vore sideblog of DragonGirlTeeth. SERIOUSLY 18+. fatal vore, gore and other dubiously ethical fetishes here. Yes I act mean and scary here, it's RP. pfp by @faunamoth
Content Warnings: Hard Vore, Cruel Pred, Digestion, Bones, Gore, Dismemberment
The scent of sweat and alcohol hung heavy between the rusted steel beams of Apex, mingling with the deafening growl of heavy metal from the headline act – A band by the name of Skull Crushing Bite. While the vocalist belted out violent lyrics, a roiling crowd shook in time with the music. Meanwhile, on a balcony overlooking the dance floor, a dragon surveyed the crowd, her electric blue eyes cold and hungry.
A drop of saliva, tinged with the bitter taste of cheap beer, slipped from one of her fangs. It sizzled as it dropped into the front of her open leather jacket, splashed across her pale blue scales, and evaporated as it came into contact with the metal exterior of her nuclear heart. A short distance below, her stomach rumbled, reminding her of her true intention for the night.
A red wolf squeezed out of the mosh pit and detached from the crowd. She was beat in all the best of ways. Sweaty, clothes a bit torn, hair askew. She always trusted SCB to have the best mosh pits, and Duchess delivered.
She briefly considered sneaking back stage to say hey after the show, she didn't know Duchess as well as Prin - she certainly hadn't said she was gonna be at the show – but she was fond of the deer. Maybe later. For now more than anything the wolf needed a break and a breather.
She slipped out the venue's back door into a grungy little side alley, tossing a wink to a punk bunny girl she'd been moshing with as she left. She'd come here for music, not to hunt, either for sex or for a meal. Still, old habits die hard, and it's good to keep the options for the night open. The cold night air felt real good on her sweaty, matted fur. She let down her long pink hair and stripped off her flannel, wrapping it around her waist and showing off her torn up Skull Crushing Bite crop top as well as quite a bit of rusty red fur. The night was making her wistful for a cigarette. She felt alive and invincible. Untouchable. On top of the world. A good show always made her feel like that.
Unbeknownst to the wolf, she had left the pit at the exact wrong time. Like an animal separated from the herd, the dragon's eyes followed her as the wolf's tail slipped out the exit. Thorne always loved coming to Apex. SCB had a penchant for pulling in overambitious predators, and she was always happy to play her part in humbling those that Duchess didn't take first.
Yes, wolf sounded good, Thorne thought to itself, downing the last of its beer. The can now emptied, the dragon's prosthetic claw closed around the aluminum shell, reducing it to a crumpled and shredded mess in its palm. Raising to her full monstrous height, Thorne rolled its neck, and began working its way toward the exit.
She passed the bartender, and slid a pile of cash across the counter. "Close my tab, I'm going to get something to eat," she told the snake at the bar, flashing her a wicked smirk.
She had to duck her head as she slipped out the back exit. some doors just weren't meant for a 12 foot tall dragon. As she stepped into the alley, her tongue flicked, tasting the scent of cigarette smoke and sweat on the breeze. Glancing down, she saw just what she was looking for.
"Needed a break?" she asks, offhandedly "Me too. It was getting a little cramped."
Siren dropped her cigarette, her jaw agape at the sight of an actually fucking dragon looming over the 5'10 wolf, making her feel absolutely tiny. Gods, she was gorgeous!
She felt butterflies in her stomach. Her tail flicked in excitement, and a bit of anxiety. Maybe flirting was on the menu tonight after all? She leaned against the brick and brushed her pink hair behind her ear in an attempt to recover her dignity.
"Y-yeah! Ahem. Yeah. The pit's fun but usually I need a little air and space to stretch. Can't be cooped up too long ya know?" Her jewelry jangled as she stretched lazily, trying to show off her curves to the dragon. The crop top didn't do much to hid them. "Names Siren. What's yours?"
Siren stuck a paw out confidently to shake, looking to break the touch barrier with this tall stranger, already daydreaming about climbing her like a tree.
Thorne couldn't help but chuckle at the little wolf's flustered response, a deep rumble filtering out from her chest, a brief flash of her teeth as the noise escaped her jaws. The little morsel was flirting with her!
As Siren stretched, Thorne's gaze wandered, first drawn by the jewelry glinting in the sodium haze of the streetlamps, then unsubtly down Siren's body with undisguised hunger – though one kind of hunger might easily be mistaken for another.
While Siren was stretching, Thorne stepped fully out into the alley, her tail twitching behind her. As fun as flirting would be, she had a different hunger to attend to, and was already stalking her prey, though the little meal did not yet realize. As she twitched her tail to draw the wolf's attention, she circled around, putting herself between her prey and the street beyond.
The dragon eventually came to rest, leaning her left arm on the wall above the little wolf, looming over, as her prey extended a paw in introduction. Thorne took the paw gently in her metal claw, knowing full well the force she could exert would sever bone if she were careless – or cruel.
"Oh you're such a cutie," the dragon drawled, her voice a low mixture between seductive sweet and a dangerous growl. "You can call me Thorne, little snack."
A tingle of pleasure rolled up Siren's spine. She clocked Throne's hungry gaze and badly misunderstood it's intent. She should probably have run, or ducked back inside, or anything at all – but she didn't. She ran her tongue along her muzzle and played with her bullet necklace idly.
"If I'm a snack, Miss Thorne, then you must be a whole meal. A feast, even. 5 courses and a wine pairing too." She leaned in closer to the dragon as she flirted boldly.
In her mind, she was in the company of a fellow predator. Why not be confident? It was a beautiful night, she was with a beautiful woman, beer was buzzing in her veins, the music was pumping in her heart.
"What brings you out tonight, Thorne? The music? The venue? I can't say I've seen you around but I don't get to Apex much. Mostly came for SCB, myself."
The hollow pain in Thorne's stomach ached, an insistent voice pushing for her to snap up the smitten wolf without hesitation, but still she held back. She was enjoying leading the little snack on, building her arousal, to make the subsequent descent into terror all the more delicious.
"SCB is always a good time, Duchess always knows the best places," She mused, pausing a moment before adding "... And she always draws in a good crowd too. Plenty of tasty fans,"
As she spoke, Thorne crouched her legs, bringing her snout a short distance above Siren's head, which now had a good view of Thorne's exposed belly. Her metal claw subtly found its way to the rusty fur of Siren's waist. The razor claws were unexpectedly warm against the wolf's pelt, and a gentle but insistent pressure urged her in closer.
Siren put up token, playful resistance. "Why, Miss Throne! You're so very forward... Don't you know you oughta buy a girl dinner first," She batted her eyelashes at the dragon – utterly oblivious she was flirting with an incoming train. "Or at the very least, give her a kiss..?" With that she gave in and eagerly allowed herself to be drawn closer, already lost in those cold, electric blue eyes.
As the wolf leaned in, Thorne slid its claw down her waist, its steely grip cupping the curve of the wolf's ass, lifting her against the wall. Meanwhile, its other claw wove itself into her hair, and the dragon pulled Siren's head in for a kiss. It was brief, passionate, but behind those eyes, a cold, predatory intent lurked.
Pulling away all too soon, Thorne licked the first taste from her maw, a cruel grin spitting her lips.
"Yes, dinner sounds good,"
Her voice had taken a cold turn. Gone was the sweetness of a potential lover, replaced with the cruel rumble of a beast. Her tongue once again danced between her jaws, sliding up the side of Siren's face as Thorne went in for another taste.
Her stomach rumbled in agreement: It was time to eat.
Siren's excitement at being lifted and kissed soured quickly to an icy burst of fear when she heard Thorne's tone and demeanor change. The long tongue matting her fur, and the dragon's stomach rumbling hammered the point home.
There was no hiding it. Siren was really scared now.
Beneath the smell of sweat, beer, cigarettes, and the sandalwood of her fur she reeked of anxious fear – not quite terror. Not yet. Her ears tucked back and her tail slunk between her legs. She squirmed in Thorne’s grasp, holding her paws in front of her in a gesture of submission and surrender.
"Y-you know what, Miss Thorne I think my friends inside are looking for me I better go tell them I'm okay, p-please put me down now? Please?"
The sour taste of fear filled Thorne's mouth, a delightful accent to the taste of revelry. It drank the flavor in, watching its prey realize her predicament.
"I'm sure they'll be alright. I'll make sure they know where you went,"
There was no care in the statement. It was a threat, a promise of blood and death.
The claw around the back of Siren's head shifted, ivory blades digging into the scruff of her neck, drawing her closer to the dragon's sneering maw. As she squirmed, her outstretched paws made contact with Thorne's snout. Briefly trailing over the smooth, scaly hide, they were soon engulfed in humid air, the beast's jaws stretched wide, fangs glistening.
"No! No, no, no! Y-you can't eat me! I-I'm a predator too! And you'll get caught – someone, will hear me scream!" Excuses tumbled out of her mouth. This couldn't be happening, not now, not here, not to her. Maybe Thorne was messing with her? Or she would see reason? It couldn’t just mean to make a meal of her right in public?!
She whimpered. It seemed like that was exactly what the dragon meant to do. She was being handled like a weak, unruly pup and staring a long, slow, painful death right in the face. She wasn't some pup! And she wasn't going to die here, not as food for Thorne, or anyone else!
With a growl Siren twisted and snapped, doing her damnedest to sink her fangs into Thorne's claws securing her head. She thrashed violently and swiped her claws at the dragon's face, hoping to bloody her snout, maybe take out an eye if she was lucky. Anything to make Thorne drop her. Anything to get away.
Thorne felt its heart race as the wolf struggled in its claws. The lively squirming of fresh meat was drawing deep, feral instincts. She could hear it in her chest – not the lub-dub of flesh, but the steady, insistent whirring of an impeller, a subtle vibration like an engine revving.
Her meal wouldn't go down easy, she knew, and she relished the thrill of the fight.
"Little meal, I don't care if someone catches me. Scream all you-”
The wolf's claw struck the side of its snout with impressive force. Scales buckled under the blow, keratinous knives slipping between them into sensitive flesh, leaving a smear of Thorne's own blood across its face.
In reaction, Thorne lunged her jaws at the offending limb, fangs bared. She snapped, pulling and twisting, intent to tear and crush.
A victorious growl became a howl of agony as Thorne's fangs closed around Siren's left arm, sinking through fur and muscle with horrific ease.
Fuck! Those fangs were fucking huge.
The little werewolf was used to her regeneration taking the threat out of most attacks, but the dragon was too large, too powerful. There was a sickening series of cracks as the dragon twisted, and Siren felt bones in her forearm shatter.
She screamed again, clawing ineffectively at the dragons snout, desperate for release. One more good twist and her arm was coming off. She couldn't let that happen. If she could just get away, she would heal. She could heal from anything! But she didn't know if she could grow a new arm…
The wolf's howl ringing in her ears, Thorne continued to pull, straining as muscle and bone were wrenched apart, sinuous fibers of wolf meat falling limp as they were rent asunder.
Blood smeared her maw, glistening almost black in the dim light.
The last muscle fiber snapped, severing the arm completely. The dragon's head whipped back, carrying with it her bloody prize. She snapped once, twice, each time crushing the meat in her jaws, before her gullet engulfed the mangled limb, a small bulge now carried down her neck, disappearing behind her collarbone.
"Oh, yes, you are delicious," she crooned, "But all too easy to catch."
Wrenching her prey back by the scruff, she wound up, before throwing her body deeper into the alley. Silhouetted by the streetlights, the dragon spread her wings menacingly, slowly advancing. Her growl echoed in the alley, cruel and contemptuous. Siren crashed into the concrete with a whimper like a kicked dog, but there was no time to lick her wounds.
"Run, little wolf, give me something to hunt!"
Thorne was coming.
Thorne had torn her arm off, crushed it and eaten it in front of her. And now it wanted more. Icy cold adrenaline flooded her veins. The dragon advanced slowly. With reach like hers, those wings, that tail... There was no hope of getting past it. No hope of getting to the street, or back into Apex.
With limited options and her chances to escape wearing alarmingly thin, Siren scrambled to her feet – leaving a gory smear of blood from her stump of a left arm. She took off deeper the alley away from the dragon, taking turn after turn with reckless abandon, hoping to throw Thorne off the trail. Instinct told her to sink onto all fours and go as fast as she could. But she couldn't. Not with her missing limb. When she tried she just crashed into brick, leaving yet more bloody smears.
"Fuck! Fuck. Think Siren, think!" She growled to herself, stopping for a moment to desperately glance down different paths. This wasn't a plan of escape. Just a prey animal drive to avoid a predator – to put as much distance as possible between her and the dragon.
It wouldn't work. She had no chance of outrunning the larger predator, especially since Thorne could fly, and Siren was down a limb. She needed cover. She needed to stop the bleeding. She needed to hide. Somewhere too small for the dragon to enter comfortably? Somewhere crowded? Apex or another club might do.
Gods it was hard to think. Her missing arm ached. She couldn't stop thinking about it. Crushed and swallowed, boiling in the greedy dragons gut…
Thorne's eyes tracked the werewolf as she ran, watching her disappear around the corner of a building. The scent of iron and adrenaline still hung heavy in the air, sat heavy and rich on the dragon's tongue.
It licked its lips, smearing its maw in deep crimson. It savored the taste, letting its prey get a head start.
Casually, Thorne meandered after its quarry, step after deliberate step carried on heavy, wicked talons. Siren's trail was easy enough to follow, both in scent and by the glint of fresh blood.
Thorne let the minutes pass, giving its prey some short time to run and hide among the warehouses and factories of the industrial park in which Apex was situated, but not time to find help.
When it had been enough time, by Thorne's reckoning, it crouched low, and raised its wings, before pushing off as though to kick the world away. Debris and detritus kicked up in its wake as a ton of draconic flesh was carried skyward, its claws carving gouges in the concrete. Air beneath its wings, Thorne glided quietly through the night.
The tang of blood led the way, and it soon came to alight on a rooftop near where the scent was strongest. Cold blue eyes pierced the darkness, looking for any sign of the dragon's prey.
"Now, where did you go, my dinner?" It growled.
Siren ducked into the abandoned factory building, a dusty place full of ominously clinking chains, but she wasn't paying much attention. She had a fearful eye on the sky behind her her as she hid.
Many would've passed out or even bled to death after losing an arm so traumatically, but her werewolf regeneration was keeping her going. Thank gods for that – she'd not had any luck finding help, but she'd put some respectable distance between her and Thorne.
At least, where Thorne had been. Her blue scales and the night sky made it impossible to tell if she was hovering right above. It made Siren empathize uncomfortably with small animals being hunted by birds of prey. At least in here she was safe from being scooped up. There didn't seem to be any entrance large enough for Thorne to use easily.
Siren sunk down, back to the wall. Tears sprung to her eyes unbidden. She ran a paw through her hair, and felt the small scratches the dragons claws had left. This wasn't how this was supposed to go! She wasn't some easy preything to be torn up and gulped down! She was a wolf, dammit!
No. No time for that.
Now that she had a moment she had to tend to her stump of an arm. Siren cried and cursed as she tied her flannel around her arm, using her teeth and remaining paw. It was the best she should do in terms ofwound care for now. It seemed... Unlikely that that would grow back.
No time to grieve that now. Maybe she would end up with a prosthetic if she survived. But that just made her think of Thorne…
Meanwhile, high above…
An abandoned factory, some kind of metalworking plant. Of course. Plenty of tight spaces for its prey to hide in, Thorne thought, tracing the trail of blood.
Between the pipes and machinery, the trail wound into an abandoned building, passing through a door too small for Thorne’s large body to fit through.
It would have to make its own entrance, it decided. Pushing off once again, the dragon scanned the building. Spotting an old clerestory window on the factory roof, it made its move. Wings tucked, it sped toward the window.
At the last moment, it flared, pitching violently up to impact the window with its feet.
What remained of the decrepit glass shattered under the impact, heralding the dragon's arrival with a crystalline thunderclap. The crash echoed throughout the empty halls. Siren's ear shot up, fresh dread settling on her like a funeral shroud.
It landed on a catwalk, the rusted steel nearly buckling under the force, and tasted the air. The scent of blood was masked by the steel dust and the detritus of a manufacturing line decades abandoned.
While Thorne waited for its eyes to adjust to the darkness, it listened. As the clamor of its landing faded, it could hear a faint, howling cry. The whimpering of wounded prey - music to its ears. A pathetic elegy for a life not yet lost, contrasted against the distant bass of Skull Crushing Bite.
As the air hung still, Thorne began to prowl, stalking the catwalks ever closer to where she could hear the wolf's last cry. Again, her tongue danced along her bloodied canines, starving to get another taste of her prey.
Panic rose in Siren’s breast. It was Thorne! It had to be... She thought she had more time, thought it would be harder for the Dragon to track her, she thought…
It didn't matter now. She needed to get away. If Thorne was here, she wasn't in the dark skies outside. Siren could slip out of the factory building and take cover at Apex.
Did Duchess like her enough to save her? Either way she could at least get lost in the crowd... She just needed to get back there. She was a little lost, but surely her nose would lead her the right way once she got outside.
Siren stumbled to her feet, unsteady from pain and fear and blood loss. As quickly and quietly as she could manage, she picked her way through factory floor, through the dangling chains and rusted machinery. Just a bit further and she was out She could make it. She had to believe she could make it.
The jingling of chains alerted Thorne to its prey's movement.
Its head snapped to the source of the sound, gaze piercing the darkness, catching a glimpse of the wounded girl staggering to the door.
Again, its heart raced, pupils dilated, and muscles tensed. Catlike, the beast readied to pounce. A horrible screech of steel accompanied the leathery flap of wings, the catwalk giving out as the immense weight of the dragon pushed off.
The flight itself was deadly silent, with Thorne gliding down on still air. Its feet barreled into Siren's back, wicked talons carving through flesh as the werewolf was slammed to the ground, bones straining between the dragon's claw and the unforgiving cement of the floor. Siren’s scream was cut off as the dragon's weight forced her to the cold hard concrete floor and drove the air from her lungs.
"Such a shame, you were so close," the dragon growled. "That was clever, tricking me in here, only to double back. It almost worked. You're such a fun little plaything, I'm almost tempted to let you go again,"
Thorne ground its claw into Siren's shoulder, a cruel motion meant only to inflict pain.
"But I'd like to eat now."
All Siren could manage was a strangled cry as claws tore up the meat of her shoulder, tender flesh parted to expose the bone of her shoulder blade. Siren openly wept, unable to hide her trembling. This was it. She was really going to die, here, tonight. Thorne was going to kill her.
"N-no! P-please!"
She could only speak in choked gasps, unable to get a full breath, trapped between the dragon and the cement floor.
Thorne crouched over its prey, wings falling like azure curtains around the pair. It reached down, taking its weight off its foot for just long enough to pull the poor wolf free, flipping her on her back so she could look into its heartless eyes, cruelly staring back into her tear streaked face.
"T-Thorne, m-mercy, please! I-I'll do anything! A-anything you want!" She sobbed, scrambling against the floor "J-just... Please don't kill me…"
Thorne relished its prey's cries for mercy, the desperate whimpers foretelling the beginning of the end. The hunt was over, it was time for the kill. But something crossed its mind about this wolf – she was surprisingly tough. Maybe, Thorne could take advantage of that. Maybe, it could squeeze out a little more fun before its prey fully broke.
"Anything, you say? Then struggle. Fight. Scream. Show me the value of your life, and escape."
It promised nothing more than what was already offered. There was no bargain to be struck, just the law of predator and prey. Its jaws snapped in her face, splattering her fur with drool. It swung a claw, carving through cloth and flesh, catching on her necklace and tearing it free with a snap.
Siren couldn't help but obey, screaming as massive claws carved deep into her chest and spilled more of her vital fluid to the ground. She scrambled backwards on her three remaining limbs until she bumped into the living cage of the dragons wings, boxing her in.
The little wolf was dizzy, panting heavily, soaked in drool, sweat, a lot of her own blood, and a little bit of Thorne's as well. The dragon wanted to play with her?!? It didn't even have the decency to kill her quickly? Anger burned hot in Siren as she stood on shaky legs. She would make it regret that.
"I am not your toy!!" She growled.
Her own predatory experience was in overdrive, planning a way out. She wanted to tear through the dragon's wings and run, but she couldn't – not without turning her back on its claws and jaws. Even for a moment that would be fatal.
Her only hope was to injure Thorne enough to distract her. Siren just needed a moment so she could slip away. Eyes. Throat. Underbelly. Maybe that glowing heart. She could do this.
With a ferocious, desperate howl, Siren lunged. Nimble and quick, she dodged and feinted swipes at Thorne's underbelly, then leapt at her actual target. Her true goal was to sink her teeth as deep as she could into the dragon's neck. She wanted revenge, she wanted to live, She wanted to taste dragon flesh.
-
The scent of fresh was blood heady in the air, and Thorne reveled in the violence. Its body burned with heat, prey drive working her systems into overdrive, letting her full might come to the fore. Its stomach growled, the remains of Siren's arm sizzling and liquefying as the dragon's body ravenously seized any calories it could, leaving mangled, bloody bones.
Thorne growled as its prey lunged.
Yes! She still had fight left in her!
The dragon pulled its arm in, moving to defend its underbelly, before the wolf shot up, revealing her true target! Thorne twisted, caught off guard by the move. This was the prey it truly loved to hunt, prey so vibrant and full of the fury of life!
-
Sirens jaws spread wide, ready to snap, but, set off course by the last minute twist, missed, sinking into the dragon's shoulder.
-
Pricks of pain shot through its nerves as blood – crimson, burning hot ichor – oozed from the wound. It roared, a symphony of pain and exhilaration, its throat glowing baleful blue as its jaws unleashed a torrent of radiation to the sky.
Moments later, Thorne took the offensive, its metal claw whipping around to grab Siren from behind. It hoped to catch the wolf off guard, and this time, it would put her away for good.
-
Thorne's blood burned, blistering Siren's jaws and throat as she gulped it down. The pain was less important than how satisfying it was to hear the dragon roar in pain, to feel its scales give and to taste its sweet flesh and blood.
No time to revel in it. Siren knew she needed to stay mobile with a larger opponent. She was going to climb onto the dragons back, she'd be out of range of most of Thorne's reach and would be free to tear into neck, head, or wings. The thrill of the fight roared in her veins.
She was no one's toy. She was powerful, she was alive. She was a monster in her own right.
Her right claws dug into Throne as Siren prepared to hoist herself up, and her left claw…
Her left claw -
-
The wolf was attempting to climb it – attempting to get somewhere Thorne couldn't reach. Its mind raced, adjusting its body to cut off avenues of escape. Moving its jaw closer to threaten a bite. Twisting a wing to obstruct movement.
-
Her left claw was bones at the bottom of Thorne's belly.
Not used fighting down a limb, Siren moved on instinct, trying to use an arm that was no longer hers. She tried to correct herself, tried to pull herself up on her one good arm, but it was too late. Thorne's metal claw closed around her. Siren was caught, and at the dragon's mercy.
-
The feisty wolf faltered – an opportunity.
Thorne felt its claw sink into meat as it closed around Siren's back. It felt blood seeping over titanium blades, felt the clamorous pulse of her heart vibrating through her body. It felt prey.
It wrenched the wolf away from its body, tearing scales and flesh and teeth and blood in a spray of crimson and sky.
Its fleshy claw closed around her thigh. Its jaws opened wide.
It lifted the poor victim to its glistening maw – fitting her whole head and chest inside.
-
Siren screamed.
-
And bit down. Multiple tons of bite force drove dagger like fangs into flesh. Blood sprayed. Bones cracked. Organs ruptured. The taste of life, of terror, of adrenaline, all spilling over Thorne's tongue and down its throat. Exquisite.
-
Siren kept screaming until she felt fangs pierce a lung, then all she managed was a gurgled cough of blood onto Thorne's tongue. She tired to curse, to plead, to say anything at all. But the dragon's maw was too tight.
She felt her own bone and flesh give way. Her ribs went first, snapped like twigs so Thorne could chew at her soft innards. Something splintered in her shoulder, her remaining arm throbbing in pain. Her spine cracked, and her thrashing legs and tail went limb, sensation dulled but not totally gone.
Those where only the pains she could name. Everything hurt. Everything felt like it was broken or breaking. She was coming undone. It was overwhelming. It was hellish But she didn't pass out. Couldn't pass out. Her body wouldn't let her.
It would have been kinder if it did. But even now, on deaths door it was trying to repair itself. It was nowhere near enough to keep up with the destruction the dragon wrought. But it wouldn't just stop. It wouldn't just let her die. Siren wasn't very grateful for this. All she could do was stare down the throat in front of her in abject horror. The fleshy tunnel pulsed in anticipation of its meal. Of her.
Her broken arm couldn't slow her consumption. All she could do was whine and squirm and cry as she was swallowed alive.
Thorne relished the feeling of bones breaking in its jaws. Even more so, it delighted in its prey's continued consciousness – it had long since expected Siren to go into pain shock, to give up and slide meekly down its gullet.
Hearing the poor thing's scream choke out to a bloody gurgle, followed by incoherent words, a sadistic chuckle made its way up its throat, the deep rumble forcing oppressively hot, humid air over its victim. Its tongue danced over Siren's bloodied body, lapping up the little wolf's vital fluids, and snaking into tears in her flesh, drawing out tormented twitches as it tasted her guts.
The dragon's jaws opened again, and its tongue bucked, pushing Siren's head back into its gullet, face pressed intimately into that hungry passage.
Again, jaws slammed shut. Thorne's claws pulled, and its teeth fully cut through the werewolf's body. A gout of blood splattered across its snout, as a pair of legs was left hanging limply in its claws. Inside the dragon's maw, its tongue bucked again, forcing the Siren's mangled upper body fully into Thorne's gullet. The pressure was immense, the beast's muscular throat alone bound her body tight enough to prevent movement, only allowing her to slide deeper. Her ears filled with the sickening shlick-slop of the dragon's digestive tract, each sound an urgent demand to dissolve and digest.
Siren could only wail in despair as she felt Thorne bite clean through her thighs and sever her legs. Even that was more a moan than a wail, the fleshy tunnel constricted her so tight on all sides. It felt like it took hours for her to descend the throat – the hot, loud, wet darkness crushing down on her from all sides.
She could hear the excited whirring of Thorne's heart pulsing through the velvety muscles around her. There was no space for thought, no space for anything other than mewling and despair and hopeless wretched fear.
Finally, the tunnel ended. Siren's face was pressed against a flesh opening which gave way to deposit her in a more roomy organ, Thorne's stomach. She was deposited inside without ceremony, dropped on her face into a pool of chyme and beer. It was unbearably hot. The sounds of a busy, full stomach were louder than ever. The smell of acid and dissolving meat and alcohol assaulted Siren as she gasped a desperate breath. She hacked and coughed as she dragged herself upright on her broken arm to a curled up sitting position – or as close to one as she could manage with no legs.
"T-thorne... You...fucking...asshole!" She wheezed as she regained her breath, doing the best she could with a collapsed lung and broken ribs.
She wanted to punch and claw and chew her way out, as much to hurt Thorne as free herself, but she was exhausted. Everything hurt so badly. She just... Didn't have fight left.
While Siren slid gracelessly into its gut, Thorne dangled her severed legs over its jaws with bemused detachment. It dropped the bloody mass, chewing idly on the tender, still warm flesh of Siren's butt, wondering how she might have squirmed if she could still feel her legs. It flexed its jaws once, twice, each time feeling bones snap and break, while suckling on the sweet blood oozing from the fresh meat.
Meanwhile, its stomach clenched and churned, battering the poor wolf within. Its acids, already roiling from digesting her arm mere minutes before, readily ate into skin, blood, and tissue. Siren's cries seemed to soak into the stomach walls, absorbed like so much else before. To Thorne, her words were a muffled, incoherent mess, but the intent was clear.
Thorne paused its chewing, listening to its prey. No matter who, their cries always ended the same way, but they were amusing nonetheless. The little cut of meat was likely cursing it out, or demanding her life be respected. It opened its mouth partway to quip a witty reprisal, before remembering its mouth was still full of legs. It paused a moment, and a series of quick gulps sent the rest of the wolf's body tumbling down on top of her.
"I'd say I'm sorry," it growled, rubbing the faintly squirming bulge in its belly, "But I'm really not. That was the best hunt I've had in a long time."
Something rose in its throat, and for a moment, it hoped the little morsel might still have some fight left. Seconds later, its excitement faded, as a small “uurp” escaped its jaws.
It scanned the area one more time, eyes falling on a triplet of bullets glinting in the faint light – a necklace, it realized. It sat down, and reached to pick up the damaged accessory, working carefully to retie the cord it had snapped, before looping it through a belt loop. A nice little trophy, it thought.
Siren was on her last legs, and she knew it. She couldn't even argue that she wasn't food. She felt like food. She felt like meat. Her breathing was ragged and slow. Acids burned at every little wound on her body, peeling back fur and eating away flesh from bone. A pool of her own mostly digested flesh bubbled around her, the slop that became of her arm, the chewed up bits of her legs, and of course – her mangled core. For a regular person there would be a certain limit to the pain one can endure. Once the nerve endings are destroyed there is just no more pain the body can experience. Not so for the unfortunate little werewolf. As Thorne's body worked unconsciously to undo her, her body worked to fix the damage. It wouldn't save her life, but it would prolong her suffering. For how long? She didn't know. She didn't want to find out.
Siren pawed at the stomach walls with her only remaining limb, the strength to do any damage had long since left her.
"M-miss T-Thorne. P-p-please. Mercy... I... I give up. I can't... Take anymore..." She pressed her face into the dragon's flesh, desperate for even a crumb of warmth or acknowledgment. A pat. A response, even a cruel one. Anything. Anything. Anything to make her feel real. To feel like she's alive.
Was alive…
Thorne was, in a word, satisfied. Unbeknownst to it, the werewolf's regeneration was working to keep her from digestion, leaving the dragon's stomach far fuller than what it would normally feel from a single prey. It rubbed its belly contently as it relaxed in the post-adrenaline haze, feeling the lumpy form of its prey slowly round out into the softness of a well fed gut.
In time, it stood, forcing open a loading dock door to make its egress with ease. As it moved, it gave the barely conscious prey in its gut one final pat.
"Oh, you were delicious, little wolf. I'm gonna dream about our hunt for a while after you're gone. Maybe I'll see about some of those friends of yours…"
A final, bittersweet acknowledgment. As cruel as it was, Thorne felt a tiny pang of regret – not for what she had done, but for the fact it was over.
The dragon staggered out into the night, trying not to let the post-meal haze overtake it as the wolf’s still body sank into its gut. It fell into a wall, feeling the cold brick against its wing-shoulders. It reached down, caressing its belly with what could be mistaken for loving care. Under the small bulge the wolf made, she could feel Siren’s last movements. Though the wolf had since succumbed to her gut, its dying body still twitched involuntarily.
Thorne always found those motions delightful. Every single once-living thing, no matter what, always fought back in the end, and every time, the dragon’s gut triumphed. Muscles separated from bones, then fell apart into individual fibers, and finally broke down into a thick soup of proteins. Fat, once so soft and sensual on its victims bodies, sloughed off into rich, oily chyme. Nerves seared away, organs melted, and bones – bones were always the last to go. Most were shattered as her stomach muscles seized and clenched, twisting and snapping them into smaller, manageable chunks, acids softening and pitting them, attacking the savory marrow within.
As the minutes whiled into hours, her belly worked its grisly work, softening from a hard, taut, curve, into a soft pillow that jiggled as the dragon slapped it. She felt as her prey started draining into her intestines, little chunks of bone rubbing and prodding as they passed through her pyloric sphincter, as they dragged their way around peristaltic curves.
Her intestines were ravenous, seizing everything they could. Satisfaction welled up deep within Thorne’s body, and she felt her chest vibrate with a deep, almost purring rumble.
Patting her belly once more, the dragon stood. Maybe it could catch the end of Duchess’ concert.
---
Outside Apex, the tired party-goers slowly filed out of the venue. The night was late, and no one wanted to be caught alone after one of Duchess's concerts.
As Thorne reintegrated itself into the throng, it glanced down. A punk bunny girl was staring at the bullet necklace laced into its belt loop with horror in her eyes. She seemed familiar somehow. Her gaze traced up the dragon, meeting her still-bloodstained maw.
It took Thorne a moment before it remembered – The girl Siren had been flirting with! Thorne clenched her stomach, feeling something hard rise to the top. Her throat seized, pushing the artifact back into her maw.
Between her jaws, a wolf skull sat, its rictus grin framed for a brief moment between ivory knives.
Rain splashes heavily against the granite peaks of the Entoran Ridge. The rough, craggy stones funnel torrents of water down ancient ridges, forming rushing creeks perilous enough to make even a seasoned adventurer lose her step. The wind howls through the valleys, whipping up loose foliage and tossing debris all around.
Tieflings were not made for rain, as rarely do rains fall in their homeland. For one to be woefully caught unprepared in a storm, let alone amidst the Entoran Ridge, is what might be described as a nightmare. Every sharp droplet of rain which lands on one young tiefling’s green skin hisses with hate, met with such foreign heat. She is soon enveloped in steam, her own, and it’s unbearable. The cold and her own body heat wrestle within her. If she did not find shelter of some form soon, she’d surely end up blinded, by the storm or the steam.
Amidst the imposing range, a narrow hewn path carves its way along a cliff, and the lone traveler curses her luck. What light made it through the clouds was dimming, and the prospect of being caught out at night by some mountain beast further compounded her troubles. Up ahead, one shadowy overhang appeared to dig into the side of the mountain, offering a promise of some respite from the biting cold.
Stumbling across the cave is enough to almost make Sunspot thank the gods, though she bites back her forked tongue before she says such things. She shuffles inside, instantly finding solace from the whipping winds and arrow-like rain. Her tail flicks discontentedly, her clothes sopping wet, and her mood not much better. Luckily, what little firewood she did have was safely contained in her pack, and she sets about making a fire for herself to wait out the storm within the cavern.
Elsewhere, down a winding tunnel extending from the rear of the cavern, a perceptive adventurer might faintly make out the sounds of something snoring within. Atop a mound of coins and otherworldly artifacts, a beast breathes deep and slow, wrapped in slumber. The faint scent of fire winds its way down into one of her nostrils, and slowly, her electric blue eyes crack open. Sitting up, it stretches to its full 12' height, yawning wide. As it stands on its two powerful legs, a low rumble emanates from its guts, and it licks its lips, wondering about what snack could have disturbed its slumber.
Sunspot watches the smoke flow deeper and deeper into the cavern, the wind howling outside pushing it away. Her bright yellow eyes follow the trail drawn by the billowing gray, landing on the darkness further within. Her ears…twitch, flopping slightly as they do so. Someone, or something is in this cave. Her tail flicks a bit more, back and forth, no longer in discomfort. There’s a unique fear that bristles down her spine. “There’s only so many things that live within caves…” She thinks to herself, realizing she is not as safe as she might have wished.
The tiefling scrambles to her feet, bracing her hands against the smooth rock beneath her as she stands. Her fire continues to crackle, casting her shadow down the length of the cave. Her tail flicks, back and forth, back and forth. Back into the rain? Stand her ground? She can’t seem to make a decision.
Some kind of noise squeaks out of her and dies on her tongue.
As the dragon rounds the corner, Thorne takes another whiff of the smoke. She can smell sweat, wet clothes, tiefling, and fear. She thinks a moment. Her prey is already timid and ready to run, but going out in the storm to hunt would be so annoying, and she wouldn't want to risk a lovely meal falling down a ravine and spoiling the fun. She settles herself into a more friendly posture, stands up straight, and masks her hunger with a smile.
"I don't often get visitors here," she speaks, emerging from the darkness. Her voice is low and gravelly, but with a measured, gentle tone, as if speaking to a timid animal. "It's much warmer inside, you're welcome to stay if you like," she gestures towards the tunnel she emerged from.
A dragon. Sunspot’s tail almost stiffens in shock as her eyes meet Thorne’s gaze. She should run. Leave. Escape. Right? Running in the rain was a recipe for death, considering walking nearly sent her tumbling down the side of the ridge. Her gaze flicks away from the dragon for a moment to stare down at her soaked outfit, cloth and cotton clinging to her skin and leather weighing her down. Maybe…maybe it wouldn’t be terrible.
“Kind of you,” She finally manages to eke out, her voice in an upper register with a bit of bubbliness beneath the fear, “I ah…didn’t expect the storm,” She admits, her tail beginning to soften.
Thorne suppresses a grin as she sees Sunspot freeze. The dragon takes one long step towards the campfire, then another, slowly crossing the cavern. I needs keep my demeanor measured and calm, she thinks to herself. Be a gracious host. Don't scare away such a tasty looking meal.
"The weather can be fickle, yes. But really, the pleasure is mine. I do so rarely get visitors," she replies, as she steps aside, no longer directly approaching the timid adventurer. "A warm place to rest is the least I could offer."
The dragon looks inquisitively at the tiefling, awaiting her response. A gnawing hunger urges her to pounce, but she fights it back. She's having fun leading this morsel on.
Sunspot’s nostrils flare slightly in surprise when Thorne begins closing the distance between the two of them, now realizing just how tall the dragon was compared to her. Her tail continues to flick back and forth, though not as stiff and violent as before. She takes a sparing step backward as Thorne nears her, surprised by just how much she loomed over her…dragons were large, she knew that, but seeing one in-person was quite a different experience than hearing of them, or seeing artworks.
“…my apologies,” She utters softly, straightening how she stood. Her eyes looked upward at Thorne, bright yellow irises swimming with a mixture of first impression fear and a lulled sense of security…
“If you’d lead the way? I believe you may know your home better than I, aheh.”
Thorne slowly turns on her heel, tail whipping around as if to accentuate the motion. A quick tug lifts the flailing limb to clear Sunspot's horns, almost an afterthought.
Sunspot warily dips her head down when the tail nearly whacks her horns, her breathing heightening for a moment in shock before she regains composure. Getting knocked out by a giant dragon tail was not how she’d like to spend her evening, that’s for certain. Though, she didn’t quite know what she was in for by any stretch of the imagination. Her campfire crackles behind her as she follows Thorne inside, not knowing that that’s likely the most that’ll be left of her.
The blue mass of the dragon's scales stride down the tunnel, every so often stopping her long strides to check that her "guest" is keeping up. A few hundred feet, and the tunnel opens into a more spacious cavern, evidently the conjunction of several ancient lava tubes, lit by faintly glowing crystal growths. Unlike the mouth of the cave, this conjunction is slightly more than pleasantly warm. In the center of it all, light twinkles and refracts from a pile of coins, gems, and exotic, almost alien, artifacts, the construction of which is evocative of the dragon's synthetic arm.
"Perhaps cliché, but I do hope it is to your liking," she chuckles, striding to the center of the room.
Sunspot marvels at the scenery of the cavern, her eyes sparkling a bit with the sight of the dragon’s hoard. She wouldn’t lie, it was quite tempting to grab something from the pile…though she knew what dragons would do to those who steal from their hoards.
“Very, ah…comfortable, Miss..?”
Thorne turns, fixing her gaze on Sunspot once again. She had the little morsel right where she wanted her.
"Thorne," She replies.
The dragon begins to pace around the tiefling, her tail trailing behind her like a serpent encircling its next meal. The facade would be up soon, and the gnawing hunger in her belly was growing impatient, but she wanted to see just how far she could lead this meal on.
"And how may I call you...?"
A growl from her belly threatens the charade.
Sunspot’s bright yellow eyes watch attentively as the dragon begins to encircle her, her tail once more beginning to flick back and forth in a reaction of danger. What was she to do? Turn tail and run? Perhaps if she stayed on the dragon’s good graces, she’d be able to make it out of whatever was to happen alive.
“Sunspot. You may call me S-” The growl from Thorne’s stomach cuts her off, “…Sunspot..”
Her eyes widen, and she looks upwards at Thorne with a shocked expression. The scent of fear once again fills Thorne's nostrils, and she sinks into a more predatory posture. The facade of hospitality gone, she stalks in a tightening circle, fully entrapping the gullible adventurer with her tail.
"Such a cute name, really," she growls, a low, predatory purr. It was time to break the terrible news.
Her tail tightens into a firm, but not yet crushing, grip. A single talon lifts Sunspot's chin, and a strand of saliva drips down onto the adventurous tiefling’s face.
"It's good to know the name of the meal that so kindly delivered herself to my lair."
Sunspot’s breathing hitches as she’s grabbed, the strength behind her tail proving that there was little to no chance of escape. Nevertheless, she still thrashes in Thorne’s grasp, coming to a tense stillness as her chin is tilted up.
Thorne leers down at her, tongue dancing along her lips. Her jaws crack open in a hint of a cruel grin as the breath catches in Sunspot's throat. The saliva makes her recoil, but there’s a strange mixture of admiration and absolute terror upon seeing the dragon’s face this close. Her eyes flick rapidly, and after a moment of staring in shocked silence and fear, she bites Thorne’s finger! Her teeth find purchase amidst the scales, but barely sink into the soft flesh, unable to pierce the dragon’s tough hide.
Surprised, Thorne feels a slight pressure in her finger, and realizes, with a slight chuckle, that her prey has bit her.
"Cute," she taunts. "But you'll need more than that to save you,"
The beast wrenches her finger out of Sunspot's mouth, eliciting a “GAH!” from the young woman, and grabs her by the horns. Instantly, Sunspot’s body tenses. Her horns are particularly sensitive to foreign touch, and her eyes roll back for a moment at the sudden pressure against her before she regains her composure. Well, perhaps ‘regains’ is not the right word.
Thorne forces her victim to watch as the dragon's jaws yawn open. The faint light of the cavern reflects off of glistening strands of drool. Sunspot’s eyes refocus as the maw before her opens, dripping with drool…and the dragon was drooling because of her.
Thorne leans in, dragging its tongue over the tiefling's neck and up the side of her face, tasting her. The tiefling fusses and kicks, trying to pull herself free from the grip Thorne has on her and recoiling away from the rough tongue as it drags across her neck and face, leaving a trail of drool alongside a patchwork of scratches…
"Mmmmm..." The dragon purrs, relishing the taste of her victim.
“…p-please, I- D-Dragon’s need familiar’s, right? I can- I can find other food, something or someone else! Just- Hhhnnn…” An adjustment of pressure from its grip shocks her horns’ nerves, “J-Just…put me down…don’t…e-eat me,” she pleads.
"let you bring me food..." Thorne pretends to consider for a moment, before her stomach interrupts her with another grrgggmmmbbbllll. "Or eat you now. My stomach is making a very convincing argument,"
Sunspot thinks for a moment, just a split second, that she did it. That for all the little mistakes she made stumbling in here, she managed to pull herself free from the fire she fell out of the frying pan into. And then there’s another stomach growl, and it might as well be a death knell.
Thorne tightens the grip of her tail, letting the tiefling's legs flail freely as she lifts the struggling morsel towards her jaws. Hot, humid air caresses Sunspot's head as her face is pressed fully into Thorne's mouth. The dragon's tongue squishes around her, slathering her in thick, slimy drool.
“NO-!”
Up goes the tiefling, thrashing and kicking her legs as hard as she can as her face is met with Thorne’s tongue once more, her head almost enveloped in nothing but the dragon’s maw…she tries to kick at Thorne’s tail, or dig her nails into her scales, or poke and prod with her own tail, just anything to wrench back control and escape!
The terrified exclamation of her prey echoes through Thorne's lair. Were Sunspot's face not threatened with imminent consumption, she might see the corners of the beast's jaws twitch into a cruel grin. As she squirms in the tail's grasp, a throaty chuckle rises up around her, and Thorne tightens her tail around the little appetizer's waist.
The claw forcing Sunspot's head down releases her horns, before the tiefling feels the threatening pressure of the dragon's teeth close around her collarbones. The dagger like fangs lightly pierce her skin, staining their tips in crimson ichor. The tip of Thorne's tongue probes these fresh wounds, drinking in the flavor.
"Mmmrrrrrrr..." Another satisfied growl rumbles up Thorne's gullet, shaking Sunspot's world around her.
The teeth pressing into her body, though the may not be gnashing, is further confirmation of what’s to come, alongside the fact that the efforts Sunspot had been making weren’t accomplishing much of anything. She winces as the dragon’s tongue presses against the marks her teeth have left. Not even her blood was safe from Thorne.
And moments later, neither was her body.
The familiar feeling of Thorne's meaty claws returns. Wicked talons grip the tiefling's torso, before wrenching away, tearing the upper half of her drenched outfit to shreds, and leaving shallow but bloody furrows in their wake.
Sunspot’s eyes widen within the dragon’s mouth when her outfit is ripped away, the rainwater almost making it easier. She feels the sting of Thorne’s talons, as well as the new temperature her body is met with. Damp with rainwater, her skin is glistening, though no doubt that would soon be replaced by drool.
*GLLK*
The dragon's maw shifts around Sunspot, forcing her head down into the beast's hungry throat, and her exposed chest follows into the dragon's jaws. A warm, wet caress plays along her chest as Thorne's tongue begins pulling her in. The flavor of blood and sweat soaks into her taste buds, eliciting a ravenous growl from within.
Again, talons grip into Sunspot's remaining clothes, groping her rear, before tearing the fabric from her meal. Soaked remnants of clothes fall to the ground, as Thorne's tail uncoils and she leans back, lifting her prey high into the air.
Aimlessly, Sunspot’s arms and hands try to grab onto something to find purchase and prevent herself from being swallowed, be it a molar or a uvula, hoping it may get Thorne to spit her back out, but the tiefling is far too panicky in her movements to actually make a good grip before she’s forced in deeper.
Her legs kick harder when Thorne’s tongue reaches her chest, and the sudden release of the massive tail around her lower half makes those kicks wild, not expecting a lack of force. It also, combined with the lift, pushes her in deeper.
Sunspot finds her head forced ever deeper down Thorne's gullet as she flails, but also soon finds herself on the receiving end of a vicious bite. The dragon did not expect quite such violent motion from her prey, and instinctively snapped her jaws closed, driving her fangs into the tiefling's meaty thighs.
“AH!”
Sunspot flinches and recoils in pain within Thorne’s throat as the fangs enter her thighs. She becomes tense and shaky, her body reacting to the pain by trying to keep the adrenaline pumping. Satisfied that her meal is well enough secured, the predator's tongue relaxes, and plays itself along the woman's chest, toying with the tasty treat. The tongue lapping at her breasts and nipples keeps the tiefling’s adrenaline pumping, but in a way Sunspot truly abhors.
*GLRRP*
Another swallow pulls Sunspot deeper, the pressure of Thorne's esophagus hungrily grabbing at her body. Sunspot’s arms are pinned to her side. Any attempt she had made to find purchase and slow her descent was useless, and now, she wouldn’t be able to make them anymore. She feels every part of Thorne’s throat squeezing and refusing to release, her squirms rendered little more than the occasional shift.
Meanwhile, Thorne's tongue continues its probing, teasing her victim's breasts one last time before slithering lower. Sunspot feels the muscle trace a slimy path down her torso, following rivulets of blood to lap at their source, before moving on to the next.
Eventually the tongue finds its way down to the tiefling's hips, sliding between the unfortunate woman's thighs. She tenses. This big, strong, drooly thing slides down her body with ease, and soon slips between her legs, eliciting an “EEP!” followed by more squirms. Thorne relaxes her jaws, and Sunspot feels the tongue press in, before...
*GLLLLPP*
Another throaty gulp pulls her hips fully to the back of the dragon's maw. The throat vibrates around her as Thorne moans in pleasure at her taste. Sunspot slides deeper once more. Her entire body rattles as the dragon moans, so much taste dancing on her tongue from just a small tiefling.
Thorne's throat bulges out as she takes one more big swallow, tossing the tiefling's hips into her gullet with one final, powerful thrust. Slowly, inexorably now, her prey's body glides downwards. Thorne dances her tongue one last time over the poor thing's ass, then thighs, then calves, and feet, rough taste buds scraping the last bits of flavor from them before they vanish forever into her guts.
Sunspot does her best to try and halt the process, to try and latch onto something before she slides down all the way to no avail. Her previous attempt coming up empty might’ve discouraged her from doing so, but nevertheless the fight to exist is still in her… despite the fact that she’s not even in the predator’s mouth anymore.
As the squirming morsel slides down Thorne's gullet, her best attempts to stop herself almost seem useless, until her descent briefly comes to a halt. Somehow, she realizes, she has managed to wedge herself somewhere. A muffled growl resonates from above, indicating just how deep she is.
Hah! Aha! Her horns, her tail, something had put a stop to this! Her bright eyes alight with darkvision as she realizes just how far down she is, but that doesn’t mean there’s no escape, right? She’s stopped! She kicks and squirms, hoping to activate a gag reflex or something. Maybe she could just climb back out of the dragon if she passes out or-
*GLLLLP*
“AGHH!!” Not a snowball’s chance in the Hells. What hope she might have had of choking the beast is quickly snuffed out, as another powerful swallow forces her back into a more manageable position.
Moments later, her journey pauses again, as her face is pressed against a ring of muscle. She cringes when her face presses against the muscle, filled with disgust even more than she was already. It slowly opens as the peristaltic motion of the esophagus eases the unfortunate tiefling through. Her nostrils are instantly assaulted by the sting of acids, while her body is slowly extruded into the stomach, falling with a faint splash into a pool of fluid. The cuts and wounds on Sunspot's body sting as they are submerged, the digestive enzymes eager to bite into the tender flesh.
She hisses in pain, pushing her head up above the pool and frantically looking around. There’s gotta be something she can do, right? Everything stings!
As her meal reaches her stomach, Thorne rubs her hand over the small bulge she makes. Live, struggling prey was always a pleasure to digest, and just in time, her latest victim was putting up a fight.
“RRRRGH!” The dragon’s meal puts all her strength behind a head butt against the stomach wall, hoping to dig her horns in! This does little outside of splash more acid.
Sunspot's horns slam into the wall of Thorne's stomach, and the dragon growls a soft "mmmmhhh" in response. Her stomach, however, is less pleased with the resistance, and the organ clenches against the struggling meal, forcing some air up Thorne's throat into a small “urp!” carrying with it the faint taste of tiefling. Thorne smiles at the taste, and, hungry for more, lets her tongue play along her lips and teeth to chase the last hints of Sunspot's flavor.
"Ahhhhh," she growls, "I really should thank you for delivering such a delicious meal."
Meanwhile, Sunspot tries to push against the sudden constriction, her hands shoving at the slick interior and trying to get more space within the claustrophobic confines of the dragon’s stomach. She grits her teeth and tries to head butt again, thumping her head and horns up against the wall once more!
The voice taunting her, echoing far above her, only serves to make her angrier in her thrashing escape attempt, despite the futility of it. At one point, she just punches the stomach lining, roaring out in a sobbing anger from within Thorne.
Belly laden with prey, Thorne lumbers lazily back towards her hoard, and settles her massive bulk amidst the coins and gems. As her prey writhes within her, each thrashing motion elicits a noise of sadistic pleasure, and the occasional churning response from her stomach.
"You're quite a lively one!" The dragon teases. "Got somewhere important to be?"
As Thorne mocks her meal, the acids in her stomach are heating up. What was a mild sting in an exposed wound has turned to full body irritation, scouring the outer skin of the struggling tiefling within.
Of course she had somewhere to be! She wasn’t just wandering around the ridge with no destination, and her final resting place was certainly not the one she had in mind! The unfortunate tiefling thinks to herself. She can’t quite respond to Thorne, though, as no doubt her growls of anger and sobs of panic were being drowned out by churning of the dragon’s stomach.
Speaking of being drowned out, the pain she was beginning to feel was drowning out a lot of her current feelings, and many sensations. There’s a sickly hissing, one that is followed by Sunspot’s own hiss of pain as her mind begins to get overwhelmed. It’s then that her thrashing becomes much more panicked and less calculated than before, not just trying to get out anymore, but also trying to escape the pain!
"I did say I had a nice warm place for you to stay, but if it's not to your liking, I won't come chasing if you can fight your way out," Thorne muses, reveling in the cruelty of her offer. "But I'm looking forward to feeling you soften down into a nice, filling meal."
With that taunt left to hang in the air, Thorne rolls onto her back, idly rubbing her boiling gut. Slowly, each contraction of her stomach softens the living meat within, and the dragon listened and felt with keen interest as thrashing struggles turned to despairing sobs.
“LIAR!!”
She mostly shouted it for herself, at this point. She feels her space once again shrink, the dragon’s stomach doing everything in its power to melt her down into nothing but sustenance…but she was so much more than that!
She was a person, not food!
Large hands press into her from outside, and she can do little but bat at their forms in an attempt to get the dragon to leave her alone, her breathing hitching as more and more of her body is enveloped in acid.
Thorne grins wickedly to herself as she listens to the little softening morsel's futile cries. The taste of denial and helplessness, when a little piece of meat like this soon to be former adventurer could not possibly accept their destiny as dinner, was more sublime than any blood or terror. Always mere moments before they finally gave in to her gut, she thinks to herself.
Thorne begins kneading her belly with both hands, with some intention helping it along, but mostly just feeling just how much her prey has softened.
"You're so close now, but I'll give you a choice," she offers, her voice honeyed with crooning mockery. "You can hang on a few more delicious minutes, and let my guts finish you, or," she pauses to let her claws find their target, "I can show you just how soft you are and finish you with one squeeze now."
Sunspot refused. She wouldn’t- She couldn’t end up like this! She was a proud tiefling, the mark of the continuation of bloodlines thought long since dead. She had to survive! She couldn’t just be dragon food!
She weakly squirms as the hands knead against her, whimpering at the further taunting before the claws press into her…she grits her teeth and kicks, trying to fight with what little was left…
The tiefling's pride may have given her a burst of strength to struggle against fate, but Thorne's stomach is relentless. Though the dragon deigns not to end the adventurer immediately, the incessant roiling of her guts, assisted by the massaging of her claws, have softened her meal to the point of inevitability. Deeper below, Sunspot can hear the hungry gurgling of Thorne's intestines, ready to absorb a meaty tiefling soup. If she gives up fighting, but for a moment, she feels she will melt into mushy red chyme, never to return.
Sunspot’s breathing has slowed to gasps between momentary thrashing, her body simply reacting to the fact that she’s staring down her final moments. She tries to gather her strength for one last head butt, tries to slam her horns against Thorne’s claws, but all the dragon is treated to is one last pitiful thump before…
*GLLLLLLRRRRRSSSSHHHH*
As the tiefling makes her final, pitiful effort, Thorne's gut clenches down, melting softened flesh into nutritious soup. The dragon feels her victim finally succumb, and in a moment of ecstatic victory, lets out a roar that shakes the cavern.
Over the next few minutes, her stomach begins a vicious, churning cycle, until the only solid forms Thorne can feel are the faint outline of her latest victim's bones, slowly draining with the rest of the meal down deeper into her guts. She leans back, flopping into a euphoric post meal bliss, losing track of time in her pleasured haze.
It is only once her stomach has nearly fully drained that she begins to recover, feeling a slight bump pushing back up her gullet. Something solid, a little larger than her guts must have wanted to take. It eases up her throat, carried on a cushion of Sunspot's last breath, exiting with a faint burp.
Thorne looks down at the mysterious gastrolith, before chuckling to herself. Empty eye sockets look up at her from a polished skull, scoured clean of any sign of life. All that remains to hint at the tiefling who met her unfortunate end in the dragon's guts are her lovely curled horns, protruding from the skull's ivory white brow. A beautiful addition to her hoard, she thinks to herself, before sinking back into blissful, satiated slumber.
I know it can be fun to rip a cute girl to shreds but honestly right now what I need to feel is a whole soft body still squirming and making a nice tight bulge as she slides form my long dragon gullet...
It's so cool that you make all those fun noises just to help me get off
Like you'd think you'd have other priorities but then when you get in there you start begging and pleading for your life and it's like ohhh you really are just doing that for me! That's so nice!
I mean there's no way you ACTUALLY thought I was going to let you out, so that's gotta be it, right?
you are sentanced to death for your crimes, set for execution you are placed into stocks. wait, they are shaped kind of strange? why is there hip support? oh my god is that the wingbeats of a dragon? you thought they outlawed this kind of exectution! fuck- shit, shes so big, theres no way youre going to survive this
2. Find friends who also get off to that or similar.
3. Bounce ideas off each other or rp together until something really resonates.
4. Write that, and put your whole pussy into it. Be flagrantly self-indulgent. Let the power of your own horniness motivate you to write every scene in exquisite, explicit detail. Let the writing be a monument to your own debauchery, shameless in its perfection.
5. Give it an editing pass and run it by the aforementioned friends.
amandla
areudirty
dailybridgerton
jacobvanloon
2087
prguitarman
