The differences when it comes to swallowing your favourite prey. Slow, teasing swallows, your stomach twisting in anticipation but needing to savour every moment, every piece of their body as it passes through your lips, then down your throat.
Eagerness.
Feeling your stomach fill, then stretch and contort to accommodate their mass, it doesn't matter what kind of meal you preferred before them, their size inside of you becomes your perfect. Instead of rough, jostling pressure, there's gentle touches through your skin. Your hands recognizing every piece, but treating your meal delicately, as if a soft tracing of a finger could do any harm compared to the twisting, hungry walls they're squeezed inside.
Shivers running through the two of you, fear and satisfaction interwoven in one. These movements only serving to prompt more wet gurgles, harsher acidic tingling against their skin, slow enough for them to appreciate it, to feel their flesh get raw. Your body doesn't know they're different, your body cant recognize their importance, but you try to hold it off despite that.
Last.
Keep them yours as long as possible. It's no use, of course. Their body crunched and compressed inside your belly, desperately trying to shake the flesh from their bones, melt them down into something no one would ever identify. Their taut imprint in your gut fading into just another round, satiating lump to get pumped deeper into your intestines, into nothing but you.
Again, and again, and again.