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Pred: Thereâs something thatâs been bugging me that I gotta know, but do you fit in my mouth??? Letâs find out *shoves prey friend into their mouth all calm and casually*
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One of my favorite Vore things is like⌠Bony prey, Iâve found that really uncommon but the edges give me life. Gimme prey that try to prevent themselves from goin down by locking their arms out, or as they slide down inevitably the shape they make in the throat is just akward, jutting out at the sides as theyâre swallowed wrong. Jus h hhh hh good shit. Jus lanky Bois beIN ate, they can either go down super easy like a gummy worm or like a spiky rock and the choice is theirs.
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i love the concept of resting your head on a predâs full stomach. it would be so nice lean your ear up against their belly, and you could hear the gurgling and churning resonating from deep inside them. and the pred could gently press your head close to their gut, enticing you to listen more.
and if you pay close attention, you could even feel the slight movements of the predâs previous meal as they continue to move and squirm in the predâs noisy stomach
It begins with the shaking of the glass jar youâre held in, and you think youâre going to be sick.
It always starts out this way. The disorientation as light from the kitchen floods into the cabinet, and then those large, grabby fingers wrap around the glass jar you and your fellows are imprisoned in. He lifts it and draws it out of the cabinet and further into the light, and when you see that hungry, predatory grin spanning his face, your stomach drops in fear.
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It begins with the shaking of the glass jar youâre held in, and you think youâre going to be sick.
It always starts out this way. The disorientation as light from the kitchen floods into the cabinet, and then those large, grabby fingers wrap around the glass jar you and your fellows are imprisoned in. He lifts it and draws it out of the cabinet and further into the light, and when you see that hungry, predatory grin spanning his face, your stomach drops in fear.
One of you is getting eaten today.
There arenât many of you left, and there wonât be any of you soon. The hope of escaping by now has died as youâve watched each friend and stranger that was once stuck in this jar with you be drawn out of it and swallowed. Eaten alive. One a day, every day. One of you is chosen, slipped into that cavernous maw, and struggle between his lips as those left behind in the jar watch the predatorâs delighted face as he tastes them, teases them, and toys with the thought of letting them out before drawing them back into the confines of his hot mouth, only for them be swallowed, pulled down his throat in a small, insignificant gulp to satiate that gurgling, grumbling stomach of his, only momentarily.
And when he finishes, he places the remainder of you back into the cabinet, leaving you to wait for the day you will be swallowed too.
Maybe itâll be today. You hope itâs not. So you bite your bottom lip and press yourself to the back of the glass, hoping his stomach is growling for someone else today.
The jar is so silent that it feels like youâre choking as he looks between you and the others, slowly licking his lips, silently judging a contest that no one wanted to win. There are few enough of you for him to see each of you clearly, for each of you to line up against the back of the jar to get far away as possible from him, as though heâs looking through a lineup of who looks the tastiest and who will satisfy his stomach the most today.
His eyes land on you and linger for a second, two, three, and you hold your breath, trying not to look scared.
He likes it when his prey is scared.
His eyes finally flit away, and youâre just hoping that your legs wonât give out and give you away.
With a lick of his lips and a low âHmm,â he lifts the top off the jar and slowly reaches his hand inside. You squeeze your eyes closed and press back further against the glass, desperately hoping that heâs not reaching for you, hoping youâll live another day, when the girl beside you lets out a scared squeak.
The relief and panic of someone else being chosen for the day is a curse itself. Sheâs your friend and you shouldnât be relieved that sheâs his food today. Sheâs your friend, yet thereâs nothing you can do. You want to reach out to grab her, hold her hand and pull back into the safety of the jar, but the the fear of being lifted out of the jar along with her is keeping you from moving, so you stay there, silently watching, pleading, and unable to shake this undeserved relief.
And once sheâs fully out of the jar, itâs the same as any other day.
He teases her. Tastes her. Swallows her.
And with that gulp, sheâs gone.
This is the point that he usually smiles that sickening, predatory grin and pats his full stomach before screwing the top back onto the jar and returning you into the darkness of his kitchen cabinet. But heâs not doing that.
Instead, heâs still staring hungrily into the jar.
Heâs looking at you.
Right. At you.
âStill hungry,â he mutters, lips curling into a smile.
You turn away. He shouldnât be hungry. He should be full. He ate his snack, now he should leave the rest of you alone!
But heâs tapping at the jar. Heâs shaking the jar. Heâs turning the jar.
You let out a scream and fall backward, anything to get away from the glass. To get away from him.
âWell...â he hums, his eyes eyes smiling along with his lips as he reaches back into the jar, and although you and everyone else knows who his target is, you desperately hope itâs not the case. You back away until your back hits the other side of the glass. You get as low as possible to the floor as those fingers swipe at you, those fingers poke at you, and those fingers tug at you, pulling you away from the wall until he has full control over you.
Itâs happening. Itâs fucking happening.
It happens in snapshots. Black and white silence. Scared faces of the few surviving prey. Nails scratching against the bottom of the glass. The sickening feeling nothing but air beneath you. Thereâs nothing to hold on to. Nothing to stop your ascent. You know youâre screaming because youâre breathless, but you canât hear the sound. And as his fingers surround you, thereâs that single moment of realization that youâre trapped.
You scream and kick as youâre squeezed between his thick fingers that draw you of the glass jar, and he holds you above those smiling, saliva covered lips, and as he speaks, you get a glimpse into that wide open mouth, the pillars of the saliva, the large pink tongue, and the entrance to his throat.
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