Vore blog of @vampirepuppygirl. Vore ramblings of all sorts, short stories, OCs, etc. I like maws and slimy bellies and primarily safe vore and endo, but occasionally digestion is good too. I like my vore gentle in general though, even if it's a combat scenario. Also feral vore and plant vore and other weird kinds of vore, plus body mutation/manipulation and absorption and if I wrote down everything I liked this would take forever.
This blog is still a work in progress, not sure what to use as my header image and profile pic yet, if someone has better color thoughts in mind for a fleshy pink theme, DM me or send an ask
Vore blog of @vampirepuppygirl
Vore thoughts and ramblings, commissioned OC photos when relevant, written stories, vore reblogs etc
Occasionally NSFW, will be tagged if I remember, 18+ only agewise. I'm also a sfw vore fan as well, I have a lot of thoughts.
In general though, I'm an adult and this is a fetish blog. So like, minors DNI. Seriously.
Dragon play fighting with you and just tossing you around gently then being told by the other dragons to stop playing with their food. They look a little disappointed and groan out a "fine..." before devouring you. The next day they wait for everyone to leave before spitting you out and continuing to play with you, eating you again when the dragons come back, and they repeat this pattern daily, simply having fun playing with their little meal while the other dragons aren't there to judge them.
Everyone always says "aaaahhh! don't eat me!" whenever they see me and not "hi, how are you?" Or "you seem hungry, would you care for some chips or perhaps maybe some apple juice?"
And then they always get soooo upset when their fear triggers my predator instinct and I basically have to eat them 🙄 smh so dramatic
I can't remember the last time I've seen the sun. I haven't seen it since it disappeared behind closing teeth and a quivering ripple of flesh. Not since a dragon decided I would make a good lunch.
Time flows differently inside a dragon's stomach. Especially for this long. There is no "day" or "night." Only times when the dragon is awake, and times when it is asleep. My journal uses the dragon's sleep cycle as reference for my log entries, easily identified by a slowed heartbeat and breathing. If each entry counts as a day, that would make it... What?
Nine and a half years?
That doesn't sound right.
How long do dragons sleep? How often?
This doesn't make sense.
If it's been almost 10 years I should have aged. I haven't seen any wrinkles. No grey hairs. My voice is the same. I am - was? - 28. I'd be almost 38 if it was that long. That can't be right. My hands are too soft and supple for someone who's almost in their 40s. My joints are too relaxed, there's no creaking or pain. That's strange.
Especially for someone who spends all their time lying down and sitting.
I don't eat very often either, now that I think about it. Rarely food shows up that I can eat. It's mostly other people, occasionally various kinds of rubble, or just... nondescript meat.
There's the occasional gold mine though. Fruit stands, bakeries, that sort of thing. Usually I can scavenge at least one meal every 5 or so sleep cycles. That's about when I start to get hungry. I can't store anything though. It always disappears.
Water is easy enough, the dragon needs to drink water too. Thankfully my favorite spot is right above the water line, that only appears when the dragon drinks. I just need to lean down and take a few gulps. It tastes... Sour. And earthy. But it's drinkable, at least. It grows on you.
I just can't unfocus on this math telling me it's been almost 10 years since I've been in here. Surely it hasn't been that long? It hasn't felt that long, at least. Several months I'd believe, but nearly a decade?
The dragon takes short naps. Clearly. That must be it.
Does anyone even remember me?
People must think I'm dead, if it's been this long inside a dragon. Nobody survives the belly of a dragon.
Right?
It's weird that I'm the only one in here. Not the only one who's been eaten, but the only one who's stayed this long. The only one who remains. I've had the occasional conversation with other unlucky prey, and although nobody knows who I am it doesn't seem like much has changed on the outside.
So I couldn't have been in here for that long right?
It's always sad waking up the following cycle and realizing whoever was in the stomach with me disappeared. I've tried to stay awake to see what happens, but... I can't stay awake too long after the dragon goes to sleep. I don't know why. I just get... so tired.
It's hard to stay awake when the dragon's body wants me to sleep.
Was I chosen for something?
Is there a purpose for this?
Ew, something dripped on me. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised by it anymore, since I'm never really "dry," but sometimes it catches me off guard. Especially when it's so... Viscous. And heavy. I'll have to wash it out of my hair once there's water in here again.
You would think I'd get bored in here after a while. Like, crippling mental breakage type boredom. Maybe it's the constant stimulation I get. Soft, warm, wet walls that cradle my body and gently pulse against my skin, occasionally lathering me in this... slimy goo. The beating of the dragon's heartbeat above me, every breath rumbling around me, the churning and gurgling of the dragon's organs beneath me. That sharp, acidic smell that's oddly balanced by a deep earthy scent that makes it easier than you might think to let it fade into the background. A soft orange glow that offers a surprising amount of visibility, enough to let me see every detail of the stomach walls, slick folds of flesh undulating rhythmically around me like a tent on a windy day.
There's a lot to experience, and it's surprisingly relaxing.
Well, now it is. At first I was terrified beyond belief.
I can barely remember my first day here, and my last day as an adventurer. But I do still remember.
We were hunting a dragon, naturally. This dragon. I was a knight, once upon a time, in a party of 4. First before me was our leader, the grumpy old wizard who wasn't really old. He was like 34, he just got grey hairs early. Next there was the cleric, a bright young man in very plain clothes for his profession. He was always so sweet. Then there was the rogue. She was always quiet. We never really got along.
I can't remember their names.
Anyway, hunting the dragon.
We approached the cave at dusk. At the time, we had decided that challenging the dragon while it was going to sleep would make the dragon easier to fight. In theory, we were right.
We did not know the dragon was nocturnal.
Much of the fight is a blur. Fire, blood, screaming. Then... Teeth. A warm, wet tongue cradling my body.
I remember the crunch of steel as it delicately bit through my armor.
The dragon's teeth peeled it off like the lid of a can.
Though, most of what I actually remember was just hot breath and a wet blur. I'd gotten saliva in my eyes, so I was unable to see the dragon spit out my armor like pistachio shells.
Then... it did something strange. I thought it was strange, at least.
It carried me out of its cave.
And showed me the sunset.
I remember a cascade of red and purple and orange, dancing across the horizon like fluttering sheets of light.
And then the dragon's mouth closed. And it pulled me backwards by the sheer strength of its tongue.
I remember how tight the dragon's throat was as it closed around me, yet how soft the flesh was as it carried me downwards.
I remember the sinking feeling in my gut as I fell, sliding down the dragon's throat. And I remember hearing its beating heart get louder and louder until it jostled my bones, only to grow softer again as I dropped below it. I remember feeling squeezed through the end of the dragon's throat, only to land with a wet plop in the dragon's stomach.
The rest is kind of a blur.
I remember being afraid, and slamming fists against the walls of my prison of meat. I remember a deafeningly loud growl all around me.
And then the dragon took flight.
I hadn't ridden any airships or flying beasts before, so to say I was ill prepared is an understatement. It threw me backwards into a wall and nearly made me lose my lunch. Not that it would've mattered. I found my balance quick enough afterwards at least, reaching a comfortable lying position against the soft flesh of the dragon.
Flying is incredible.
I'm not sure what else to say about it. There wasn't much to see, but the feeling of flying for the first time is something I'll never forget.
I can't remember the last time I've seen the sun. I haven't seen it since it disappeared behind closing teeth and a quivering ripple of flesh. Not since a dragon decided I would make a good lunch.
Time flows differently inside a dragon's stomach. Especially for this long. There is no "day" or "night." Only times when the dragon is awake, and times when it is asleep. My journal uses the dragon's sleep cycle as reference for my log entries, easily identified by a slowed heartbeat and breathing. If each entry counts as a day, that would make it... What?
Nine and a half years?
That doesn't sound right.
How long do dragons sleep? How often?
This doesn't make sense.
If it's been almost 10 years I should have aged. I haven't seen any wrinkles. No grey hairs. My voice is the same. I am - was? - 28. I'd be almost 38 if it was that long. That can't be right. My hands are too soft and supple for someone who's almost in their 40s. My joints are too relaxed, there's no creaking or pain. That's strange.
Especially for someone who spends all their time lying down and sitting.
I don't eat very often either, now that I think about it. Rarely food shows up that I can eat. It's mostly other people, occasionally various kinds of rubble, or just... nondescript meat.
There's the occasional gold mine though. Fruit stands, bakeries, that sort of thing. Usually I can scavenge at least one meal every 5 or so sleep cycles. That's about when I start to get hungry. I can't store anything though. It always disappears.
Water is easy enough, the dragon needs to drink water too. Thankfully my favorite spot is right above the water line, that only appears when the dragon drinks. I just need to lean down and take a few gulps. It tastes... Sour. And earthy. But it's drinkable, at least. It grows on you.
I just can't unfocus on this math telling me it's been almost 10 years since I've been in here. Surely it hasn't been that long? It hasn't felt that long, at least. Several months I'd believe, but nearly a decade?
The dragon takes short naps. Clearly. That must be it.
Does anyone even remember me?
People must think I'm dead, if it's been this long inside a dragon. Nobody survives the belly of a dragon.
Right?
It's weird that I'm the only one in here. Not the only one who's been eaten, but the only one who's stayed this long. The only one who remains. I've had the occasional conversation with other unlucky prey, and although nobody knows who I am it doesn't seem like much has changed on the outside.
So I couldn't have been in here for that long right?
It's always sad waking up the following cycle and realizing whoever was in the stomach with me disappeared. I've tried to stay awake to see what happens, but... I can't stay awake too long after the dragon goes to sleep. I don't know why. I just get... so tired.
It's hard to stay awake when the dragon's body wants me to sleep.
Was I chosen for something?
Is there a purpose for this?
Ew, something dripped on me. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised by it anymore, since I'm never really "dry," but sometimes it catches me off guard. Especially when it's so... Viscous. And heavy. I'll have to wash it out of my hair once there's water in here again.
You would think I'd get bored in here after a while. Like, crippling mental breakage type boredom. Maybe it's the constant stimulation I get. Soft, warm, wet walls that cradle my body and gently pulse against my skin, occasionally lathering me in this... slimy goo. The beating of the dragon's heartbeat above me, every breath rumbling around me, the churning and gurgling of the dragon's organs beneath me. That sharp, acidic smell that's oddly balanced by a deep earthy scent that makes it easier than you might think to let it fade into the background. A soft orange glow that offers a surprising amount of visibility, enough to let me see every detail of the stomach walls, slick folds of flesh undulating rhythmically around me like a tent on a windy day.
There's a lot to experience, and it's surprisingly relaxing.
Well, now it is. At first I was terrified beyond belief.
I can barely remember my first day here, and my last day as an adventurer. But I do still remember.
We were hunting a dragon, naturally. This dragon. I was a knight, once upon a time, in a party of 4. First before me was our leader, the grumpy old wizard who wasn't really old. He was like 34, he just got grey hairs early. Next there was the cleric, a bright young man in very plain clothes for his profession. He was always so sweet. Then there was the rogue. She was always quiet. We never really got along.
I can't remember their names.
Anyway, hunting the dragon.
We approached the cave at dusk. At the time, we had decided that challenging the dragon while it was going to sleep would make the dragon easier to fight. In theory, we were right.
We did not know the dragon was nocturnal.
Much of the fight is a blur. Fire, blood, screaming. Then... Teeth. A warm, wet tongue cradling my body.
I remember the crunch of steel as it delicately bit through my armor.
The dragon's teeth peeled it off like the lid of a can.
Though, most of what I actually remember was just hot breath and a wet blur. I'd gotten saliva in my eyes, so I was unable to see the dragon spit out my armor like pistachio shells.
Then... it did something strange. I thought it was strange, at least.
It carried me out of its cave.
And showed me the sunset.
I remember a cascade of red and purple and orange, dancing across the horizon like fluttering sheets of light.
And then the dragon's mouth closed. And it pulled me backwards by the sheer strength of its tongue.
I remember how tight the dragon's throat was as it closed around me, yet how soft the flesh was as it carried me downwards.
I remember the sinking feeling in my gut as I fell, sliding down the dragon's throat. And I remember hearing its beating heart get louder and louder until it jostled my bones, only to grow softer again as I dropped below it. I remember feeling squeezed through the end of the dragon's throat, only to land with a wet plop in the dragon's stomach.
The rest is kind of a blur.
I remember being afraid, and slamming fists against the walls of my prison of meat. I remember a deafeningly loud growl all around me.
And then the dragon took flight.
I hadn't ridden any airships or flying beasts before, so to say I was ill prepared is an understatement. It threw me backwards into a wall and nearly made me lose my lunch. Not that it would've mattered. I found my balance quick enough afterwards at least, reaching a comfortable lying position against the soft flesh of the dragon.
Flying is incredible.
I'm not sure what else to say about it. There wasn't much to see, but the feeling of flying for the first time is something I'll never forget.
I realized my talking tag is bellytalk instead of what I tagged my last post as, but now I remember (and I'm lazy so I'm not gonna change that tag for now)
how are dragons just the absolute most perfect thing for vore. like its really all there as far as desirable traits go PLUS it's often alluded to within nearly all dragon media. truly the most vorebait creation to have ever existed.
wizard turns someone into a chest. For whatever reason, because they were annoying the wizard in some way - the wizard doesn't need a reason to do anything.
The spell will wear off eventually, the wizard leaves.
The chest is left alone. It can't move, obviously, it can't ask for help. Weirdly it feels a bit hungry, despite being a chest.
Someone else enters the area, and sees a chest that they don't remember being in this room before. curious, they approach it, unlatching it, and opening the lid to reveal not gold or jewels but an array of teeth and pulsating flesh. And then something like a tongue whips out and wraps around the unlucky prey and drags it into the chest. The lid slams shut. the chest jitters and rocks as the person inside struggles to escape.
Being a pred, instead of being turned into a regular chest, they have been transformed into the pred-equivalent of a chest; a carnivorous chest; mimic.
the mimic finds itself fed. Without even meaning to. The person who it used to be is still partially conscious and confused about what's happening, and what it even is right now. They were in an argument with a wizard - a bad start - and now their body was fundamentally different. They couldn't move, they couldn't see, but somehow they had a stomach, and somehow their body had eaten something.
But they were also now a mimic, and so they understood that they had done everything they were meant to do and instinctually they knew to keep the latch closed so they could digest.
The wizard appears some time later, they look at the chest and smirk - the victim of their spell has been stuck as a chest all day. Must have been so boring
But then the wizard hears something coming from the chest. Frowning, they approach the chest and they notice the gurgling and sloshing, like someone had filled the chest with a soup.
"Who did you eat?" the wizard asks, to a chest who cannot respond.
The wizard tries to open the chest, but the latch stays shut and the mimic makes a growling noise. Annoyed, the wizard snaps their fingers and the chest is transformed back into a person.
They lie on the floor, dazed, the feelings and emotions of being a chest still linger in their brain. Their belly is swollen from the food they had.
"I guess you found a way to entertain yourself after all," the wizard muttered.
The person, human again, grimaces and belches up a piece of cloth.
The wizard notices that it belonged to their wizard assistant, and as a punishment for eating their employee, the wizard turns the pred into a mimic again.
Love, love, love it when a pred is kind of... Maybe not necessarily harshly... But thoroughly rubbing and massaging their full stomach.
The force of their rubbing is enough to make it slosh and groan. The movements make it hard for the prey to move or retaliate at all; instead, they have to deal with stomach walls being pushed into them over and over again.
Of course, any complaints or protests the prey makes falls on deaf ears. The pred is much too busy, massaging their full gut. It feels too good to stop... And all of the noises their stomach makes is just the cherry on top.
