#digestion implied

You sputter, unsure how to respond. “I-I wasn’t—”

He snickers, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “Nah, you were. Don’t even lie about it.” He leans forward, resting one arm on the table, the other lazily rubbing circles over his belly. “What’s the deal, huh? Ain’t never seen a dude enjoy himself before?”

You try to laugh it off, but the sound dies in your throat when he shifts in his seat, scooting closer. His knee bumps yours under the table, and he smirks, catching the way you stiffen.

“Y’know,” he says, voice dropping a little lower, “if you like it so much, you could always get a closer look.” His grin is sharp, playful, but there’s something dangerous lurking beneath it. “Or... hell, maybe you wanna get inside, yeah? Make yourself useful.”

You blink, heart thudding against your ribs. “What?”

He burps—loud, unapologetic, the sound rumbling out of him like a challenge. He grins afterward, swiping a thumb across his lips. “Ahh, sorry, man. That shrimp’s fightin’ back.” He gives his belly a rough pat, making it jiggle again. “Might need somethin’ heavier to settle it, though. What d’you think?”

You try to back away, but he leans in, crowding you against the table. His stomach presses against your side, soft and warm, trapping you in place. “C’mon now, don’t be shy,” he teases, grinning down at you. “You been starin’ all night. Might as well make it worth your while.”

You try to stammer out a response, but he’s already moving—grabbing the chair beside yours and spinning it around to straddle it, his gut practically resting on your arm now. “What, you think I’m jokin’?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Nah, man. I reckon you’d fit just right in here.”

He burps again, this time blowing it right in your face with a laugh. “Whew, you smell that? That’s what’s waitin’ for ya.” He grins as you cough, waving his hand dramatically. “Bet it’ll be nice n’ cozy in there, though. You look like the type that’d enjoy it.”

You try to shift away, but his hand lands on your thigh, heavy and warm, keeping you in place. “Nah, don’t run now,” he murmurs, leaning closer. “Bet you’re wonderin’ what it feels like, huh? Bein’ all snug in there... squished up tight.”

You swallow hard, pulse pounding in your ears. He smirks, clearly seeing the panic in your eyes, and leans back a little, giving his belly a satisfied rub. “You know you want to, man. Might as well admit it.”

Before you can respond, he hooks an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer until your face is nearly pressed into his gut. “There ya go,” he chuckles, giving you a playful shake. “Feel that? That’s where you’re goin’, dude. Right in here.”

His hand slides to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. “C’mon now, don’t fight it,” he whispers, voice low and teasing. “Gonna swallow you whole, nice n’ easy. Just gotta relax.”

He opens his mouth slightly, letting his tongue flick out as if already tasting you. “Bet you’ll taste better than the shrimp, too.”

He doesn’t waste time. One moment, you’re staring at his smug grin, and the next, his hand is gripping the back of your head, fingers tangled roughly in your hair. He’s not gentle about it—there’s no hesitation. His lips stretch wide, and suddenly, your face is pressed into the slick, wet heat of his mouth.

It’s overwhelming. His tongue slathers across your cheeks, slick and hot, tasting you with broad, lazy strokes. A deep, muffled groan rumbles from his throat, vibrating through your entire skull. You try to squirm, but his hands are firm, holding you steady as he takes his time with each slow, deliberate lick. Every moan feels like satisfaction rolling off him in waves, like he’s savoring you.

Your shoulders bump against his lips next, and his jaw works over you greedily, tugging you in deeper with each wet, heavy gulp. The heat is suffocating—humid and thick, making it hard to breathe as his throat tightens around your face. All you can hear are the squelching sounds of his tongue and the soft, satisfied noises escaping from his chest as he pulls you in inch by inch.

He tries to speak—just once. A garbled, muffled attempt that sounds something like “mmmff…ffuck”—but the words get lost around your body, swallowed up by the slick confines of his mouth. He gives up after that, focusing on the task at hand, each gulp dragging you deeper into the dark, wet tunnel of his throat.

The pressure is intense, your head squeezing further into him with every swallow. His throat ripples around you, muscles working to pull you down, relentless and greedy. You can feel his pulse hammering against your skin, the thrum of it steady and strong as his throat flexes around your shoulders. It’s tight—unbearably tight—and every inch of progress feels like you’re being forced deeper into something inescapable.

His belly gurgles loudly, as if in anticipation, the sound vibrating through you as your head begins to slide past the opening into his gut.

And then, suddenly, you’re in.

The transition is abrupt—one second, your head is squeezed in the tight heat of his throat, and the next, you’re sliding into the slick, churning pit of his stomach. It’s hotter here, wetter too. The walls of his gut press in from every side, slick with juices that coat your skin, thick and warm. You feel something soft brush against your cheek—the remnants of the shrimp he’d devoured earlier, half-digested and floating in the sour broth of his stomach.

The air is thick, sour with the smell of food and digestive acids, and it clings to every breath you manage to steal. His stomach groans deeply, the sound vibrating through the tight space, as if welcoming its newest occupant. It squeezes around your head, kneading you into place like you already belong there.

Outside, the pred grunts with effort, his throat still working to swallow more of you down. The world narrows to the relentless pull of his gut and the humid press of his belly against your body. Your chest is next, sliding past his lips with a wet shlop as he takes another gulp, dragging you deeper.

His moans are louder now, reverberating through your entire body. Each noise is a mix of satisfaction and exertion, a primal sound that makes it clear he’s not just enjoying this—he’s thriving on it. His gut stretches to accommodate you, the skin bulging as more of your body disappears inside. You can feel it growing tighter, pressing you into the mess of half-digested shrimp and thick gastric juices already sloshing around inside.

You try to push back, just on instinct, but it’s no use. His throat is too tight, too determined to let anything go but down. Another wet gulp drags your waist past his lips, and you feel the rest of your body shift, sliding further into the sweltering heat of his gut.

By the time he gets to your thighs, his pace has quickened, each swallow coming more eagerly than the last. He’s lost in it now—every moan, every rumble of his belly a clear sign that he’s fully given in to the pleasure of swallowing you. His throat pulls you down greedily, his hands gripping your legs to guide them in, shoving the last of you inside.

Your legs kick weakly as they slide past his lips, but he just groans, one final, satisfied sound, and tilts his head back with a deep, powerful swallow.

Schlop.

The last of you slips down his throat, and with a loud, contented gulp, you’re gone.

Inside his belly, everything is tight, wet, and sweltering. The stomach walls squeeze you from all sides, pressing you deeper into the mess of food and digestive juices. Every shift of his body sends ripples through the tight space, sloshing you around like just another meal. The air is so thick it’s hard to breathe, each shallow inhale filling your lungs with the sour scent of digestion.

And then, outside, you hear it—a loud, rumbling burp that echoes through the confined space of his stomach, shaking you to your core.

“Oooof,” he groans, rubbing a hand lazily over the massive swell of his gut. “Man, you settled in good. Felt ya fightin’ for a second there—thought I might have to spit ya out. But nah... you fit just right.”

He leans back in his chair, letting his gut hang heavy between his thighs, bulging out with the clear outline of your body inside. “Shit,” he mutters, giving his belly a satisfied slap. “You’re bigger than you looked. Got me feelin’ all stretched out n’ shit.”

His fingers trace slow circles over the bulging curve of his stomach, feeling the way you shift slightly beneath the surface. Another burp rumbles out of him, this one even louder than the last, and he grins, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Whew. Yeah, that’s what I needed.” He grins, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Bet you thought you’d freak me out or somethin’, huh? Like I’d be all weirded out by this shit. Nah, man. I think I’m gonna keep ya in here a while.”

He stretches lazily, letting out a contented sigh. “Shit, maybe I’ll even take ya out for a walk. Show ya off a bit. Let everybody see what a good fuckin' job I did stuffin’ ya down in there.”

His hand presses down harder on his gut, squishing you deeper into the mess inside. You hear him chuckle low in his throat, the sound vibrating through every inch of his belly.

“Bet they’ll get a kick outta seein' this,” he says, patting his gut one more time. “Big ol’ belly full of some weirdo who couldn’t keep his eyes to himself.”

With that, he leans back, letting his belly settle heavy and round against his lap, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “Yeah... think I’m gonna like havin’ ya in there. Hope you’re comfy, dude. ‘Cause you ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

And with one last, lazy burp, he pats his gut again, closing his eyes with a contented sigh.

I stalked down the street, avoiding the pools of light cast by street lamps. Most of the homes lining the way were dark, but a few windows were lit. Even fewer had a jack-o-lantern carved with three fangs, two on the bottom and one on the top to form a v, placed prominently on the front step. These were the places for creatures like me.

Sack held tightly in my claws, I walked down the front path to one such house and knocked on the door. The thing that answered the door was either wearing the best costume or they truly did have two spiraling horns and a furry face. Their big, golden eyes took me in, rectangular pupils darting around. With a gap-toothed grin they picked up a handful of treats from their bowl and dropped it into my outstretched sack. The little creatures writhed in their hand and the mass wriggled apart in the bottom of my bag.

We nodded to one another, then I turned, flaring my cape, and headed back to the street. I carried onward, scanning the decorations for the telltale pumpkin. Some teenagers were gathered in a dark yard, a pale carton of eggs in one of their hands. I smirked at the little villains; they probably thought they were the scariest things out here tonight.

I traveled across the city, from one residential district to the next. Occasionally I came across other roving beasts. We would meet eachothers eyes for a heartbeat of acknowledgement before carrying on our solitary way. There were one or two packs, probably werewolves, and I ignored them altogether.

My sack was beginning to feel heavy, the mass of tiny bodies within undulating. At the next house, I shifted my grip and slipped a hand into the bag to grab one of the newest goodies. I gave the giver a wink before popping the tiny person into my mouth.

Its slight form flailed on my tongue. The powerful muscle arched to pin it to my palate before dragging across their entire being. I walked down the steps and up the driveway, giving my snack a firm suck, rendering them immobile. As the pressure eased they struggled with renewed vigor and I gave a weak, habitual chew. The motion squeezed out a tiny moan, but didn't break skin nor bone. My mouth watered and I continued to rub them into my tongue, working out every sweet scrap of flavour.

When I'd enjoyed all I could, I swallowed easily. By now its poor little body was limp from exhaustion, and my throat constricted around it in waves. I couldn't even feel it once it slid from my esophagus. I would have to be a little quicker with some if I wanted that delightful fluttering in my gut.

The moon was still high above when I concluded my trick or treating. My burden was bulging. With so many little creatures, their protests and cries were a soft hum of mingled noise. Satisfied, I turned to home.

Once back in my lair, I flopped on a comfy chair and hauled the sack onto my lap. I rolled the top edge down and licked my lips as I surveyed the tangled heap of limbs and bodies. 

I started with one at a time, delicately pinching a single morsel between two claws and dangling them above my watering mouth. They plopped in with a wet slap against my saliva slicked tongue before being plunged into the humid darkness of my closed maw. I was careful not to damage them with my sharp teeth, instead rolling them around with my tongue to work out every bit of flavour from their surface.

I was delighted to discover some had been seasoned or powdered in sugar. These tantalizing mouthfuls were the ones I savored the most. Drool escaped the corner of my mouth and I closed my eyes in pure bliss for the first moments after one such critter hit my tongue. Then I licked at them like all the rest.

Eventually my mouth was saturated in their mingled flavours. Saliva continued to flow freely and new mouthfuls offered very little fresh taste. Now it became about filling my belly.

I grabbed a small handful of wriggly bodies and stuffed them into my mouth. My jaws worked gently alongside my slippery tongue to squeeze and soak the entire lot. With a couple effortful gulps the whole clump of them were down. With a few sliding down at a time I was now able to feel their progress from the top of my throat all the way down behind my ribs to the already churning belly.

A few more handfuls, each one guzzled with increasing speed, did the trick. My stomach felt taught and full, though there was no visible sign. Most importantly, all those little writhing forms massaged the wrinkled walls of my belly. I gave a satisfied sigh and leaned back in my chair. With a little grunt of effort I pushed the bag of remaining treats onto the floor, careful not to spill.