YummyNoms

“You’re too late, Iceas!” Ms. Dilemma cackles as I roll my eyes. “You’re too late yet again!”

“Yes yes, what have you done this time?”

“Just look at my handiwork below!” I peer over the edge, and-

“Woman.”

“What do you think?! Flip the lever, and you prevent a trolley from killing five people just to kill your girlfriend! Else, you’ll let your girlfriend live at the expense of five innocents!”

“Did you seriously re-invent the trolley problem?!”

“N-no?!”

“THIS IS THE FIFTH TIME YOU’VE DONE IT THIS MONTH!” I screech, throwing my white-gloved hands out and feeling tempted to strangle this woman’s neck. I mean, I’m only a few months older than her, but still!

“But it’s different! Last time it was your cheating ex!”

“Forget this,” I grumble, kicking the lever over and freezing it in place as I start creating an ice slide to make it down to the other side of the tracks, seeing my beautiful girlfriend Lisov stuck to the tracks, the sun shining against her wonderful tan skin, curly brown hair, and green eyes.

“Sweetheart!” she calls out when she sees me. “Thank you for saving me, that villain was dreadful.”

“I know,” I sigh as I get to untying her ropes. “Honestly, she gets on my nerves.”

“Mhm,” she nods. “Thank goodness my wonderful goddess is here to save me, and-”

“Oh shut your mouth,” I add, blushing as I turn away.

Yet, a honking can be heard in the distance. My head swivels, body panicking as I see the runaway trolley barrelling towards us… There’s no time.

“Sorry,” I hastily apologize. I look towards her, opening my mouth wide. Her eyes don’t waver, struggling to process as she’s engulfed in my maw within seconds. She struggles against my suction, legs floundering as I take a second quick gulp and keep her down, sweating as she starts to kick around.

“Where am I?!” she panics, small bumps forming as I start to hug her. “Iceas, where-”

“Hey,” I shush, slowly caressing her head as I turn away, the trolley barrelling away rapidly and screeching against the tracks. “You’re ok, just… inside me,” I explain, her flailing slowing down as she hears my soothing words. “Now,” I answer, glaring upwards. “Time to have a chat.” I raise my hands, a stair of ice freezing the air as I ascend towards the villain now clutching the side of the railing, refusing to let go. She looks at me oddly, eyes now… empty.

Then, she lets her hands up, slowly raising them to the bright blue air. Her lips open and close, the wind obfuscating her words.

“What was that?” I demand, raising an icicle spear in my hand.

“I surrender,” she replies softly, refusing to meet my gaze. I stomp forward, only for an internal pounding to rise that causes me to stop.

“HEY WAIT WAIT WAIT!" Lisov cries out. 

“WHAT?!” I ask. “What is it now-”

“SHE’S MY BLIND DATE!”

“YOUR WHAT?!” I look over at Ms. Dilemma, clutching her arm. “You- what?! You dated my girlfriend?!” 

“I didn’t know,” she confesses. “I mean, at the time we met, but-”

“Hey, let me explain,” Lisov interrupts.

“Alright…” With some hesitation. I regurgitate her, seeing her climb out as she falls onto the ground, saliva sticking to her face. “Now, talk.”

“So,” she starts, “We had met through a dating app. It was pretty pleasant, she was a nice person. I kinda found out about her villainy… well, today actually. But she said no one was going to get hurt! Really!”

“Yeah,” Ms. Dilemma agrees. “I only meant for the trolley to stop not to actually… plow through. I know I set the emergency brakes to activate, broke the track before, everything… how could it?”

“So please,” Lisov asks. “Don’t… do anything.”

My icicle spear wavers, falling to the ground and shattering. “Fine,” I huff. “Still, you’re under arrest.” My stomach grumbles, prompting Ms. Dilemna to look at it. “What?” I ask.

“Well,” she offers, “if you need to contain me…” she thrusts her limbs forward, expecting something. We stand there, leaving her blushing.

“What?” I demand. “What more could you possibly want?”

“You can… eat me,” she mumbles…. Huh?

Screw it. I saunter up to her, sizing her up; she’s only a few inches shorter. “I should be able to make this work,” I reply, opening my mouth wide. I gulp her head, the sensation of her twitches sending thrills as it mixes with the tanginess of her sweaty sand-white skin. 

“Mmph!” she mumbles, wriggling around as I take my time savoring every bit of her, feeling the latex of her suit slide cleanly down my throat, her descent starting to form a bulge that grows into a bump, then a hill. She seems to fight back all the way, good; I want my prey to squirm, especially for someone like her. I finish gulping down her shoes, letting out a gasp as I complete my last swallow. She moves around slowly as I decide to knead my stomach, applying a bit more force with each one. “Ow, that hurts a bit,” she complains.

“Good,” I reply. “You nearly hurt my wife with my antics.”

“I… know,” she confesses. “I wanted you, honestly.”

“And this was how you decided to do that?”

“Sweetheart,” Lisov asks, putting a hand on my stomach. “I love her too, and I trust her. Please?”

I can’t fight her when she makes that pouty face. “Fine,” I reply.

“It’s just, you’ve always seemed so bright,” Ms. Dilemma answers. “So confident in your decisions… and then here I am; a rich girl who became a high-school dropout. I failed my way out of uni because I just couldn’t decide what I wanted to do… everything sucked.”

…

“It still does,” I answer, leaning on her. “My agency, they always call me at the most unreasonable hours, whitewash me when given the chance, all that stuff. It’s not great either, and to be honest… I kinda wanted a chance to break free.”

“Remonda Wilkison.”

“Sorry?”

“That’s my name.”

“... Aurora Fidafey,” I return.

“It’s a cute name.”

“I know,” I pridefully say, deciding to give a kiss. “I can… give you a chance. Lisov seems to like you.”

“Love,” she corrects, rubbing along my stomach too.

“Haha,” she chuckles, starting to cry.

Phronial squared her shoulders. Any minute now the show will begin. She did not have a very hard or taxing part of the performance, she wasn’t like her co-performer, Arnold, who had to walk up and down ramps on his hands while the crowd jeered at his lack of legs, but it still made her nervous to be out on the stage. 

She listened to the members of her troupe be called out onto the main stage and perform in front of the crowd. Moments before he went out to perform, Arnold blew her a kiss and hobbled out on his hands. 

Phronial waited for the crowd to be quieting down, to be letting Arnold make it off center stage, and then she charged out on all fours with a wild roar. She shook her wild mane and lashed her tail and roared before the audience. 

“Behold the Beast woman! Back up from the stage, lest you become her next meal!” 

The crows balked and gawked and shouted as Phronial prawled the center of the stage, her sharp claws picking at the wooden stage, snapping her fangs at the closest members of the audience. She could walk upright, and did so often, but the crowd had a better reaction to her on all fours and when she acted more like an animal.

“From the wilds of the far east, our beast woman has an insatiable appetite to match her terrific size. With a snap of her jaws she could swallow a man whole.” Phronial feigned a lunge for the presenter and he stumbled aside. “What a wild beast! Are there any who dare to brave her jaws?” 

Before an audience member would foolishly consider themselves brave or stupid enough to accept the presenter’s challenge, Phronial rounded towards the side of the stage and grabbed Arnold’s shirt with her large hands and hauled him up over her head. 

With feigned struggle and terror, Arnold was lowered into her awaiting maw. He tried to press his calloused hands against her face and pry himself free, but they all knew he did not possess the strength to fully free himself. Within only moments, Phronial landed back on her front paws, stomach firm and round with Arnold, who played the part of struggling and terrified prey just fine in front of the crowd. 

There was chaos as the crowd saw her prowl back and forth, and the ‘handlers’ came up onto the stage and forced her back off stage into an “awaitging cage” as assured by the presenter. 

Phronial purred and rested a hand upon her stomach. “Are you alright, Arnold?” 

He shifted slightly within her stomach. “I’m okay. Are you?” 

At first, like everyone else, I had been terrified of his domineering, imposing figure that towered over all of us in the office, human and giant alike. He terrorized his subordinates, bullied and berated his fellow giants, and treated the human employees like vermin. He delighted in stomping perilously close to any humans foolish enough to enter the danger zone around his feet.  

When his secretary, an unassuming human woman, mysteriously disappeared, rumors scorched the halls like wildfire, becoming more extreme and fantastical with every retelling. Some suggested he’d kicked her across the room like a soccer ball, breaking every bone in her body. Others insisted that he defenestrated her from the fourth floor in a fit of rage, reducing her to a bloody smear on the sidewalk, or devoured her alive when he forgot to pack his lunch. 

Whatever happened to her, her position was open, and nobody wanted it. Candidates called in to his office to interview left shaking, often red-faced or in tears from the verbal undressing. The situation necessitated an internal hire, and there was much handwringing from the middle managers beneath him as they struggled to fulfill his demand for a personal assistant. They needed a scapegoat, a sacrificial lamb to appease the beast. 

They chose me, the expendable junior associate at the bottom of the hierarchy. I couldn’t refuse, seeing as how I was on thin ice already for screwing up several of my projects. I convinced myself I didn’t really believe all the office gossip; I’d be fine, right? I was exceedingly nervous, but I rose to the challenge and reported to his office first thing the next morning. 

My first day did not go well. Mr. Maneater greeted me with a nasty scowl and a dismissive shake of his head, clearly unenthused with me as an offering. I was horrified to find that my miniature desk was posted on top of his, next to his computer keyboard, so I couldn’t escape him. My jittery hands could barely type when he demanded that I transcribe notes for his video call. I jumped every time that his bass voice boomed above me. I was too scared to speak to him, and he got angry when I couldn’t answer direct questions. He yelled and cursed when I took forever to run a simple errand, due to my diminutive size. The only smirk I got out of him was when he nearly stepped on me. I had to dive out of the way, scattering my papers all over the floor. I crawled across the carpet like a worthless worm, collecting the loose sheets as he stood over me. 

I went home and sobbed into my pillow. I’d never survive this job; that giant would kill me. I agonized over my predicament all night, unable to get any rest. I thought about quitting, about giving up—but I’d worked too hard for my salary to simply walk away. As frightened as I was, I had to go back. I swallowed down the buzzing anxiety in my chest and went to work. 

Mr. Maneater seemed surprised to see me, like he didn’t actually expect me to return. He cocked a brow while squinting down at me, as if examining a roach on the floor, but didn’t vocalize his thoughts out loud. I avoided his feet as he lumbered over to his computer and sat down, the chair creaking under his leviathan weight. I made the arduous climb up the monument of his desk, via a very tall ladder, in order to reach my own station. 

Before I could sit down, he blocked my way with his massive hand, plunking his index finger down on the wooden landscape with a loud thunk. I flinched back, falling flat on my butt. Without giving me any time to react, he plucked me off the desk between two colossal, rough fingers. I squeaked with fright as he carelessly dropped me into his breast pocket. 

“I need you to take notes for me today,” he announced, his powerful voice reverberating through his chest—and my bones—like a blaring subwoofer. He pinched my notepad and pen off my desk and tossed them into the pocket alongside me. I shielded myself with my arms as I was pelted with office supplies. I grabbed my stuff, only to lose my grip when he suddenly stood up and catapulted me down. I toppled along the silken fabric to the lowest point, lost in a tangle of limbs. 

His walking was like the rhythm of a gargantuan ship cresting the waves of the sea. I strained to maintain my balance and win my “sea legs,” but he gave me no time or accommodation to adjust as I careened from one side to the other. His chest heaved and swelled alongside me, filling the space with his voluminous breathing. His body radiated warmth; his elephantine heart throbbed loudly next to me, pumping blood through a labyrinth of veins. The overwhelming sensations left me flustered. 

Focusing on taking notes was a challenge. My handwriting was a barely legible scrawl, since even the slightest twitch of his mammoth muscles was enough to jerk my arm in an unpredictable direction. Fortunately, I had no trouble hearing his colleagues, since virtually all the higher-ups in the company were giants. Our company was progressive in its integration efforts, but not that progressive. 

All the effort that went into just staying upright, listening, and writing was wearing me down. As I huddled into a little ball at the base of his pocket, hunched over my notations, my hand started to cramp up. My belly was painfully empty, since I had been too nervous that morning to stomach any breakfast. Lunchtime came and went with no relief, as Mr. Maneater kept working through his break. 

I diligently listened to his conversations over the drumming of his heart, and inscribed the important bits. My anxiety gradually gave way to fatigue. I was hungry, I was tired, enfolded in soft fabric, surrounded by heat, rocked by the steady motion of gigantic lungs—I was getting sleepy. I perked up from my stupor when I heard the sound of a microwave. Lunch time! 

I waited impatiently as he heated up his food in the break room and took it back to his office. The hearty scent of stew hit my nose and my stomach growled longingly. The giant began to eat his lunch, apparently forgetting about me because he made no move to take me out of his pocket. 

“Um, Mr. Maneater, sir?” I whispered in a scratchy voice. I was still too nervous to talk to him like a normal person. He didn’t hear me. His spoon clinked against his teeth, and I could hear the liquid squish of his throat muscles as he swallowed a bite of his meal. Cringing at the unsettling noise, I clumsily climbed to the lip of the pocket and stuck my head out. “S-sir?” 

No response. With the fabric slipping out of my sweaty hand, I tried to readjust and pull myself higher to get his attention. And that’s when it happened. He shifted in his chair, leaning forward, and I fell. A jolt surged through my body as I dropped a terrifying distance. Strangling a cry, I plopped into a sea of hot broth. 

I resurfaced, coughing, and latched on to a chunk of meat that was larger than my entire body. I froze in utter disbelief, slowly looking up to see the gigantic face of my boss staring down at me. For a moment, we were both crystallized in the moment, unable to move or react. His eyebrows twitched and a strange expression crossed his face, one of annoyance, anger, confusion… and hunger. Intense, depraved hunger. A monstrous gleam flashed in his dark eyes as his lips parted to reveal glistening rows of saliva-soaked teeth.  

Oh God. He was a Maneater. A giant who, by virtue of his family blood, was predisposed to eating people. And I was in his lunch. The realization struck me like lightning: He was going to eat me. 

Panic seized me with savage claws. I shrieked as I dove into the hot brown liquid and pawed at it frantically to swim away. In my haste, I forgot that I couldn’t swim; I kicked uselessly against slabs of chopped carrot and onion, but they were too soft to hold my weight, and I began to sink. 

“Help! Help me!” I screamed out to anyone that would hear me, splashing frantically. Something solid whacked my knees and lifted me out in a puddle. To my horror, it was the bowl of a giant spoon, rising rapidly toward the giant’s capacious maw above; with no other option, I vaulted over the edge, falling back to my doom in the stew. 

“Hey!” the giant growled, fishing me out with his fingers this time. 

“No!” I squealed, tears running down my cheeks. I scratched helplessly at his enormous fingers, which didn’t give an inch. 

“What the hell’s wrong with you, stupid human?” Mr. Maneater bellowed in a deafening roar. I recoiled, crying even more. 

“Please, don’t eat me!” I begged through my sobs. 

He blinked, his face crunching up. “Huh?” Narrowing his eyes, he brought me in closer, close enough for me to feel his hot breath on my skin. 

“No, please!” I implored with another flurry of squirms. “I’ll do anything you want, just don’t!” He frowned, but didn’t answer. He examined me for an agonizing stretch of time before his gaze drifting down to my kicking legs. A warm stream flowed down my calf, accompanied by an acrid stench; I’d urinated on myself in my terror. His nose crinkled with disgust. 

“Just… go,” he ordered, lowering me to the desk. My rubbery legs were unable to sustain my weight and I collapsed into a quivering heap. 

“You’re not…?” I whimpered stupidly, incapable of finishing my sentence. 

“Get out of my sight,” he barked. “Before I change my mind!” 

I squeaked and scrambled to run away, fully aware that he could snatch me up anytime if he wished. My journey across his desk, down the long ladder, and across the vast floor to the door, was agonizing, with his piercing gaze pinning me down the whole way. I felt as if his stare followed me even after I evaded his line of sight, while I scurried through the titanic office halls, saturated in fluid, hiding the shameful stain on my crotch. 

I rushed out, stripping down and showering as soon as I was safely within the privacy of my own home. I couldn’t stop shaking, even when I laid down on my couch to cool off. I didn’t know what to make of the situation. As frightened as I was, I had to acknowledge that he’d chosen not to eat me, even when he had ample opportunity to do so. But the very thought that he could, that he had even considered the idea, turned my stomach. The voracious desire in his eyes, twin candles flickering in blackened pools, was scalded into my memory. I had little doubt about what really happened to his previous secretary. 

I didn’t know what to do, so I decided to sleep on it. I tossed and turned all night. I dreamed about falling a great distance into a mouth as big as a canyon, salivating teeth and lips and tongue closing in on me, squeezing down a tight throat, trapped in darkness, churning in bubbling fluid. I woke up in a cold sweat and took another shower. 

I went to work.  

My heart was pounding like a hammer as I wandered the echoing halls to his secluded office. I hesitated at the looming door, breathing hard, before crawling underneath it. The fine hairs on my body stood on end as I entered his spacious office, as if the prey animal in me sensed his foreboding presence before I actually saw him. He was sitting at his desk, typing on his computer, his focus entirely on the screen.  

I scampered across the floor to his desk and climbed up. The task was arduous, since every muscle in my body spasmed with trepidation, refusing to cooperate. He didn’t look at me, not even as I tiptoed over to my own desk and assumed my station. My notebook, bent in half from being crunched between his fingers, lay on my desk. I took the hint and typed up what I wrote, editing for clarity, before shooting him the document in an email. His computer pinged next to me, and he grunted, but otherwise remained silent. 

He didn’t say a word to me or acknowledge me for the entire day. It was odd, to see the temperamental giant so quiet. When I worked up the courage to sneak a peek up at him, I observed how tired he looked, as if he hadn’t slept. He hadn’t shaved either. With no work assignment, I quickly got bored, but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. I was apprehensive, but also confused by his abnormal demeanor. I fiddled with my hands and pretended to work on my computer. 

As lunchtime approached, I started to get more agitated. His empty stomach rumbled like an earthquake under the desk, making me shudder. He grabbed his lunch, a sandwich stuffed with roast beef, and chowed down on it with great big bites. Every chomp of those fearsome teeth sent a shiver down my spine; my eyes were glued to his throat every time he swallowed. His mouth was huge, a wet cavern of ivory and living flesh, easily wide enough to engulf me. I was transfixed with a combination of horror and grotesque fascination. 

He caught me gawking at him and stopped chewing, his cheeks stuffed with sandwich. I flinched a bit at his direct gaze, nearly toppling off my chair, much to my embarrassment. He swallowed, and his eyebrows folded down in a glare, as if daring me to say something. Rather than insulting or chastising me for my insolence, however, he merely shoved the remainder of his sandwich into his mouth and choked it down, then went back to work. I pointedly looked away, too cowed to raise my eyes up from my desk. 

The second my shift ended, I dashed out. The whole day had been so tense: The environment was stifling. I sampled the fresh air outside and allowed a cool wave of relief to wash over me. He wasn’t going to eat me after all. Such a relief. I was alive. I was safe. 

That night, while I slept, I dreamed about being eaten again. This time, I was in his roast beef sandwich, nothing more than an extra topping squished between giant slices of pickle and tomato, unable to move. I pleaded for my life, wailed and squawked, but he only leered at me coldly before opening his mouth wide to devour me. His teeth carved through the sandwich in a semicircle around me, fully enclosing me in a cage of bone. The sandwich was reduced to mush by the powerful molars while I floundered in a pool of saliva in the curve of his squishy tongue. I was sucked into his gullet with the rest of the slop and gulped down a suffocating tunnel. When I dropped into his stomach, I woke up. 

I took a cold shower and went to work. Though my insides were slithering with unease, I stepped into Mr. Maneater’s office and marched to my desk with an air of confidence. The giant glanced down at me, spat out some directions, and turned back to his computer. I obeyed. 

He was more vocal today, but something was still off about him. He’d shaved, but the skin sagged with fatigue around his eyes—a detail that would be hardly noticeable, if not for the sheer immensity of his features. His orders to me were clipped, his words strained. He was gruff, but his tone had lost some of its edge. His movements were less abrupt, less sharp. 

His phone rang; he answered and barked into the receiver, rekindling his former fire as he chewed out one of his subordinates. He slammed the phone down, muttering invectives, but clammed up when his attention fell on me. He huffed and left the room to attend to some matter. 

I didn’t understand why he was acting so out of character. He seemed almost self-conscious around me, like he was embarrassed about the whole food incident. Yet, I’d seen him laugh or grin whenever he tormented humans by stomping near them, so why was that scenario any different?  

Then again, I had never once heard him threaten to eat anyone, not even as a joke. I’d never seen him actually physically hurt anyone either. Was he all bluster? Were the rumors about him disposing of his secretary unfounded? 

Upon reflection, the only time I’d ever seen genuine malicious intent was that terrifying predatory hunger he’d directed toward me when I was in his lunch. The reminder awakened a creeping primordial fear in my brain, especially when the giant returned to his office, cranky as ever. The desk rattled when he flopped into his chair with his tremendous mass, and the displacement of air ruffled my hair and clothes. He ran his hand through his gray-flecked, thinning hair, as if frustrated. I watched his every move warily. 

The days passed, and I began to see Mr. Maneater in a completely different light. To everyone else, he was the same man. He still acted the same, talked and yelled the same, intimidated his underlings with threats of violence and condescending sneers. But to me—he was different. He treated me differently than the rest, differently than when I had first been assigned to serve him. By subtle degrees, he was gentler, softer. He didn’t raise his voice as often or hurl insults. He handled me carefully, as if worried that he would break me. 

I began to understand him better, to see past the wall of his inherent misanthropy. He was very intelligent, shrewd, and calculated in his business dealings. He wielded his volatile temper like a sword, to exercise his authority and get the best results out of his workers. I got a bit of a rush when he carried me around in his pocket, and I could see firsthand how everyone around him tripped over each other to please him. The effect was magnified tenfold when I saw other humans, little specks far below, sprinting away from his feet as he casually strolled the halls. I wasn’t like them any longer; I felt important and special, to be tied to this powerful giant, to be in his favor. 

My admiration for him grew. Disquieting feelings were growing inside me that I couldn’t control. I looked forward to coming in to work, to those quiet moments when I sat next to his humongous right hand—and especially to those bustling days when he needed to carry me around in his pocket or palms. He wasn’t the type to praise my work, but my heart fluttered at the smallest hints of approval: the crinkling of his eyes at the corners, his lips twitching up ever so slightly, his fingertips stroking his chin, his eyes lingering on me a few seconds longer than necessary. 

The tension between us was palpable, though the precise nature of it was undefined, uncertain, unacknowledged. Every once in a while, I caught him staring down at me when he believed me to be preoccupied. He never apologized for how he treated me, at least not verbally—but I could feel his consideration in his gentler looks, his feather-light touch. Even in his unsteady heartbeat when I was pressed to his chest. 

I yearned for more. To be closer, much closer. My nighttime illusions persisted, but they gradually transformed from harrowing nightmares to sugary, self-indulgent fantasies. He ate me over and over again: in stews, in sandwiches, in soups and salads. Sometimes I was even naked. Sometimes he was naked. I would wake up overheated, flushed, burning with arousal and desire. I wanted him, badly. 

As alarming as these fantasies were, I could no longer deny them. I wanted to be inside him. I almost couldn’t bear it, being so near him everyday, yet so far away—having to act normal and professional, like nothing had changed. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to come clean about my secret inner desires. So I bided my time, waited for the right opportunity. I bought myself a pack of anti-digestion pills and kept them on my person. Just in case. 

And then it came. Another long day of sitting in his pocket through meetings, listening to dull, dry conversations, transcribing notes, until I could hear his belly grumbling like mad. He heated up his food in the break room with a relieved sigh, and carried it back to his office to fill his stomach in privacy. I knew I only had once chance, as I clambered up to the top of his pocket. A thrill of fear surged through me; as much as I had dreamed of this moment, I was fully aware that reality was a very different beast from dreams. 

He bent his knees to sit down. Shaking with anticipation, I took the plunge. I jumped out of his pocket, tumbled down his chest, and landed with a splat in a clump of mashed potatoes. I sat up, hastily wiping the paste off my face, and locked eyes with him. He returned my gaze with shock, perhaps even mortification—but the predatory instinct within him was unmistakable. I recognized the flames smoldering in his black pupils, irrepressible passion concealed in inky depths. His mouth watered as his jaw hung open; his tongue undulated within the drooling cavity, begging for live meat. 

He blinked and shut his mouth firmly, clamping down on his ravenous urges. Without a word, he extracted my tiny body from his mashed potatoes and set me at my desk, then turned away and crossed his arms, unable to face me. He didn’t move or touch his food. I stared up at him, clenching my fists. I opened my mouth to speak, then closed it. What was I supposed to say? Admit that I fell into his food on purpose? Confess my ridiculous secret? 

“What happened to your last secretary?” I blurted out, taking the offensive. “Did you eat her?” 

He spun around in his chair to face me. “Huh? No! Of course not!” 

“So what did you do to her, then?” 

He gritted his teeth. “Nothing! Well…” His face puckered up as he reconsidered. “Nothing that I wouldn’t do to anyone else. She quit. She… told me she couldn’t stand me, because I’m a jerk.” 

I continued to glare at him. He furrowed his brow and coiled his fingers into a threatening fist, as large and solid as a boulder. “What else do you want from me?!” He slammed his fist down inches from my chair, knocking me over. I scrambled back in alarm, my heart racing. 

“Just drop it!” he roared. I cowered at the volume of his voice; he hadn’t yelled at me like that in weeks. He got up and stormed out of the room, and didn’t return to his office for the rest of the day. 

His display of force did not quite have the intended effect. He had terrified me, certainly, with his impossible might—but I was more turned on than ever. That night, I dreamed of him squishing me like putty, then scraping up my flattened form and slurping it through his lips. I couldn’t stop myself: I wanted him even more. 

The next day, he didn’t mention the incident at all, or his outburst. He was moody, brooding, irritable, agitated, more so than usual. He had bags under his eyes again, from lack of sleep. I kept quiet, with the knowledge that upsetting him further by challenging him could be a fatal mistake. 

He must’ve skipped breakfast, because his huge belly began grumbling long before lunch. He winced and drank a big draught of coffee, but his stomach remained unsatisfied. A blush crept up my cheeks as my imagination conjured forbidden thoughts. 

“Hungry?” I asked him. He blinked and looked down at me for a long moment. Normally, we never made small talk. I don’t know what compelled me to speak in the first place. I was feeling bold. 

“Yeah,” he admitted sheepishly, slumping his shoulders. “I… didn’t feel like eating this morning.” 

“I see.” For some reason, I blushed harder. 

“Actually… I didn’t pack a lunch either. I just wasn’t in the mood for food.” He scratched his head. “I’m starting to regret that choice.” He laid his hand over his midsection and winced as another prolonged gurgle rang out. 

“You could…” I trailed off as my mouth went dry. My heart started to pound faster, and my whole body felt warm, beyond just my reddened face. I looked up from my hands to meet his eyes. He was completely fixated on me, entranced. 

I took a deep breath, stood up, and took a few steps towards him. “If you’re hungry, you could… um…” My breath hitched as he leaned forward, looming about me like a mountain. He set his enormous hands flat on the desk on either side of me. I’m not sure if he was consciously aware of his intimidating movements. I felt lightheaded as I realized: He wanted me. 

“You can eat me,” I murmured. He gulped and licked his lips, lowering his head so his colossal mouth was mere feet from me. 

“D-did I hear that correctly?” I watched his lips move as he spoke, catching glimpses of his large teeth inside.  

I nodded. “I have an anti-digestion pill.” 

He straightened a bit and fumbled with his tie, loosening it from his beefy neck. “Are—are you sure?” he questioned, studying me intensely. 

 I nodded again. “Yes.” 

His eyes sparked and he ran his tongue over his teeth. I sucked in a sharp breath as he pinched me up off the desk, gently, and raised me up to his lips. He hesitated before his jaws parted, washing me in warm breath. His teeth slowly opened to reveal the fleshy space inside: a thick, muscular tongue; rows of craggy teeth stretching back into the depths; and the ominous gullet leading down to the throat. Despite my urges, I jerked back at the sight; it was frightening, and very real. 

He closed his mouth, sealing away the prohibited chamber. “Did you change your mind?” he mumbled, unable to hide his disappointment. “You don’t have to do this, really…” 

I placed a shaky hand on his lip and ran my fingers along the surface. He was plush, soft, and warm, irresistibly so. “No. I want this,” I replied firmly. I pulled against his grip, toward his mouth, and slid my fingers and hand between his lips, grazing the moistened interior. He didn’t resist: His fingers and jaws loosened to facilitate my ingress. I steadied myself and crawled inside, over the barrier of his teeth—aware that a single chomp could bite me in half. 

I was hit with warm, humid air that literally dripped saliva on my back. I sank into the soft surface of his tongue, and it came alive beneath me, rubbing against my body, nearly flattening me as I was pushed up to the roof of his mouth. I squirmed, and he relented, as if afraid to squash me. I gasped for breath and repositioned. 

I studied my surroundings with awe as his tongue rippled underneath me. His taste buds stroked my skin and a deafening hum of pleasure rolled up from deep inside his body, reverberating off his teeth. I shivered and stretched out my limbs across the vast expanse of his tongue, reveling in the new sensations. 

Spit pooled in his mouth like a mountain spring; he was clearly enjoying my taste. I skimmed the slippery surface towards his gullet, mentally preparing myself for the next step. I peered down into the dark hole below: It seemed to extend infinitely into blackness. 

My heart was thrumming in my chest; further down, I could hear his heart: much larger, and stronger, but just as earnest. I inched forward, reached my hands down, and allowed gravity to take me. I slid down his gullet, and his throat enthusiastically received me, swallowing me whole. The muscles squeezed around me with startling pressure as a loud, forceful gulp echoed in my ears. 

Since I was lubricated from head to toe, I passed through his slick esophagus effortlessly. His massive lungs and heart throbbed around me like the mechanical elements of a mighty machine. I plummeted a long, cramped distance, struggling to breathe with how close and overwhelming everything was. Finally, I encountered a ring of muscle that provided entrance to his stomach. My body was forced through, and I tumbled into a lake of digestive juices. 

I panicked, briefly. I couldn’t breathe: There was no air. My skin stung: The acid bit into me. The heat was stifling. I was going to die. I flailed instinctively. 

“Are you alright in there?” 

His stentorian voice, even deeper and fuller from the inside, cut through my panic. I had a moment of clarity and popped the anti-digestion pill I had saved in my pocket. The result was immediate: the heat relented, the chemical burns ceased, and the air became breathable. I sighed with relief and lounged against the squishy lining. 

“I’m okay,” I rasped. He probably couldn’t hear me. I surveyed the gastric chamber around me with wonder. It was about the size of a small room, vaguely oblong in shape, with wrinkled, pinkish walls that had a life of their own, pulsing and kneading and groaning. The liquid pool at the bottom fizzed and gurgled; to my relief, it was shallow, not enough for me to drown in. With the protective effects of the pill, the biological space was warm and soft—cozy, even. 

I needed to convey to him, somehow, that I wasn’t dying. I hesitantly touched his stomach lining with my fingers, and ran my hand along one of the multitudinous folds, stroking it. The entire mass of flesh shifted around me. He must’ve felt my touch. He hummed again, much like he did while I was in his mouth—a hum of satisfaction that vibrated throughout his stomach. 

“I hope I was enough to sate your hunger,” I mumbled. I curled up and settled in, rocked by the pulsating interior of his belly, and the rhythmic cadence of his breathing. I was very relaxed and comfortable. 

“It’s… been a very long time since I’ve eaten a human,” the giant said. “You feel… remarkable, in there.” He let out a whooshing exhale that held the weight of his troubles, and spoke volumes. “Thanks.”