#pec vore

“You really should be more careful,” F.reddy says as he helps M.onty up. The band is practicing on the stage, trying to figure out some new choreography for a song they’re doing. It’s going...well enough, except M.onty keeps moving around clumsily and has tripped over something several times now.

“I am bein’ careful!” M.onty demands with a huff. “It ain’t my fault stuff keeps gettin’ in my way!”

F.reddy sighs softly as M.onty stomps off. “Alright then...let’s take it from the top, everyone!” He smiles again as he gets the band back in their starting positions to do another rehearsal.

It goes well enough, at least at first. But then M.onty stumbles off his platform after stepping wrong and he goes tumbling down with a yelp. F.reddy notices and turns to try and catch him, only for the gator to crash into him and knock them both down.

F.reddy groans a bit as his vision flashes slightly. That hurt a bit. But…no, it’s not pain he’s feeling. It’s a different sensation—a much nicer one, in fact, coming from his chest. He looks down and gasps.

M.onty has managed to get his entire head wedged between F.reddy’s pecs. His muffled roaring was vibrating through F.reddy’s chest and it felt good. The gator’s thrashing around, large paws resting on either pec as he tries to pull himself free, but it’s just making the muscles clamp tighter.

Now, F.reddy knows he should let M.onty out and give him a more stern talking to about being careful. But the sensation is just…really good. F.reddy’s chest is clenching tight, eager to keep hold of its prey, and the bear finds it hard to deny himself the treat. It really is M.onty’s own fault for not listening, F.reddy reasons, as he wraps his arms around the gator and flexes his chest.

A muffled yelp comes from the bear’s chest as M.onty finds himself being held tighter and tugged deeper. His arms are pinned down by F.reddy’s hug, and just one flex has dragged his shoulders and most of his chest into the bear’s own. Once the shock wears off, M.onty is even more enraged.

Despite all his angry roaring and attempts to struggle, M.onty’s making very little headway on escape. His legs kick around wildly and his tail whips back and forth, but it’s all he can manage. His arms struggle against F.reddy’s, and once another tight flex drags him deeper, they’re struggling against the bear’s pecs instead.

F.reddy’s already letting the pleasure envelop him. It always felt good to cram something living into his pecs, but something as big and squirmy as M.onty after a day of rehearsal just feels even better. He flexes again with a pleased rumble, dragging the rest of M.onty’s torso into his chest and leaving only his ass and legs hanging out.

By that point, it’s been maybe a minute since they fell over. B.onnie and F.oxy finally got over to the two, just to see F.reddy getting back to his feet with M.onty’s legs kicking around wildly. “Woah, Fred, that’s a serious spill!” B.onnie says. “Hold still while we get Mont outta—“

F.reddy grunts and groans happily as he flexes his chest again, suddenly slurping in most of M.onty’s legs. He puts a paw on the bottom of M.onty’s feet and shoves down hard, forcing the rest of the gator into his chest. M.onty’s flicking tail tip is the last thing to slurp out of sight.

The other two watch as F.reddy’s pecs bounce on their own with M.onty struggling inside. They’re heavy and bloated and bulge out occasionally with a pressing hand or M.onty’s face. And F.reddy huffs in pleasure, his ears wiggling a bit as he feels the gator squirming and snapping inside of him.

“Er…Cap’n, don’t ye think he’s learned his lesson?” F.oxy asks. “Perhaps we should try to get him out before—“

F.reddy wasn’t listening—or maybe he was and didn’t care. He gropes his own chest a bit, then closes his eyes and flexes hard. M.onty screeches inside and there’s the sound of crunching, cracking metal. F.reddy’s pecs sink back a bit. Despite that, M.onty seems to be fighting even harder, getting more desperate and panicked.

The other two can only watch as F.reddy keeps mulching their fellow bandmates down. Every flex makes the bear’s chest sink back more, another part of M.onty being crushed down into mass with grisly sounds and loud screaming. It’s making the gator’s rage steadily turn into fear as more and more of him is turned into muscle mass.

By the end, M.onty had stopped making noise. A few more flexes crunch the last bits of him down and F.reddy is looking better off for it. Thicker pecs, more defined muscles, and he looks a bit taller. A pleased sigh comes from him and he feels up his new chest a bit more.

“Alright, we can get back to rehearsal now,” F.reddy says with a smile. He scratches between his pecs a bit and manages to hook something. He pulls out M.onty’s sunglasses, the lens broken and the frame warped. “We’ll just cut M.onty’s part for now…”