This surely hadn't been what they expected when they came over for New Year's eve, but for the pred, it was perfect.
They lured the prey over under false pretenses; "I'm throwing a party. Everyone will be there!"
When the prey arrived, they didn't seem too worried about being the only one there. They had a history of being early, after all. Instead, they plopped themselves right down on the couch and started babbling away about their resolutions for the new year. They wanted to exercise, treat themselves more, make new friends, lose weight, go on a diet, all sorts of things...
The pred slowly crept up behind the prey, only responding with idle "uh huh, oh, nice, yeah, same" to keep the prey talking.
They didn't even hear the pred coming. Their guard was down... which is precisely what made it easy for the pred to clap their hands on the prey's shoulders and lunge forward, seizing the prey's head in their jaws.
The prey, stunned and dumbfounded, could only uselessly try to bat at the pred. Some quick gulps quickly pinned their arms to their side, stopping the prey's rather pathetic attempts at pushing the pred off. Soon, the pred was throwing their head back, letting the prey slide down their throat. They couldn't help but rest a hand against their throat, feeling the bulge push out and swell as the prey slid down...
Within seconds, the bulge in the pred's throat was gliding downwards, briefly disappearing past their collarbone before spilling out into the pred's middle. The pred licked their lips and sighed happily, drumming their hands over their middle.
The response from the prey was immediate, thrashing around and protesting about being "betrayed" and how they thought the pred was their friend. Their voice was heavily muffled by thick layers of muscle, but to the pred, that just made the experience all the more satisfying.
Even better was how good the prey's struggles felt. Pleasure was radiating in waves across the pred's body, starting from the pit of their stomach. It was enough to make them lightheaded and their knees feel weak, so, quickly, the pred stumbled to their room and fell backwards in bed, panting and whining slightly as their stomach bulged out from the prey's struggles. Soon, they were covered in a fine layer of sweat, and they were practically clawing at the bedsheets, as if trying to ground themselves.
Their stomach roiled with the prey's struggles. Each new struggle or kick was almost enough to send the pred over the edge. The scene might've been horrific to onlookers; the pred's stomach was constantly surging outwards, as if about to burst, before squeezing back in. Each movement brought wet gurgles and sloshes from deep within the pred's stomach, and each time the pred's stomach clenched, the pred moaned.
Unfortunately for the pred, nothing good lasts forever. The pleasure radiating from their stomach got more and more intense, and, over time, their stomach started to feel more and more tight, like a rubber band pulled taut. It became harder for the prey to move with the pred's stomach slowly constricting around them, and, in a last fit of desperation, the prey gave the pred's stomach a sharp, powerful kick.
Just like that, the tension snapped.
Orgasmic pleasure coursed through the pred's veins as their stomach walls crashed down around the prey, churning rapidly around them. The prey screamed, only to be abruptly muffled by stomach walls grinding into their face and skin, smothering them. The chamber around them began rapidly filling up with liquid, robbing the prey of their remaining air. A loud chorus of gurgles filled the room, and the pred's stomach even rounded out and swelled from the additional liquid... and then, finally, the pred came down, panting hard as their stomach, now completely still, weighed them down in their mattress.
Slowly, the pred turned their head to their nightstand, eyeing the clock they had. In red, digital letters, it read. "12:01 A.M."
A knight who has spent years going to mages to modify their equipment and body into the perfect dragon slaying unit.
Just. Imagine being a dragon who regularly eats the noble-knight-of-the-week. You sit on your hoard and you pick your teeth clean as the most recent knight finally settles down some, their squirms finally slowing enough for you to relax and maybe get some sleep. The yells are still amusing. If drowned out by the ever-rising pitch of your stomach kneading them down.
And then there's another intruder in your den. Fine, you think to yourself. You're too full still. So charcoal it is.
Except the knight is untouched by your fire. Fuck it, claws. The new knight ducks under your swipes and rolls between your forelegs. You try to stomp them with your hind legs, but you feel the barest tickle of a sword against the scales of your hind foot.
Suddenly you are dizzy and it's like the world spins apart into blue particles. You shake your head to try to clear the light away. When you finally regain your balance, you are greeted with the fleeting sight of a mouth before you are rudely gulped down into the darkness.
It's cool against your hyper-heated scales. The walls are sticky and strong, pinning your wings to your body as you descend in one long, long swallow. It's only halfway down do you realize what is happening. And by then, it is too late to struggle while the force of gravity is played against you.
You were foolish to not realize that it was the Beast Knight in your den. You should have known. You should have run when they didn't burn like all the others.
Their...stomach...is even stickier than whatever disgusting substance lined their throat. It clings to your scales no matter how you try to orient yourself or thrash it off of you. You curse your captor's entire bloodline. Loudly.
The Beast Knight pays you no mind at all. You're jostled around as they walk out of your den and away into the unknown.
You shiver at the temperature. The coolness is slowly eating away at the heat in your chest that warms your body.
How dare they eat you? How dare they come into your den, gulp you down, and not even try to plunder your hoard? You spent your entire life accumulating all those precious trinkets! Normal knights are all over winning a dragon's hoard for their pathetic lords. What is wrong with this one? Is it broken?
You will not be eaten by an ungrateful, disrespectful, stupid little human thing.
You roar and you spit fire and curses until you run out of air. It does nothing but sap your strength. Your fuel is spent. You know that if you tried to speak another word, your voice would be a painful, hoarse whisper. It seems like your captor walks on forever in a damning silence. The swaying almost - almost - lulls you into the safe memory of being carried by your tail by your parents.
You know better.
Eventually they come to a halt. A voice calls out to the Beast that swallowed you, voice muffled but clearly understandable. "Oh dear, did you swallow a smoke cloud?"
The Beast Knight finally speaks. "It's, ah. It's been giving me heartburn the whole way here." They reply in a soft, almost shy voice. "I'm not sure why this one's so mad."
You snort. Stupid human, isn't it obvious? They've insulted you in the highest degree. Your hoard was unconventional, not worthless! Your approaching death will be utterly meaningless.
You kick them. And for good measure, flood the prison walls with your leftover smoke until you feel the faintest relief from the pressure. The Beast Knight chokes on their belch.
You feel the tiniest spark of satisfaction curl in your belly. Or perhaps that is your last meal squirming?
"Ah. Did the enchantment on your sword go wonky?"
"A little bit. I'm absolutely stuffed, I really didn't think I'd fit them in without taking off some armor."
"That probably would've been the wiser move. I thought the point of wearing the armor was that your lord and fellows couldn't see what a good meal you've had when you return from your excursions? People already are starting to suspect things, you know. Everytime you say you're just going to visit me, another dragon goes missing without anyone to claim the deed." The voice teases. That suits you just fine. Let them be suspect upon their return. Perhaps they'll think twice. "But - would you like some help?"
"...if you wouldn't mind."
Your world lights up blue once again. It's less disorienting this time, although you're unsure if it's because you were given the barest warning or because it's duration was much shorter. Less pressure surrounds you now, and you wiggle your wings into a more comfortable position than where they were stuck.
The Beast Knight sighs. "Much better. Thank you."
"Happy to help a friend. Ah. Before I forget. Did you get what I asked for?"
You perk up at this question. There comes soft metallic clangs from beyond your prison. Leather rustles against leather. Fabric.
"Here you are," says the Beast, "is this the shade of yarn you wanted?"
The voice squeals in delight. You have half a mind to rub your ears to dispel the ringing. It is much closer now than it was before as it addresses them again. "Oh yes, oh yes. Perfect shade that I need. Thank you my friend. Now I may complete the new hat I've been crocheting."
...The Beast Knight had plundered your hoard after all? To give a gift to...whatever this other human meant to them? Oh. Oh maybe you can forgive them. At least a little bit. They still only acquired one of your perfect threads and yarns.
"I can't wait to see it," purrs the Beast. "You make the best things. They're so very useful and pretty."
"Flattered, that makes me feel. Very flattered," begins the mage. "But, uh. How is the slime modification working for you? I notice your food baby hasn't lost any definition yet. Has that gone sideways too?"
"No. I just wanted to use it for the first time under your watch, in case something did go wrong. I'm also nervous about activating it. Specifically, if I remember how to do it."
"Don't worry too much about that. Sure. Let's do this thing." The Mage wanders some bit away. "Sit over there. Yes on that chair, just move the papers to the floor. Good. Now take off your armor."
Metal springs loose from around them. You shiver at the sound. What were they talking about? Slime?
Slime in their stomach?
Gross. Impossible and gross. Was this your fate then? Some freak of magic will reduce you into more slime, slime to churn the next dragon into slime upon command?
...the only recourse to you is that your death will be painless. The pain would've been your due as the weaker creature who was conquered and plundered. But you would be lying if you said you do not fear the agony you inflict on others. You simply thought you would always be better than to be the weak one.
You are prodded from the outside. You bite at the finger through the walls. You get slime in your mouth. Curses upon their bloodlines.
"Ah so feisty. So cute like this, they are. Makes me curious how it feels to be the one to devour," murmurs the mage. "But I'd be sad to let them go."
"Please, ah. Focus. Mmm."
"...of course. Just do as I instructed. I'll watch out for you. Just breathe and do as I say. You're good at that, aren't you?"
"When I want to. Ngh." The Beast replies. "Although. No one has explicitly told me not to eat dragons. So yes. I'm good at that."
You begin to tingle. The slime, previously inactive, finally comes to life around you. It slithers over your scales, like cool wet fingers tracing gently all across you. Your belly. Your snout. Your tail. Your limbs. The underside of your wings.
You thrash. It's a heady mix; the terror of certain death, and that gentle cool touch upon your scales sparking bright behind your eyes. You're deaf to everything but your own breathing and the tentative groans as this tomb comes alive to taste you.
The slime envelopes you at a snails pace. The movement of the tendrils, slithering and sliding languidly, become firmer and firmer with each pass. You breathe smoke in your overwhelm.
The walls come alive with bubbles and gurgles and groans. It kneads you with determination. You instinctively try to hold them at bay with your wings and claws, but that just exposes more of you to that sinful drag. It's hellish.
You are prodded again. The mage's voice is vaguely teasing from beyond this cauldron, but you don't have the ability to pick out their words beyond the animal need rising in your blood. You need more. You need to get away. You want to be here forever.
Firm hands shove themselves against you. It startled you, but soon that's replaced by the sensations worsening. That fire is fed with the added pressure. Everything is so much and not enough. So loud.
You are being churned into nothingness and liking it.
Perhaps the Beast is doing you a favor. Clearly, despite your pride in being a dragon, it was always misplaced. You were weak enough to be caught, and now you disgrace yourself by needing-
You just need.
You are becoming soft. Slipping. Slurring. Slurrying. You taste slime. You feel it, although you no longer know where you end and it begins. It's all you can feel. You are truly the Beast's now. You will be the Beast.
I wish someone was interested in the sounds my stomach makes. The pressure that’s building up as time passes. Even the release of that pressure after going to the bathroom. Like ask me about how my food is digesting today? If the rumbles are loud and aggressive/ or quiet and soft.
Felt like I should do this and pin to my blog:) just so y’all know exactly what I’m into and discussing. This doesn’t cover everything… however this is definitely the start and anything else I’m into usually stems from one of these😂☺️☺️😌💕💕👌🏽
