.

Does he trust his best friend, absolutely. But Scott has made it abundantly clear he would never go into the giant side without Vincent. Meaning there is absolutely no reason to watch footsteps unless, say, the person who can’t grow to a hundred feet tall tells him to.

God, why did he leave the smaller side. Vincent said he would knock on the door once it was time to disembark, Scott could have just been patient and waited instead of following like a lost puppy. It’s not like his fears of getting snatched up by a malicious creature couldn’t have happened while he’s somewhere too small for a single hand to fit inside. It would’ve made more sense than going to the only place where said scenario could possibly happen.

“Come on in, Scotty,” makes said young man jump at being addressed. Tilts his head back to see Vincent flashing him a smile before turning back to the controls. “I'm having a hard time scanning the surface, so it’ll take a few more minutes.”

Just like that, Scott’s terror at ending up underfoot disappear. His trepidation at being on the ground where a giant will eventually walk doesn’t leave, but now he’s not trembling at the thought he made a horribly fatal mistake.

Eyeing the several feet of open space between where he stands and Vincent’s chair, Scott slowly begins to walk forward, watching for any signs the giant is about to stand. When the shoes don’t so much as shift he continues making his way over at a slightly quicker pace. Stares openly as he’s forced to tilt his head back further and further the closer he gets, suddenly getting hit with a sense of vertigo just by looking at the giant.

He stops about a hundred feet away where he can easily be seen, not wanting to take any chances.

When Vincent finally removes his hands from the controls, his first action is to look down to find the tiny figure on the ground. “Ready to go, Scotty?”

Scott forces himself to nod, trying to ignore his pounding heart. “I’m ready.”

At his words, the giant stands, and that’s when the significantly smaller realizes he severely miscalculated the distance. A hundred feet is no more than a single step to the giant, meaning as he stretches into the sky, Scott is more or less standing directly beneath the towering form. Ends up falling onto his back as he tries to scramble back several steps in the attempt to give Vincent space to move.

It prompts a chuckle that rumbles through the air, and before Scott can try and stand up at the fear he’ll accidentally get crushed, a finger is offered to help him up.

“Th-Thanks,” the smaller murmurs as he sets his hand on the fingerprint. Goes still when a thumb pins it down, confused until he’s carefully pulled to his feet.

Vincent smiles at his shocked expression at such a large being able to complete such a delicate action. “Now, you’re going to hate me, but I think you should stay in my pocket.”

Scott’s instinct to give an immediate ‘no’ is stopped by the almost somber tone. It’s a reminder that this particular planet isn’t safe for him. That instead of someone only asking if he has a translator, there will be attempts to swipe him off of Vincent’s shoulder. If they’re polite enough, they’ll ask for a price before trying to snatch him away when they’re told he isn’t for sale.

The terror that’s been building over the course of several days as they’ve traveled now threatens to burst. But he nods his head in agreement. “O-Okay. But don’t drop me this time.”

The smile given doesn’t quite reach the purple man’s eyes. “That I can do.”

The fingers that were offered before turn into a waiting hand, one Scott quickly climbs into. Once he’s settled down, he’s lifted up and brought toward the pocket he’s been spitefully protesting against ever since his first introduction.

Much like the first time, the hand tilts until he’s essentially standing against the curled fingers, leaving Scott leaning against the warm palm with the way it’s angled. Then it’s being lowered into the waiting pocket, everything going still once Vincent’s fingers are resting at the bottom, letting the smaller take the next step.

Scott surveys his surroundings. Reaches out to grab fistfuls of fabric before stepping down into the pocket, this time prepared to counter against the hammock like floor and therefore manages to stay standing instead of falling to his knees as the ground dips from his weight.

Maybe the pocket isn’t as bad as he thought it was.

As if hearing his thoughts, Vincent then lifts his hand up and out, jostling Scott slightly from the movement. It’s not enough to send him sprawling, though his arms ache from the effort of keeping himself steady.

“Better?’

“Much better,” Scott agrees. Looks directly up to catch Vincent watching him with a smile.

“Alright, I’m leaving the ship now. If you need anything just let me know.”

Before he can respond with an affirmative, the giant suddenly begins to move, and from the simple action of Vincent standing up Scott looses his grasp and falls into the corner of the pocket.

He doesn’t dare try to stand back up, not when the telltale jostle of his best friend’s footsteps shake the entire pocket. Instead, he curls up in the attempt to make himself as small as possible. Listens to the sound of rushing wind that’s Vincent’s lungs. Jolts when he realizes he can hear the giant’s heart beating to his left.

For some reason, that’s more comforting than anything else. A reassurance the person he lost 6 years ago is not only alive and well, but he’s back by Scott’s side. And they won’t be leaving each other’s sides ever again.

The upside to being inside the pocket is the fact Scott feels thoroughly protected without any worry something will sudden grab him. The downside is how it’s impossible for him to see anything, only able to listen to the booming sounds of giants shouting and items getting moved around.

Suddenly, Vincent comes to a stop, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “I heard a ship was seized a while ago with some interesting cargo.”

Scott doesn’t dare breathing as something is hissed back, sending a fearful look toward the top of the pocket. He can’t see anything past Vincent’s chin.

“A collector,” his best friend muses, and he can imagine eyebrows being raised in interest. “Of oddities?”

He takes a very slow and silent breath, unable to help the thought such a quiet sound could somehow be heard over the booming voices almost directly overhead.

“Ah.” Vincent is silent for a moment as he thinks something over. “Would she be willing to speak with someone of similar tastes.”

There’s a single hiss, and then they're walking again.

Scott doesn’t know if the conversation went good or bad. Vincent said he did as much research as possible, but finding a single person on any planet, much the less someone the size of a mouse on one made for giants is a near impossible task. The most he had to go off on was a report concerning deliveries, and only then it gave the city the shipment went to, not the name of who received it.

Scott was told there might be a lot of trial and error. Depending on their luck, they might even have to go back to the ship before starting the search again. It might take days, potentially weeks, and by the end of it they might come up empty handed or find out they need to look an a completely different planet.

To be honest, he didn’t mind if it took more than a single day. Anyone important to Vincent is important to him. And anyone who helped his best friend get to Earth is someone Scott owes his life to. So no matter how long it takes, he’s here for it.

When several minutes of walking turns into an hour, sleep begins to win over terror. Despite the sudden and loud sounds that nearly burst his eardrums every time they come, there’s the ever present sound of Vincent’s heartbeat next to him. That paired with the constant sway of the pocket and the giant’s warmth, it’s enough to make Scott’s eyes close without having anything with him to occupy his mind.

He falls asleep until Vincent’s voice jolts him awake. When the answer of ‘I’m looking for Lady Bal’ gets a hissed response, it becomes silent once more to let Scott drift off again.

The next time he’s awoken, the way his limbs ache from sitting in such a cramped position tells him it’s been several hours, and within that time he’s missed something significant. Because Vincent’s arguing, the giant’s voice steadily getting louder as he tries to pacify whoever’s hissing in a way that almost sounds like spitting.

Scott sits up as he tries to push away the fog of sleep away, listening intently to what’s being said.

“I assure you, he is a lot like the one Lady Bal currently has in her possession.”

Confusion blossoms at who Vincent could possibly be referring to. What is his best friend doing, what did he miss?

“It’s impossible for him to grow any taller than his current height. He's the reason why I wanted to see her collection.”

Hold on, growing? He doesn’t, they’re not talking about him, are they?

“Must we make things so complicated,” Vincent growls lowly, his annoyance evident. There’s something else, though. Something that’s currently making the purple man’s heart race.

They’re talking about Scott.

Before he can think about the implications of such a revelation, the pocket is suddenly opening, and purple fingers reach in. Despite Scott’s attempt to squirm away as he buries himself into the corner, they effortlessly scoop him up before lifting out.

He freezes as blinding light hits him. Desperately tries to find a finger to latch on and make sure he isn’t taken away from Vincent. Isn’t snatched away without any hope he’ll ever see his best friend again. Rapidly blinks until finally he can see the hand holding him is purple with the owner glaring at something behind him.

Then amber eyes are staring down at him with a look of guilt.

“Sorry, Scotty.”

Scott doesn’t get a chance to ask why, how someone figured out about him, what was happening. Fingers pinch his chest before lifting him high into the air where he’s left dangling hundreds of feet above a harsh and unforgiving floor. Then it’s replaced by Vincent as for the first time the purple man looks up at him.

And then his mouth is opening, and Scott’s being lowered directly toward it.

“V-Vince?” comes out in a whisper. But as he’s brought closer, can see his best friend’s mouth glistening with saliva, he starts to kick as panic claws at his chest. “Vincent, this isn’t funny, put me down.”

The hand doesn’t so much as pause as he frantically tries to get away from fingers he was never afraid of, from his best friend he trusts more than anyone, from the person who promised to keep him safe.

“Vincent stop!” Scott shouts. Kicks in the attempt to find purchase, a scream erupting when his shoe hits a tooth, resorting to writhing in the desperate attempt to escapee. “Please, stop! It’s me, it’s Scott, I’m your best friend don’t eat me!”

Nothing works. He’s lowered onto a tongue covered in saliva that soaks through his pants in seconds. In a last ditch effort, he stops shoving at the fingers wrapped around him and instead latches onto them, praying that somehow he’ll be able to hold on.

“Vincent!” Scott pleads as tears start running down his cheeks, shrieking as he’s suddenly let go, landing on something that’s wet, and warm, and wraps around him before pulling him deeper into the mouth. “I’m sorry! Whatever I did, I’m sorry! I’ll make it up to you, please, just don’t eat me!”

The response are the fingers effortlessly breaking out of his grip before disappearing, leaving him behind as teeth capable of skewering him close with an ominous clack, sealing him in completely darkness.

Despite being unable to see anything, he knows what’s next. Can feel himself being lifted up.

Scott screams. “Vincent!”

He’s answered with the sound of a swallow.

#Voretober 2024 #Day 13 | Peaches #FNAF bois #g/t #giant #tiny #Space AU #BTE writing #cw #content warning #cw vore #content warning vore

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voraciousvore · 7 months ago

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Giganterra (Chapter 60)

Prologue/TOC | Previous (59) | Next (61)

Content Warning: Nudity, vular language, vore themes

Word Count: 2.6k

------ Chapter 60: Shrinking ------

“Huh?” Ronny balked.

“Well, either you or me. One of us will have to shrink,” Bianca continued.

“But… what will that accomplish?” Ronny asked, baffled. He glanced down at Eren, who seemed just as confused.

“We can’t give the potion to him directly. We can’t use weapons or poison. But… we can use ourselves as a poison. Even if Chester detects our scent in the food, I doubt he’ll figure it out or view it as a hostile agent. We'll allow the king to eat one of us and infiltrate his body, and then wait until the shrinking effect wears off and grow back to normal size. He won’t survive that.”

Ronny was stunned. “Are—are you INSANE? That’s your plan?”

Bianca crossed her arms and pouted. “You have a better idea?” Ronny frowned.

Eren cleared her throat to get the attention of the two arguing behemoths above her. “Princess, how are you going to convince your father to eat one of you? Won’t he recognize you?”

Bianca grinned. “Not if we shrink too small to be noticed.”

Ronny paled. “You are insane.” Being eaten was terrifying enough, but to be the size of a speck of dust in front of a sadistic monster like King Richard sounded like a living nightmare. If he was discovered, the consequences would be fatal. “Is that even possible?”

Bianca’s grin faded. “I don’t know, to be honest. Only one way to find out.” She held up the potion. “I… I guess since it’s my idea, I’ll try it…” She hesitated, twirling the bottle in her fingers. She couldn’t deny that the concept was scary. So much could go wrong.

Ronny gulped. He feared his father, but he feared losing Tanya even more. His placed his hand firmly over his sister’s. “I’ll do it,” he reassured her. She relinquished the bottle to her brother with relief. He popped the cork out and brought the potion up to his lips, but couldn’t bring himself to drink it. His hand trembled. Stalling, he instead inquired, “how am I going to make it into his…” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Into his dinner?”

“If this potion really works,” Eren piped up, “and you shrink tiny enough for me to smuggle you into the kitchen, you can accompany me to his plate. Bucky has a vendetta against me, so he always serves me to the king, since he’s always the worst option out of you three. No offense.”

“Ah.” Ronny licked his lips nervously and sat down on the bed. He brought the potion up to his mouth a second time and stopped, staring down at the glowing green liquid with trepidation. He thought about Tanya. “Welp. Here goes nothing.” Before he could change his mind, he downed the whole bottle like a shot. His heart palpitated madly as he waited for the effects to kick in. Bianca and Eren stared at him intently.

He didn’t have to wait long. The potion spread like wildfire from his center out to his extremities, prickling him all over like the quills of a porcupine. He squirmed and groaned and balled up with pain. His body crumbled like paper, folding smaller and smaller inward on itself. Grisly cracks rang out from his shoulders, hips, and knees, as well as squishing and popping internally as his organs rearranged themselves. Ronny gasped and panted, struggling to breathe through the warped contortions of his muscles and bones. His vision went dark.

When the pain finally ceased, he unfolded his limbs and cracked open his eyes, but found himself smothered by heaps of heavy blankets. He was in a world completely foreign to him. He strained and struggled wildly to escape the fabric prison constraining him, until he burst into the light and sucked in a lungful of fresh air.

Ronny squinted, not comprehending at first what his eyes were feeding him. He was standing on a checkerboard of threads thicker in diameter than his leg. He caught movement in his peripheral vision and snapped to attention. He was shocked to behold a naked giantess, looming over him as big as a castle. He craned his neck back, mouth agape, and blinked rapidly.

“Look at that,” the giantess boomed. Ronny flinched at the volume. A huge hand descended over him, casting a dreadful shadow, and a stab of fear slammed into his chest. Out of pure instinct, he turned and fled, tripping awkwardly over the crosshatched threads. He shrieked when two immense fingers pinched around him, compressing his torso. His legs wiggled wildly as the floor disappeared beneath him and he ascended into open space.

“Let go of me!” he cried. He whimpered as a massive smirking face hovered in front of him. He couldn’t believe the horror unfolding before him. This was the human, the tiny creature that could easily fit into the hollow of his hand, blown up to colossal proportions. So what did that make him? Little more than a dust mite.

“Not very nice, is it? To be given a dose of your own medicine?” Eren teased with a mocking grin. Ronny squeezed his eyes shut, unable to respond. He was hyperventilating and shaking convulsively. Eren tempered her smugness as she recognized just how overwhelmed the prince was at his new size. As fun as it was to ridicule the giant who had tormented her previously, she knew he was trying to make a change and do the right thing, and she respected his resolve.

“Hey, hey, I was just kidding around,” she murmured in a more soothing tone, wrapping both her hands around him. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.” She was amazed to hold a tiny life, a tiny person, in her hand. She could feel his microscopic heart beating with fear against her fingers. The giant, once mighty and proud, was now so vulnerable and small—cute, even. Was this how Joey felt when he held her? Eren grew warm at the thought. Ronny struggled to calm down and catch his breath. He needed to be brave for Tanya.

“DO YOU HAVE RONNY? I CAN’T EVEN SEE HIM,” a vast voice bellowed from above, thrumming through the air with a physical force that nearly blew out his eardrums. Ronny yipped and gazed up, speechless. His sister was unfathomably massive, beyond his capacity to rationalize or even see her fully, like a planet with her own gravitational pull. Her hand lowered, darkening the landscape of the bed like the night sky, before leviathan fingers scooped up the smaller giantess, and the hand transformed into a great sea of skin below. Ronny figured he could hike through the ridges of her palm like canyons. The mental image made him physically ill.

“He’s here,” Eren assured Bianca, holding up her hand with Ronny perched within. The prince’s stomach lurched and dropped to the floor as the bigger platform of flesh and bone underneath Eren raised at a rate that flattened him. He collected himself and gazed up into a panorama of hazel, intricately woven with verdant vines of various shades. A great black void in the middle, large enough to engulf him, contemplated him with endless fascination.

“OH! THERE HE IS,” the goddess’s voice blasted, knocking him down. He covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. “OH, SORRY.”

“You should take us back to the kitchen,” Eren suggested. “Dinner will be here soon.” Bianca nodded. Ronny could feel the gesture, the displacement of the air around him, even though his eyes were shut. The giantess began to walk, and the strides rocked him chaotically, much like the motions of a ship in turbulent waters. He hoped he wouldn’t get seasick.

Bianca worried for her older brother, now smaller than a gnat, but the smoldering flames within her carried her forward on the path to revenge. She dripped some anti-digestion potion on Eren and Ronny on the way to the kitchen, smothering her brother in a droplet large enough for him to swim in. She avoided Bucky as she snuck into the kitchen, since she didn’t want to draw any attention to herself. Chef Cruor was hanging out in the corner, holding Addison and fawning over her, so the princess slunk over to him and tapped him on his bulky shoulder.

“What?” the chef snapped, cranking his head back while shielding Addison protectively with his body. His clothes, clearly too tight on his bulging frame, stretched taut against his fat rolls, with the buttons threatening to pop off. His skin resembled lumps of raw pizza dough packed on all over his body, particularly on his pudgy face. When he realized he was speaking to the princess, he turned all the way around and began to grovel with an apology.

“None of that now,” Bianca interrupted, leveraging her regal authority. “Just put this human away for me, please.” She handed Eren off to the chef and briskly walked out before he could question her any further.

Chef Cruor, seeking above all to keep Addison safe, didn’t protest. He dropped Eren carelessly into her glass cell and left. Eren sat cross-legged while hiding Ronny in her clasped hands. She could feel how scared he was, with his constant trembling and his tiny heart racing. She wished to comfort him, but she didn’t want to raise any suspicions. She couldn’t help but marvel at every miniscule shift of his teeny arms and legs. The sensation was like holding a bug, but one that was soft and fleshy, lacking spikes or chitin. Her lingering resentment towards the prince dissolved into a more generous sympathy. She knew all too well how it felt to be small and powerless in the hands of another. She petted him gently with her thumb.

Before long, it was time for dinner. Bucky lumbered over to Eren’s cage and snatched her up in his beefy fist. Eren squirmed in a convincing show of resistance, but she was careful not to squish the miniature prince in her own smaller fist.

“Ready for another fine evening of pleasing our glorious king?” Bucky jeered, giving Eren a mean-spirited squeeze. He dunked her into an ocean of pasta headfirst. Eren quickly stashed Ronny inside one of the rigatoni noodles so he wouldn’t get squashed as she struggled to resurface.

“Screw you, fatass!” she screamed up at Bucky. He leered at her before shoving her back down with his pointer finger and sending her off to the dining room. Eren sank down into the heavy top layer of gooey cheese and marinara sauce. Normally, she’d be furious, but now she was just anxious.

“Ronny, are you doing okay?” she whispered to him. The veil of cheese obscured them both from the giant servant.

“Y-y-yeah,” Ronny squeaked, shuddering hard. He wiped sauce off his face, disgusted and frightened after being stuffed into a gigantic plate of food. “My first order as king will be to fire that son of a bitch.”

Eren cackled. “Hell yeah.” She frowned and went quiet as they entered the dining room. The servant set down the plate with a clunk and backed off. Ronny peered out from his pasta haven and experienced a terrible jolt.

Under normal circumstances, he’d be ashamed to admit that he was afraid of his father. He’d only confessed such an embarrassing secret to Tanya, in a touching moment of vulnerability and pain. That normal dread, however, was completely eclipsed by the sheer terror that he encountered upon witnessing that horrible, dreadful, dangerous man scaled up to an impossible size. He was practically his own living country at these dimensions. Ronny could clearly see all the nasty little details that were imperceptible or unremarkable before, from a chip on the side of his tooth to the subtle wrinkles of his face, now like cracks in an embankment. Ronny almost pissed himself with fright.

“WHERE’S RONNY?” the galactic giant thundered. Ronny had to harness all his willpower not to yelp. He recoiled into the pasta pipe with dread. He couldn’t let King Richard find him. His father would be delighted to torture him, when he was no bigger than a crumb. He’d seen enough humans suffer the same fate. He would toy with him, torment him, roll him around in his fingers, hurt him, squash him. Place him inside his mouth, bite down on him, taste him—perhaps even swallow him.

Eat him! This man, this enormous hungry giant, was going to eat him! Even if he wasn’t discovered, he would be consumed unaware with his dinner, lost inside the labyrinthine guts of that foul, wretched, stinking, hulking mountain of flesh! Ronny just about lost his nerve, petrified by the thought. He realized with horror that he was trapped. He couldn’t escape even if he changed his mind. He was infinitesimal, but the giant would still perceive activity with the astute eye of a predator as he sprinted across the table. Just trekking to the edge of the plate, through a sticky, steamy swamp of sauce and cheese, would be a herculean feat in his diminished state. Ronny let out a frightened little whine before clamping his hands over his mouth. He needed to be quiet.

From across the table, miles away from Ronny’s perspective, Bianca’s voice resounded back, “HE’S SICK. HE NEEDED TO REST, SO HE RETIRED TO HIS ROOM.”

Hardon narrowed his eyes and grunted with dissatisfaction, but said nothing further. Ronny wanted to disappear, to be rid of this nightmare that was his life. As regret and panic flooded his mind in a feverish haze, he caught a ripple beneath the king’s silken garment, just below his collar. His heart stopped. Tanya. She was there, pressed to the giant’s mammoth chest.

Ronny’s panic was calmed, replaced by a simmering anger. Tanya. He was doing this, not for Bianca, not for the kingdom, not even for himself—for Tanya. He needed to save Tanya, at all costs. He exhaled an unsteady breath and slowed his galloping heart. Clarity was restored. His misery and pain didn’t matter, so long as Tanya could be rescued from that devil.

His calm was merely a momentary beat, for his heart rate spiked again as Chester approached. The giant loomed high above with a terrible foreboding that chilled Ronny’s blood. He was the gatekeeper, the final arbiter of their fates. Ronny could only hope that his scent wouldn’t arouse suspicion. The giant bent down over the plate, sniffing intently. The prince held his breath with suspense. Chester’s eyebrows knitted together with confusion and concern. He inhaled deeply through his nose.

Ronny collapsed and scrambled out of sight into the noodle cavern. The piece of pasta he was hiding in was pierced with massive prongs of metal, then lifted. Ronny was electrified with raw panic. All at once, everything was going horrendously wrong. If Chester smelled him, they would lose. If Chester failed to detect him, he’d be sent to the wrong digestive tract, and they’d be screwed.

Ronny was paralyzed, not to mention glued down by strings of cheese in the pasta, as an enormous green iris focused in on him from the noodle’s inlet. Ronny held on to hope, for the briefest snapshot in time, that he was too small to be seen, or that he’d be mistaken for a bit of seasoning. Maybe he could slip out at the last second, before being engulfed in Chester’s mouth. His momentary hope was stamped out as the giant’s eye widened with recognition. Their plan had catastrophically failed.

Chapter 61

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#giantess #shrinking #g/t vore writing #g/t fearplay #g/t vore

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