The invitation came at the last minute—your co-worker, Steve, bailing on the cruise the day before it set sail. You figured it’d be a nice break from the usual grind, maybe even a chance to unwind for once. But now, standing awkwardly in the corner of the cruise buffet with a half-eaten bread roll in hand, you’re wondering if this was a mistake. The other guests are all annoyingly tanned and carefree, laughing too loud, drinking too much, while you hover on the outskirts, hoping to blend in.
And then he walks in.
He looks like every guy who’s way too comfortable on vacation—open Hawaiian shirt barely clinging to his broad shoulders, linen shorts sitting low on his hips, and a pair of aviators perched on his nose even though you’re indoors. His bare chest glistens slightly, either from the heat or leftover pool water, and his stomach... well, it’s impossible to ignore. A soft roundness presses against his waistband—bigger than just a food baby but not quite a beer belly—making it clear that he’s spent more time at the buffet than the gym lately.
You keep staring. You can’t help it. The lazy, swollen curve of his belly, the way it subtly bounces with each step, it’s weirdly... captivating. You pretend to look away every time his head turns, but after a while, it’s obvious you’ve been caught.
“The fuck you lookin' at, man?” His voice cuts through the noise of the buffet, sharp but casual, his tone more annoyed than curious. He raises an eyebrow, tugging his shirt open a little more and tilting his head. “You got a problem or somethin’? Keepin’ an eye on me like I stole somethin’.”
You blink, startled. “What? No, I wasn’t—”
“Bullshit,” he cuts you off, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He pats his belly lazily, making it jiggle just enough to draw attention. “You been eye-fuckin’ this gut since I walked in. What, jealous or somethin'?”
Heat crawls up your neck. “I wasn’t—”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He rolls his eyes, brushing past you to load up his plate with more food. You think that’s the end of it—just another awkward interaction to forget about. But when he comes back, plopping down at the table next to yours, he’s not done.
“Got you curious, huh?” he says through a mouthful of shrimp. He leans back in his chair, letting his gut poke out even further. “What, this?” He pats his stomach again, louder this time, grinning as he catches you glancing at it. “Yeah, buffet did me in real good. You like it or somethin’, weirdo?”
You sputter, unsure how to respond. “I-I wasn’t—”
He snickers, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “Nah, you were. Don’t even lie about it.” He leans forward, resting one arm on the table, the other lazily rubbing circles over his belly. “What’s the deal, huh? Ain’t never seen a dude enjoy himself before?”
You try to laugh it off, but the sound dies in your throat when he shifts in his seat, scooting closer. His knee bumps yours under the table, and he smirks, catching the way you stiffen.
“Y’know,” he says, voice dropping a little lower, “if you like it so much, you could always get a closer look.” His grin is sharp, playful, but there’s something dangerous lurking beneath it. “Or... hell, maybe you wanna get inside, yeah? Make yourself useful.”
You blink, heart thudding against your ribs. “What?”
He burps—loud, unapologetic, the sound rumbling out of him like a challenge. He grins afterward, swiping a thumb across his lips. “Ahh, sorry, man. That shrimp’s fightin’ back.” He gives his belly a rough pat, making it jiggle again. “Might need somethin’ heavier to settle it, though. What d’you think?”
You try to back away, but he leans in, crowding you against the table. His stomach presses against your side, soft and warm, trapping you in place. “C’mon now, don’t be shy,” he teases, grinning down at you. “You been starin’ all night. Might as well make it worth your while.”
You try to stammer out a response, but he’s already moving—grabbing the chair beside yours and spinning it around to straddle it, his gut practically resting on your arm now. “What, you think I’m jokin’?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Nah, man. I reckon you’d fit just right in here.”
He burps again, this time blowing it right in your face with a laugh. “Whew, you smell that? That’s what’s waitin’ for ya.” He grins as you cough, waving his hand dramatically. “Bet it’ll be nice n’ cozy in there, though. You look like the type that’d enjoy it.”
You try to shift away, but his hand lands on your thigh, heavy and warm, keeping you in place. “Nah, don’t run now,” he murmurs, leaning closer. “Bet you’re wonderin’ what it feels like, huh? Bein’ all snug in there... squished up tight.”
You swallow hard, pulse pounding in your ears. He smirks, clearly seeing the panic in your eyes, and leans back a little, giving his belly a satisfied rub. “You know you want to, man. Might as well admit it.”
Before you can respond, he hooks an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer until your face is nearly pressed into his gut. “There ya go,” he chuckles, giving you a playful shake. “Feel that? That’s where you’re goin’, dude. Right in here.”
His hand slides to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. “C’mon now, don’t fight it,” he whispers, voice low and teasing. “Gonna swallow you whole, nice n’ easy. Just gotta relax.”
He opens his mouth slightly, letting his tongue flick out as if already tasting you. “Bet you’ll taste better than the shrimp, too.”
He doesn’t waste time. One moment, you’re staring at his smug grin, and the next, his hand is gripping the back of your head, fingers tangled roughly in your hair. He’s not gentle about it—there’s no hesitation. His lips stretch wide, and suddenly, your face is pressed into the slick, wet heat of his mouth.
It’s overwhelming. His tongue slathers across your cheeks, slick and hot, tasting you with broad, lazy strokes. A deep, muffled groan rumbles from his throat, vibrating through your entire skull. You try to squirm, but his hands are firm, holding you steady as he takes his time with each slow, deliberate lick. Every moan feels like satisfaction rolling off him in waves, like he’s savoring you.
Your shoulders bump against his lips next, and his jaw works over you greedily, tugging you in deeper with each wet, heavy gulp. The heat is suffocating—humid and thick, making it hard to breathe as his throat tightens around your face. All you can hear are the squelching sounds of his tongue and the soft, satisfied noises escaping from his chest as he pulls you in inch by inch.
He tries to speak—just once. A garbled, muffled attempt that sounds something like “mmmff…ffuck”—but the words get lost around your body, swallowed up by the slick confines of his mouth. He gives up after that, focusing on the task at hand, each gulp dragging you deeper into the dark, wet tunnel of his throat.
The pressure is intense, your head squeezing further into him with every swallow. His throat ripples around you, muscles working to pull you down, relentless and greedy. You can feel his pulse hammering against your skin, the thrum of it steady and strong as his throat flexes around your shoulders. It’s tight—unbearably tight—and every inch of progress feels like you’re being forced deeper into something inescapable.
His belly gurgles loudly, as if in anticipation, the sound vibrating through you as your head begins to slide past the opening into his gut.
And then, suddenly, you’re in.
The transition is abrupt—one second, your head is squeezed in the tight heat of his throat, and the next, you’re sliding into the slick, churning pit of his stomach. It’s hotter here, wetter too. The walls of his gut press in from every side, slick with juices that coat your skin, thick and warm. You feel something soft brush against your cheek—the remnants of the shrimp he’d devoured earlier, half-digested and floating in the sour broth of his stomach.
The air is thick, sour with the smell of food and digestive acids, and it clings to every breath you manage to steal. His stomach groans deeply, the sound vibrating through the tight space, as if welcoming its newest occupant. It squeezes around your head, kneading you into place like you already belong there.
Outside, the pred grunts with effort, his throat still working to swallow more of you down. The world narrows to the relentless pull of his gut and the humid press of his belly against your body. Your chest is next, sliding past his lips with a wet shlop as he takes another gulp, dragging you deeper.
His moans are louder now, reverberating through your entire body. Each noise is a mix of satisfaction and exertion, a primal sound that makes it clear he’s not just enjoying this—he’s thriving on it. His gut stretches to accommodate you, the skin bulging as more of your body disappears inside. You can feel it growing tighter, pressing you into the mess of half-digested shrimp and thick gastric juices already sloshing around inside.
You try to push back, just on instinct, but it’s no use. His throat is too tight, too determined to let anything go but down. Another wet gulp drags your waist past his lips, and you feel the rest of your body shift, sliding further into the sweltering heat of his gut.
By the time he gets to your thighs, his pace has quickened, each swallow coming more eagerly than the last. He’s lost in it now—every moan, every rumble of his belly a clear sign that he’s fully given in to the pleasure of swallowing you. His throat pulls you down greedily, his hands gripping your legs to guide them in, shoving the last of you inside.
Your legs kick weakly as they slide past his lips, but he just groans, one final, satisfied sound, and tilts his head back with a deep, powerful swallow.
Schlop.
The last of you slips down his throat, and with a loud, contented gulp, you’re gone.
Inside his belly, everything is tight, wet, and sweltering. The stomach walls squeeze you from all sides, pressing you deeper into the mess of food and digestive juices. Every shift of his body sends ripples through the tight space, sloshing you around like just another meal. The air is so thick it’s hard to breathe, each shallow inhale filling your lungs with the sour scent of digestion.
And then, outside, you hear it—a loud, rumbling burp that echoes through the confined space of his stomach, shaking you to your core.
“Oooof,” he groans, rubbing a hand lazily over the massive swell of his gut. “Man, you settled in good. Felt ya fightin’ for a second there—thought I might have to spit ya out. But nah... you fit just right.”
He leans back in his chair, letting his gut hang heavy between his thighs, bulging out with the clear outline of your body inside. “Shit,” he mutters, giving his belly a satisfied slap. “You’re bigger than you looked. Got me feelin’ all stretched out n’ shit.”
His fingers trace slow circles over the bulging curve of his stomach, feeling the way you shift slightly beneath the surface. Another burp rumbles out of him, this one even louder than the last, and he grins, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Whew. Yeah, that’s what I needed.” He grins, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Bet you thought you’d freak me out or somethin’, huh? Like I’d be all weirded out by this shit. Nah, man. I think I’m gonna keep ya in here a while.”
He stretches lazily, letting out a contented sigh. “Shit, maybe I’ll even take ya out for a walk. Show ya off a bit. Let everybody see what a good fuckin' job I did stuffin’ ya down in there.”
His hand presses down harder on his gut, squishing you deeper into the mess inside. You hear him chuckle low in his throat, the sound vibrating through every inch of his belly.
“Bet they’ll get a kick outta seein' this,” he says, patting his gut one more time. “Big ol’ belly full of some weirdo who couldn’t keep his eyes to himself.”
With that, he leans back, letting his belly settle heavy and round against his lap, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “Yeah... think I’m gonna like havin’ ya in there. Hope you’re comfy, dude. ‘Cause you ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
And with one last, lazy burp, he pats his gut again, closing his eyes with a contented sigh.
"I cannot 8elieeeeeeeeve he would turn down all this-- At least he'll make my ass and 8reasts look Faaaaaaaantastic for the next date ::::::::)"
Happy Vriska day and happy Vore day here on 8/8
I don’t get to indulge often, I’m more inclined to release those I put away, especially as they are normally those I hold fondness for.
But those I do get to play with, I enjoy them for as long as I can. I can dunk them into my tea, watching them sputter and thrash in the hot liquid while I use a spoon to push them back should they try to climb over the rim. I would even use said spoon to push them under the liquid, but not letting them drown as that would be too easy.
If I didn’t feel like tea I would dunk them in my various toppings, roll them in sugar, drizzle them in honey or caramel. I like the natural taste when I plan to release one, that way I could easily imagine savoring their taste again when I get the opportunity to store them once more. But for those I get to keep, I want to work to get their natural flavor, even as they voice their appropriate displeasure at the situation. I would pull them in halfway at first, either legs or head since I was never one to lick things like ice cream. If I went with the legs I would relish in their yelling as I pulled each limb between my teeth, digging into the tense flesh until I get the faint taste of copper, but not breaking bone. If I went head first I would move the tiny body until I had their head between my teeth, listening to them scream as if I would pop the source of their entire self like a grape, but I wouldn’t do that. Thats no fun.
Either way I would lift them above my head with my jaws opened wide to show them where they will end up, where they will be processed into nutrients, where they as an individual will be over...and drop them.
I would savor the feeling of them fighting against the muscles of my throat, feeling the minute fluttering under my skin as the lump traveled from under my chin to vanish from sight under my collarbone, but not vanishing from touch. I would remain motionless as I would feel the soft fluttering brush past my heart and lungs, and only shift into a relaxed position one they’ve reached the final destination.
They wouldn’t end their journey alone though, with a stethoscope pressed to my skin, I would listen to every pitiful threat, begs for release, and the sobbing of acceptance. I could be kind and drink enough liquid for them to run out of air to breath, or I would be cruel and chew some antacids when it got too much and swallow more air to prolong the process. I would speak with them until they were no longer themselves.. reduced to nothing but a calorie rich sludge for my body to convert.
But again.... this is only when I get the rare chance to indulge~
When the clock strikes midnight, October 31st technically ends, but the Halloween celebration is just beginning for the true creatures of the night. These monsters roam the streets, going from house to house to get their own treats to enjoy.
One monster delicately enjoys their tricks or treating haul.
Content: soft vore, fatal/digestion implied, multiple tiny unwilling prey, monstrous pred, prey treated like candy/objectified, first person ("I") perspective
I stalked down the street, avoiding the pools of light cast by street lamps. Most of the homes lining the way were dark, but a few windows were lit. Even fewer had a jack-o-lantern carved with three fangs, two on the bottom and one on the top to form a v, placed prominently on the front step. These were the places for creatures like me.
Sack held tightly in my claws, I walked down the front path to one such house and knocked on the door. The thing that answered the door was either wearing the best costume or they truly did have two spiraling horns and a furry face. Their big, golden eyes took me in, rectangular pupils darting around. With a gap-toothed grin they picked up a handful of treats from their bowl and dropped it into my outstretched sack. The little creatures writhed in their hand and the mass wriggled apart in the bottom of my bag.
We nodded to one another, then I turned, flaring my cape, and headed back to the street. I carried onward, scanning the decorations for the telltale pumpkin. Some teenagers were gathered in a dark yard, a pale carton of eggs in one of their hands. I smirked at the little villains; they probably thought they were the scariest things out here tonight.
I traveled across the city, from one residential district to the next. Occasionally I came across other roving beasts. We would meet eachothers eyes for a heartbeat of acknowledgement before carrying on our solitary way. There were one or two packs, probably werewolves, and I ignored them altogether.
My sack was beginning to feel heavy, the mass of tiny bodies within undulating. At the next house, I shifted my grip and slipped a hand into the bag to grab one of the newest goodies. I gave the giver a wink before popping the tiny person into my mouth.
Its slight form flailed on my tongue. The powerful muscle arched to pin it to my palate before dragging across their entire being. I walked down the steps and up the driveway, giving my snack a firm suck, rendering them immobile. As the pressure eased they struggled with renewed vigor and I gave a weak, habitual chew. The motion squeezed out a tiny moan, but didn't break skin nor bone. My mouth watered and I continued to rub them into my tongue, working out every sweet scrap of flavour.
When I'd enjoyed all I could, I swallowed easily. By now its poor little body was limp from exhaustion, and my throat constricted around it in waves. I couldn't even feel it once it slid from my esophagus. I would have to be a little quicker with some if I wanted that delightful fluttering in my gut.
The moon was still high above when I concluded my trick or treating. My burden was bulging. With so many little creatures, their protests and cries were a soft hum of mingled noise. Satisfied, I turned to home.
Once back in my lair, I flopped on a comfy chair and hauled the sack onto my lap. I rolled the top edge down and licked my lips as I surveyed the tangled heap of limbs and bodies.
I started with one at a time, delicately pinching a single morsel between two claws and dangling them above my watering mouth. They plopped in with a wet slap against my saliva slicked tongue before being plunged into the humid darkness of my closed maw. I was careful not to damage them with my sharp teeth, instead rolling them around with my tongue to work out every bit of flavour from their surface.
I was delighted to discover some had been seasoned or powdered in sugar. These tantalizing mouthfuls were the ones I savored the most. Drool escaped the corner of my mouth and I closed my eyes in pure bliss for the first moments after one such critter hit my tongue. Then I licked at them like all the rest.
Eventually my mouth was saturated in their mingled flavours. Saliva continued to flow freely and new mouthfuls offered very little fresh taste. Now it became about filling my belly.
I grabbed a small handful of wriggly bodies and stuffed them into my mouth. My jaws worked gently alongside my slippery tongue to squeeze and soak the entire lot. With a couple effortful gulps the whole clump of them were down. With a few sliding down at a time I was now able to feel their progress from the top of my throat all the way down behind my ribs to the already churning belly.
A few more handfuls, each one guzzled with increasing speed, did the trick. My stomach felt taught and full, though there was no visible sign. Most importantly, all those little writhing forms massaged the wrinkled walls of my belly. I gave a satisfied sigh and leaned back in my chair. With a little grunt of effort I pushed the bag of remaining treats onto the floor, careful not to spill.
One hand slid onto my full belly. I began to rub in small circles, complimenting the churning contractions below. My other hand fumbled for s remote control so I could watch some TV. In the morning I would sleep; for now I was going to enjoy my haul. This wouldn't be the last night of indulgence either. I knew how to keep them good for quite a while and wasn't into overdoing it. My tongue swiped over my lips to get one last lingering taste.
this may be kind of contextless but sports+vore-exhibitionism is some good stuff if only it wasn’t a contradiction of itself
Yknow.... I think you got a solid point here
I do have that one MMA/boxing story but that has exhibitionism I suppose.
Since sports are naturally exhibitionist in nature and basically made to entertain, you're pretty right. However, I dont think it's a complete contradiction! Especially for nonfatal and safe/soft stuff.
Martial arts and wrestling partners practicing privately and perhaps using vore as a desparate measure/dirty move/joke cuz they're close with their sparring partner.
Doubles partners in racket sports (or other pair sports tbh) using it as a reward like a warm bath/massage or as a cramped stinky punishment for performing more poorly than the other. They could also use it for bonding and intimacy; one bed trope while on the road for a tournament?
Perhaps a coach uses it privately in the locker room after everyone else has left. It could be a punishment after a game, eating the worst player that time around. Alternatively a nice tum session or big feeding for the MVP. Maybe a combination where best eats the worst!
In general players making bets with other players where winner gets to eat the loser. They can settle it afterwards at their home or the locker room. Maybe even out in the empty arena!
(THIS PARAGRAPH IMPLIES FATAL)Maybe a star player treats themselves to a bowl of tinies once they're a little tipsy and back home after the victory party. Tossing them around and catching them in mouth.
I would like to note that a lot of the more rough sports have nice big jerseys that normally fit over protective padding but would perfectly accommodate a nice big belly if that's your jam.
