#willing fatal vore

[sillyromance]

Since @tinysuzy posted a beautiful list of vore dialog prompts, one line has been stuck in my head, and it refuses to leave. It stands under number 8: “If you want to die, then let me be your grave”.

There are so many controversial emotions fighting inside of me whenever I read this, but the one that overcomes, or rather concludes them all, is a feeling of comfort. It’s kinda illogical, I know. But this phrase always sounds so soft, so soothing to me – because I see it as an apotheosis of acceptance, love and trust. Yes, trust, because both pred and prey need huge amount of trust to bound their lives together till the end of times. I can’t help but put these words in a mouth of someone with deep empathy and compassion, someone who is so generous and selfless in a way that they offer to an abandoned, lost soul their body as a place where the latter would be in safety and peace for eternity, where nobody would ever hurt them again. And as far as it may seem to be just a way for a pred to get an easy meal, I don’t see even a hint of thoughts about gaining anything from a prey or using them here. Furthermore, as a prey myself, I would be deeply touched, realizing that a person cares about me so much that they are ready to spend all their life as one with me. Like… They would take all I have as their own, all my good and bad, all my imperfections – and wouldn’t judge, or laugh, or blame, or try to change me… They would just be there for me, and I would be there for them – forever.

I don’t know man. But reading this every time makes me emotional.

A small writing on this under the cut:

- If you want to die... then let me be your grave.

She sobs and leans closer to him, feeling his warm, welcoming body embracing her lovingly. She can hear his heart beating softly in his wide chest - and can't get enough of the sound, desperate to be surrounded, shaken by it to the very core of her bones. He brushes her hair, his touch soothing and comforting, and she isn't afraid of anything anymore.

Those nasty people will never get her again. Her friend is here, ready to bring her to safety, to give her shelter and defend her from the cruel world.

His big palm lays on her cheek. She smiles through tears and lets it caress her; as far as his fingers brush against her lips, she kisses them - and gives him one last look, look of deep sadness and deep gratitude.

- Take me in. Please.. - She asks, titling her head down.

And, soundlessly, he obliged, sealing her in his mouth up to her neck.

She isn't scared of pain - there won't be any. At best, it will tingle pleasantly until she get knocked out by heat and lack of oxygen. Powerful, yet gentle swallows make a good job slowly entraping every inch, every small piece of her body inside of her man, sending her closer, closer to her fate. She can already hear his stomach rumbling for her down below, and her smile spreads wider at the thought of answering that eager call of his inhuman nature. His organism wants her inside... Who is she to disobey its will? Besides, it fits her own desires perfectly..

Eventually, from the tight esophagus she is released into a roomier chamber. A stomach. The place where she will lose all her worries and fears along with her flesh.

It's clenching needily around her frame, keeping her right in its centre, demandingly cradling every curve and imperfection she thought everyone would hate, but he... wants. She feels his hands, too, resting on his expanded belly, rubbing at her back and shoulders, reaching to her through the layers of skin and flesh. She isn't alone. He didn't lie saying he would be there. Her love, her home.

Her last resting place...

Enough grief, enough struggles, enough anger. It's over. She notices liquid pooling in and eases herself into it, allowing it to fulfill its purpose and digest her. It feels blissful, to let it go. To let him take her and satisfy his body. As the walls hug her tighter, she fondles them, praying she won't be a challenge for him to claim.

She knows - he isn't the one to take advantage of her vulnerability, to tease, then deny her, to laugh at her weakness and freakiness. No.

He is her savior. Her hiding spot only they two know about. They both win this, for both get what they crave the most and what they deserve: she gets safety, love, protection; he gets nourishment and strength - not the kind of strength to abuse and destroy, but to build and help this world get better. Yet, there is no selfish reasons in the first place. They give things out of their hearts, and receive, minding the value of each gift. It makes this act even more intimate and beautiful.

They are definitely better this way, as a whole, powerful being.

...And she sinks into darkness, to become light in his kind eyes.

[mmmleckerlecker]

a pred that has absolutely stuffed themself with food and are now determined to eat this one prey for dessert but their stomach is already soooo packed that they’re jostling and massaging it with each swallow to make room for more and more of this extremely resistant and squirmy prey

[teal-fiend]

preds who are liars:

"idk where your friend is lol?"

"I just had a big lunch."

"Idk why I'm so bloated today haha"

"What do you mean my stomach's moving. no it isn't."

"I promise I won't eat your partner"

"You can bring your friend over, they'll be just fine."

"It's okay, you're safe around me"

"I have never eaten a person"

"I'm not hungry."

"Yeah I have something planned for dinner"

"I don't want to eat you"

"I would never eat you"

"I would never eat anyone, that's crazy. You're crazy"

"Idk who you're talking about"

"Can I eat you rq? I promise I'll let you out after"

"PLEASE let me eat you It'll just be for a little while..."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to eat you - it just sort of happened."

"Don't worry, I won't let my stomach digest u"

"I'm going to digest you"

"I'll never let u out, I never let my prey out."

"You're trapped in here forever."

"i'm just going to take a quick nap don't worry I'll let you out in like an hour."

"I've never digested my prey before"

"Calm down, you're completely safe in there"

"I think if you squirm hard enough, you might make me sick and I'll have to spit you up..."

"Ah, no don't wriggle so much, you're hurting my stomach!"

"Maybe if you stay completely still you won't trigger my stomach acids"

"Don't bother struggling anymore, I can't even feel it, it's not doing anything."

"You weren't even filling"

"Yes, you were tasty"

"You're my favourite prey" "You're the best prey I've ever had"

"I'll reform you"

"I'll remember you"

"Sorry for eating your friend.... It won't happen again."

"Oh, no, don't worry, they wanted to be digested by me."

"I still have plenty of room in here"

"I'll let them out if you give me a belly rub"

"Yeah, you can touch my stomach if you want, I'm full now anyway."

"It's okay, I just need you to come a bit closer..."

"Sorry I digested him yeah he's gone forever sorry."

"It's too late, I've already finished digesting"

"What do you mean I look different? I look the same"

"oh haha, my partner's just been feeding me a lot of snacks I guess"

"yeah, I gave up on eating prey"

"I'm not hungry anymore"

[lesbianoms]

Oof I’m in an “unwilling” vore mood… there’s just something so hot about being taken advantage of by a gorgeous woman who’s bigger and stronger than me. Her petting my hair and shushing my whimpers as she pulls off my clothes, kissing my neck~

And she knows I want this. Deep down, even if I’m frightened or I’m struggling in her gentle yep firm grasp, she knows this has always been what I’ve wanted. To be tummy fat, peacefully gurgling away, plumping up a MILF middle…

“Shh, shhh…” she soothes, caressing my mostly naked body as she kisses me all over, getting a taste of what’s to come. “It’s alright. You’re being such a good girl for me… mmmm, such a good meal~”

I let out a little yelp of fear as she licks the side of my face from behind. And before long she’s gulping me down headfirst, each thick swallow reverberating off of the bedroom walls, my muffled moaning and pleading mixing with the sounds of her belly as I’m pulled deep inside her. I’m flailing my legs helplessly until she slurps them up like noodles, and makes that final swallow~

And then, just like that, I’m curled up inside her stomach, awaiting digestion. No longer my own person. Just live food that will melt into mush, and fade away into a soft belly bulge. But she never forgets for a moment that I AM a person.

“Ooh, honey ❤️… you make me feel soooo full… oh darling, thank you for this. You really know how to satisfy a woman~”

Back on the outside, my pred hums softly with a warm smile, patting my form and letting out a deep, unladylike BUUUOORRP as the walls hug me. She croons in response to my muffled voice, apologizing… but she’s not really sorry <3

I incoherently beg for… god, I’m not sure anymore. Because my sensations are overwhelmed with how squishy and wet and warm everything is in there… and it’s g-getting hard to think… clearly… am I getting… softer….?

Hours later, when I’m just a shapeless mass bulging off her middle, making her stomach whine and gurgle as it continues to work on me, she still has her hands on me. Rubbing, petting, moaning…

“YoooOURRRP!! … ah~ excuse me… You’re amazing 💕”

Between her praises, she belches up my soaked panties. They rest on the top of her belly as I continue to digest away. And, unbeknownst to her… they’re not just wet from the stomach juices~ <3

I may have been denying it at first, but we both knew that in the end, I would give into my desires… 💖

[your-fave-is-a-pred]

[naughtyservant]

CW: Bones / S/kull

Philip is a voracious predator that won't doubt shove a cute boy down his throat and crunch him to feed his powerful muscles >:3

Maybe you already realized it, but this low angle is a HUGE turn on and I love to draw it sdkljgjklgsd

Philip belongs to @izznts. Thanks you sooooooooo very much for your support with this pic my friend! <3

*There is also an extra belly rub hands version on Twitter in the case you want to take a look ;3

Don't forget like, reblog and follow me for more sexy preds OwO)~

[voraciousvore]

I need to be eaten.

Preds, I'm begging you. I'm desperate. Devour me. However you please, my flesh is yours for the feasting.

Gulp me down raw and squirming, if that's what you want. Dunk me in sauce. Roast me on a spit, or put me in a sandwich. Dress me up on a fancy dinner plate, in a meal fit for a king. I don't care, as long as I wind up in your belly.

Take big bites, or swallow me whole. Tear me limb from limb with your fearsome teeth. Drink my blood, suck my marrow, use my bones as a toothpick. Enjoy every piece of me.

If you're starving, wolf me down quickly. Or savor me on your tongue. Roll my body around in your maw. Soak me in saliva, stuff me in your cheeks. Send me down your gullet, slick and lubricated.

I'll thrash in your boiling stomach, if I'm still alive, until I'm processed into unrecognizable mush. Or keep me whole and undigested, and send me on a nightmarish trip through your intestines.

I'll do anything, just eat me please!

[vorekody]

Thinking about a hard vore pred that gets paid an undeniable amount of money to do soft vore instead.

The urge to bite down is immense, but their need for the money is greater, and so they take the head and shoulders of the prey into their maw without any crushing force.

But when they try to swallow they realize that their instincts to rip and tear are the least of their issues in this session- swallowing a whole person is not the same as swallowing bite sized chunks of carnage.

The next few gulps are painful, their mouth dried from the prey's clothes, which are especially uncomfortable to get down.

Midway they have to pull the prey right back out - gagging all the while- because they're going so slowly that they've started choking.

Eventually they manage, with one last thick swallow their prey is sealed away, sitting heavily in their stomach.

Ending probably the most embarrassing meal of their life.

[supplesnack]

[sillyromance]

Good day everyone! (WARNING: willing fatal vore, angst, forbidden relationships).

Just a quick thought at night...

What if in G1 there was a girl who would come along with Soundwave.

For example, she helps him from some kind of trouble when he is injured and absolutely lost with no opportunity to comm anyone of his faction - all his comrades and cassettes are far away, so this human girl appears to be the only being in the universe who is able to give him a hand - and this young sweetheart sincerely wants it. So, despite his neutral, or even bad attitude to people in general Soundwave grows truly fond of her while recovering. They spend a lot of time together: talking, walking around the town she lives in, just doing average things, slowly getting to know one another.

And sooner or later, their relationships turn into something more than just an accidental companionship...

However, everything has its end. Soundwave is rescued by other decepticons, and the girl learns what kind transformers her lover belongs to... After she sees what Soundwave's "pals" do to people and her planet, she inevitably finds that her sympathies lie with Autobots. As someone who has already lost his own home, Soundwave understands her feelings; and, actually, the girl doesn't hate him too - the choice of an allie is his personal responsibility and she can't judge the mech, moreover that she doesn't know all the motives of his past decisions. This way, the war draws its black line between the two. They are bound to fight against each other, but, although both of them feel anguish and sorrow, they don't even think to betray their sides, and so, the decepticon and the human keep suffering wordlessly in secret from others...

One day, the lovers participate in battle. One against another, face to face. And, obviously, the human perishes. Wounded and powerless, she is thrown to his feet, waiting for her death to come. The robot towers over her miserable body, huge, heavy and cold like a mountain... There is only one step - and she will become nothing but dust.

But the giant doesn't hurry. Soundwave gently, lovingly picks her up from the ground like he has always done, trying not to cause even more damage to her vulnerable body than he has already did. And the 'con... Reveals his face for the first time after the war started. With an only intension.

To swallow. Her. Whole.

The girl doesn't protest. She just shivers and sobs faintly as her beaten body is cautiously laid on the long slimy glossa and pushed at the back of her lover's mouth. She doesn't even try to struggle as she slides down his slick warm throat and esophagus, being tugged deeper and deeper into his core by powerful, yet careful gulps. She slips in the fueltank, but she doesn't bang its tender walls or beg for release, or dig her nails in the squishy, velvet metal pulsating around.

She simply cries, remembering every beautiful moment shared with the indigo mech she loves so desperately - despite the thing he has just done to her. It is his guty - and that shall be respected.

The girls is sure digestion will start soon and she curls into a tight ball, shaking in horror and focusing on the last comforting moments of her lover's flesh hugging her compassionately. Although, even this she considers as an illusion created by her upset mind to weaken the inner agony a bit; stomachs exist to break down food, and it won't take long to tear her apart and process what's left. She can't hope Soundwave will be merciful with her right now. The law is the law: decepticons don't keep prisoners alive for long.

However, time goes - and nothing happens. Well, almost nothing. There is a slight blue light on the edge of the fueltank. It grows stronger and brighter with each second, filling the place with mesmerising, mysterious glow. And finally, it turns into a human figure with a face which is confusingly similar to the faceplate of the fueltank's owner. The man gets up and approaches the girl who is still lost in her thoughts, hiding her wet face in tiny, bleeding palms. In order to that, she is quite surprised as the hologram sits down beside her, takes her head in their hands, puts it on their knees and starts affectionately stroking it, softly brushing her thick, silky hair with one hand and holding her trembling fingers in another. Soundwave looks down at her with calm, kind expression, embracing his little human girl - the one his spark has chosen to be forever loyal to.

She wipes dirt, saliva and blood from her rosy cheeks and smiles, leaning to the ghostly light touch. She knows he won't let her out - there is no reason for her to return back to Autobots: she won't be as devoted to them as she once was anyways due to her unlucky, forbidden love. And she can't become a Deception either. So, sad fate is inevitable. Meanwhile, she sees that Soundwave loves her too no matter what. That he is with her - whatever Megatron and other decepticons do or say.

The girl finally feels ticklish sensation on her feet and discovers they have already started melting away. There is no burning or aching though; she recognises only relief and peace spreading around her exhausted, sore limbs and torso. Poor girl completely gives in to the natural process of Soundwave's body, no complaints or regrets inside her tired brain. She will be consumed by his systems till the very last drop. Her cells will collide with his cells, her love - with his love; she will go through all of him, swimming freely in his veins and accurately collecting every small detail about her darling - just for herself. She will disappear as an independent person, but remain alive in the layers of "breathing" metal he is made of.

He won't ever forget her.

Nothing will be able to divide them ever again.

[teal-fiend]

The Actor

A day in the life of a working predator actor.

content: fatal vore, implied digestion, willing prey, hunger, safe vore mentioned

The actor entered into their silver trailer and sat down on their faux leather couch (cruelty-free), lying back painfully, exhausted, looking up at the ceiling. That was a rough couple of hours. 

They had just finished the swallowing scene, the one the director wouldn’t budge on even though it was such a time sink, so much money and effort and agony for what, 2 seconds of footage that would actually be used in the final film? 

The actor’s stomach growled irritably. It had been fed, and then unfed so many times it was now beyond confusion and hunger. The pred rubbed their stomach soothingly. It didn’t know what was going on. The pred’s body was not designed for this type of tomfoolery. In the past, in ancient times, once they had prey, they got to keep it. There was no messing around with spitting it back up again, only to consume it once more five minutes later. 

The pred’s stomach had gotten all the signals that it was supposed to be digesting a big meal, and the fact that it wasn’t, meant that it was going to direct its energy; its anger, onto the pred. 

What the stomach didn’t know, the actor thought to themselves, was that doing this would ensure hundreds, if not thousands of prey in the future; the money they would make from this film could feed them for several lifetimes over. But this sort of thing was inconceivable to the simple animal that was the predator’s stomach. All it knew was that it had been robbed. It never thought of the distant future, only the current and terrible emptiness and hunger for more - anything. 

There was a metallic knock on the trailer door.

The actor straightened themselves up, “come in,”

Their personal assistant arrived on the threshold. 

“Don’t tell me I have to go back out there,” the actor groaned.

“I have some appetite suppressants.”

“You know those make me sick, besides, doesn’t that go against the point of it all.”

These gruelling hours were at least partially manufactured by the director’s desire to capture a genuine experience. They talked about it a lot, and it meant that they would force the pred to repeat the same scenes over and over until they grew exhausted and irritated and that would supposedly bring out their true predatory nature.

“Take three, I’ll tell them that this is your last round then you’re done for the day.”

“No, don’t tell them that, they’ll keep me out all night.”

“According to your contract, no. They’re only allowed one more hour with you today, and I’ll make sure they stick by it. I’ll have something waiting for you when you get home.”

“Prey?” the actor asked, barely concealing their excitement. 

Their assistant scoffed, slightly amused, “well yes.”

“Alright,” the pred laughed, stretching, “I’m just making sure you’re not throwing me a party or something. But going home to a nice, big prey… that sounds nice.”

“I’ll see you out there,” the assistant said evenly. 

“Right-o”

Knowing what they had in store back at home, the pred was able to breeze through the next hour, much to the behest of the director who was determined to see them break under the pressure. They wanted hunger, they wanted animalism, madness, and they got it, but the pred was only acting. And once they heard ‘cut’, the actor reverted back to their carefree selves. And they left exactly on the hour.

—

After the uber ride and the elevator ride, the actor unlocked the door to their penthouse apartment with a metal swipe card. Inside there was someone waiting, they could smell before they could see

Under the pink LED lights in an otherwise dark apartment, their prey waited for them. But when they saw the pred, they looked surprised.

“Good evening,” the actor said

“It’s you!” Their prey gasped.

The actor grinned, a little confused. “It is me.”

Maybe the prey wasn’t told whose apartment they were going to? They didn’t know how this stuff worked - usually they just came in and ate the prey and nobody was surprised or asked questions or really said much at all. After all, it would be a bit strange to have a conversation with your doordasher. Or maybe the prey was more like the take-out that the delivery man provided. It would be even more strange to talk to your take-outs… which is exactly why the actor tended to avoid it.

“I’ve always wanted to be eaten by you,” the prey said.

“Really?” 

“Ever since I saw you in that old movie,”

Ah yes, the pred remembered their debut film. It was crazy, all the way back then. They had only just graduated highschool. It was a small project, they just happened to be one of the only preds that the director knew. 

The movie became considered the first film to show a predator consuming prey on screen. Technically there were others, but this is the one that people heard about. And it made the pred famous.

“Oh gosh, has it been ten years already?”

How interesting how that worked. Time, and knowing people. The prey had known about the actor for many, many years. They’d seen interviews and articles probably, they knew the pred as well as a friend might. And yet, the pred had never seen this prey before in their life. 

“Maybe this is fate,” the actor said, “or manifested destiny.”

The pred felt a strong squeezing in their middle. The hunger pangs were peaking. But they felt the need to entertain their fan for a little while longer. They were after all, deep down, a performer. 

“Sorry if I’m a bit off, I’ve had a terrible shooting experience. I’m not sure what they told you, but I was made to swallow and spit up prey for most of the day.”

The prey consoled them, sympathetic, but they couldn’t help but ask, “you’re making another movie?” The implication being, another movie where the actor would eat prey on screen. 

“Yes,” the pred said, “I suppose you won’t get to watch it… that’s a shame.”

The prey sighed. The pred grinned, “but that also means that it won’t matter if I break my NDA, would it? After all,” they lowered their voice subtly, “you’re going to be me soon anyway.”

The prey paled slightly. The pred moved gently but unyielding, taking their prey’s hand and putting it against their grumbling stomach. They began to describe the plot of the film to the prey, along with some insider knowledge about production that they were sure the prey was dying to know about. 

As they talked, they were also sizing the prey up, considering where they would like to lie down after they had finished eating. The actor’s feet were sore, they didn’t want to have to wander about with a full tummy. They slowly moved the prey towards the pit in the living room, a kind of sunken area that was like a circular couch with a large marble coffee table in the middle. 

Once they were ready to eat, they already knew exactly how they would do it. Despite the years in between, the pred remembered the stage directions of their debut film perfectly. 

They started by saying a few low words, a close up to the actors faces. Then the camera would pull back, so the audience could watch as the pred hoisted the prey up by both arms, then took them feet-first into their mouth. It watched the slow struggle, one long take (and they only made one take. The pred had to use all their focus to not fuck it up and look into the camera). Every gag, gulp and fidget of an inexperienced pred and an even more inexperienced prey. Although these days, the actor had plenty of experience. Especially after the day they had - their throat still burned from the repeated friction. 

The actor sighed in relief once their meal had settled. They were about to lie down, but then realised they were still in their work clothes. They supposed it was unavoidable, having to walk around with a full stomach. Strangely enough, they felt a burst of energy, a bit of adrenaline - a second wind after eating. They supposed their stomach was ready to let it go again, so it wasn’t about to get comfortable just yet. That was fine for the pred; they wanted to take a shower anyway. 

The shower was steamy and well-pressurised, the towels were heated and soft, the robe waiting for them was softer. The actor passed by a hamper that they forgot they had, and selected from it a small box of assorted chocolates. Then they went back to the living room, balancing the box on top of their belly, and laid down in the pit. 

Their stomach was starting to trust them again, “there, see,” the predator said, caressing it gently, “all yours.”

The pred heard their prey murmur about something, and shift around. The pred frowned, then prodded their stomach curiously. It was always strange to hear their food try to talk from inside of them. A bit uncanny. Maybe it made them uncomfortable because if other people were around when it happened, they’d act all sympathetic, wanting to make the pred let their prey out. And that was something the pred didn’t even want to think about right now. 

That wasn’t going to happen now. The pred patted their gut proprietarily. The movement dislodged a belch, and their stomach grew tighter around their meal. 

The actor turned on their television and chose a movie they’d been waiting for a chance to see. A thriller. They took a candy from the box and ate it, eyes staying on the screen. As the opening sequence played, the actor took in a deep breath and sighed, relaxing more into the cushions. They’d had a big day, but now here they were, maybe all the hard work made moments like these more enjoyable. The pred kept a hand rested on their stomach, casually, restfully, but possessively. This one I get to keep. 

[lesbianoms]

I want to give a girl a bellyache.

I want to be hungrily devoured along with some beer or other fizzy drinks, some of the greasiest foods known to man, and a whole bunch of candy that’ll definitely make her insides bubble like firecrackers.

I want her tummy to be firm and bloated beyond belief as she sits back and rubs over it, hoping she can get things in her system moving. That fat, rumbling tum demands attention. And because of me, it’s incredibly tight and rock hard… <3

I want those heavenly, sultry gurgles and burbling gasses from within her belly to be mixed with my muffled whimpers as I try so desperately to find wiggle room in that slimy sac full of half-digested food and warm, warm acids…

Eventually I'd probably get comfortable enough to sit still and digest, but it would definitely take awhile. My struggles from inside would be like sharp pangs of overindulgence to her, and I'd hear her cute little moans and groans echo all around me...

As I’d curl up in her belly, my goal would be to try and get her to burp ❤️ she’s already squeaking out some soft, muffled *urraps* because of all the sloshy foam and trapped gas that’s in there with me… but I wanna hear her belch 🫧🫧

Squirming desperately inside a woman’s painfully tight tum and eventually stewing away sounds like a dream right now… I love being feisty prey sometimes

And besides, when I do eventually churn into soft sludge… I can only imagine how euphoric it must feel for my pred, as she feels the pressure loosen inside her. Now her powerful gut can finally get to work digesting everything else…

[naughtyservant]

A wonderful new pic of this sweet couple having fun at the lockers. Y'know, the usual think. A good f/uck, being vored by a huge c-ock and then churned into sweet thick c/um~

James (Pred) belongs to James The Beast (That I also designed his human/kemonomimi version in a previous commission :P)

Malus (Prey) belongs to Malus

A very huge thanks for your support with this pic!

Uncensor version on my A/ryion and T/witter as always

Don't forget like, reblog and follow me for more sweet couple moments with vore endings UwU)r

[tabbytums]

there's two types of vore dynamics i really love.

on one hand, i really love super intimate vore where the pred desperately wants the prey inside them, to become a part of them, most likely forever (and perhaps the prey wants this too). it's sickeningly sweet on the pred's end, massaging their belly and cooing as their prey rests inside, slowly softening as the day goes on until they become nothing more than mush inside the pred's guts. afterward, all that really remains of the prey is new plush pudge on the pred's belly, ass, chest, and thighs. but to the pred, their prey is home now, inside them.

and, well, the other type i love is just the opposite. the process of swallowing the prey is always an intimate affair, but afterward, the prey is nothing but food to the pred, meat to churn away. they don't pay much mind to their prey after they're eaten, going about their day as if they ate a turkey sandwich and not a full living breathing person. the prey is churned away, pumped into the pred's intestines, without a second thought. the pred's new love handles are just fresh fat, nothing more, nothing less. who the prey was before doesn't matter to the pred. even their face will be forgotten. all they are now is fat.

[the-real-ali]

mmmm, milkman/Francis mosses😳

・nervous pred 🩵

・He a skinny-looking guy so he'd have a noticeable stomach bulge

・sharp teeth

・when he does milk deliveries he sometimes eats you because he wants company

・makes jokes about dipping you in milk but has yet to try it

・He loves carrying you around in his chest pocket

・He's terrified of people finding out he eats you sometimes

・when he's not nervous he loves teasing you, lots of kisses or licks

・he enjoys it when you sleep on his chest (Milkman moobs 😳😳)

・he probably smokes or drinks coffee (he's sleep deprived as fuck)

・when he comes back from his deliveries and sees you asleep he sometimes eats you

・gentle playful bites

・Always carries you around especially when going out with you since he'd hate to see you get eaten by a doppelganger

・he finds you hiding beneath his hat sometimes before deliveries

・His stomach kind of cramped

・sometimes likes to hum to you after swallowing you

[mmmleckerlecker]

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

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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.