G/t prompt 1.07 - RR vore
1.07 Big orders tiny in restaurant
Masterlist
4k words of soft/safe/clean/willing G/t vore. Reformation is mentioned offhand but digestion does not happen. Technically there's a bit of (playful) taunting? But it's for a good cause/well-intentioned/therapeutic/cathartic for the prey. Some mouthplay, no foodplay this time.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When his doorbell chimed at him, Rikard opened it to see a mail courier waiting with a look of evident disgust. “Here,” he sneered, shoving a pamphlet into Rikard's hands before bounding away, presumably to the next stop on his rounds.
Thoroughly confused, he stepped back into his house and closed the door, turning the document over in his hands. It was an advertisement for what appeared to be a restaurant, with a note scrawled across it in broad, jagged, yet oddly precise strokes.
The tasty little bastards aren't so easy to come by anymore, but turns out I know a guy, hooked me up with this place. Not allowed to eat them for real, unfortunately, but they do appreciate repeat customers. No need to tell them I sent you; they prioritize discretion so it can stay our little secret. – Bryce
Now the courier's expression made sense. He read through the rest of the document, convinced there was some trick to it. Was Bryce trying to catch him out somehow? Was it a trap? No, it was pure authentic Bryce. Figures. I can't imagine how far he won't go for a tiny meal.
Fine. He'd give this 'Sustenance Shack' a try; hopefully it wouldn't be too awkward. Just visit, order, and leave; should be enough to keep up appearances.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The advertised building was very nondescript, built into a large hill. If it weren't for the series of signs, set at three different heights – eye level for him, what he knew would be at a tiny's level, and what he assumed was for a giant – he'd have missed it entirely.
Sustenance Shack, it declared, serving local vorists' needs for half a millenium!
'Vorist'. The word was unfamiliar to him, but Rikard shrugged and stepped through the door, assuming he would find out soon enough.
A mid-sized person looked up as the door chime and bounded over the counter with a grin. “Hello, and welcome to the Sustenance Shack? We have dining rooms available in both the Prey Bay and the Predator Parlor; how may I direct you?” They appeared to be one of the Beast Folk, though he couldn't be sure since he'd never met one before. Their tuxedo-pattern fur was sleek, green eyes hinting at mischief, and several jeweled studs decorated their left ear.
“Dining rooms in the what?” Rikard was in shock with how open about it the place was.
“Are you here as a predator, or are you here as a prey?” They said it slowly. “You could not have made it through the misdirecting wards if you didn't intend to be a customer.”
“I...” He blinked, confounded. “I didn't realize being prey was an option. How would that even work?”
They smirked faintly, hiding their amusement well. “Shrinking and growth potions,” they said simply, “or a teleportation spell, for those interested in spending the afternoon being entertained by a friendly dragon.”
While that didn't sound appealing in the slightest, Rikard did find himself wondering if it would be at all similar to how a tiny felt being eaten by him. “People want to be eaten by a dragon?” he wondered. That wasn't why he was there, but the thought wouldn't leave his mind.
“We do have a few habitual prey customers, but the majority are predators Switching for a change. I take it you're a first-time predator?” They shot him a knowing look.
“Um. I'm a predator yes, but this isn't my first time.” He almost opened his mouth to say how many people he'd eaten, and how often, but bit his tongue instead, worrying how it would make him seem. Cocky, arrogant, a braggart? He did not want to be memorable, but he had no idea how their 'usual' or 'repeat' customers acted, save for his own experiences in his hometown. Rikard wanted desperately to believe that not everyone who enjoyed being a predator was like Bryce or the others.
“Ah. Did you happen to bring a potion to inhibit your digestion? We do have several available for purchase if not.” They pulled a small notebook and stencil from a pocket.
He shook his head. “Thank you, but that's not necessary.” So that's what he meant by 'not eating them for real'. Rikard hoped his disgust wasn't obvious.
The clerk looked at him, one eyebrow raised derisively, ears swept back while their whiskers flicked in distaste. “While all of our prey workers do reform, be advised that there is an exorbitant fee should you digest them, intentionally or not.”
Rikard's face was blank for a moment, then blanched in horror. “Oh gods no. No, that won't happen. It's not a spell, more of an innate magic.” He couldn't imagine it – reforming after such a terrible death, and then potentially being faced with it again? Even perhaps multiple times? – and didn't want to.
The clerk continued to study him, then reached into a different pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a pair of glasses. There was something a bit 'off' about the lenses, but he couldn't tell just what from where he was standing. They leaned forward, pupils slitting in concentration as they looked him up and down intently. “Hmm. So I see. Very well, then.” They straightened and tucked the glasses away. “If you will follow me, sir.”
He tailed after the catlike being, wondering if they had a tail, and managed not to stare. The man wanted to ask what they'd seen, how they'd seen, because it was the first time anyone had mentioned being able to detect the 'curse'. Could just anyone see it and nobody had chosen to comment? Did they see only an affliction without knowing precisely what it did? He wasn't entirely sure which of the two was preferable. Better that it remains hidden.
“Ah, this room's free.” They opened the door and beckoned him in, closing the door after them. “Do you have a preferred type of prey, sir?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, he replied awkwardly, “Not- not really, as long as they're alright with me taking my time.” Rikard realized that wasn't enough of a description. “I like to taste them but I also just like to feel the weight of them in my belly while they move around for a little while.”
They nodded. “Do you mind a talker?”
“That would be nice.” Maybe he could learn a bit more about this strange place.
“Even if they're rude?” They held up a claw-tipped finger. “Attempting to harm a prey despite their warding will result in you being fined and escorted from the premises with no refunds.”
Why would they be worried a predator hurting prey specifically because the prey was 'rude'? “Your prey aren't... forced, are they?” It mattered to Rikard, who had never stopped fearing of becoming like Bryce someday, of what was something simple and enjoyable – if certainly weird – becoming more, becoming less, and becoming worse. He'd made a set of rules for himself – or rather, two sets – one set for fun, and a different set for protecting someone or someones.
'Try not to hurt them' wasn't redundant or useless – there were more ways to hurt a person than simply physical – and it went so much further than just avoiding scaring someone. He'd had to walk the very fine line between convincing a threat – whether another predator or not – that his prey would wind up as food and between not treating the prey as 'mere' food, as less than a person.
'Ask permission first' didn't count if it was for protection, no matter how bad Rikard felt for them; he could apologize once they were safe... and accept if they refused to forgive him. He counted himself lucky that everyone who'd ever said 'yes' had never changed their answer to 'no'; that he could accept, but he fretted over how graciously he'd be able to accept.
'Don't try to change their mind.' His other rule, though, was why he'd been so indecisive about visiting this restaurant. In Rikard's mind, bribing a 'no' into a 'yes' wasn't all that much better than snatching someone off the ground and stuffing them into his mouth, and damn their sensitivities! But if the offer came from the prey's side – 'I will do this favor if you pay me this amount' – then that was different. Or so he hoped.
“We pay our workers very well, sir.” Their tone was frosty and sharp, far from the polite and crisp manner they'd used to greet him.
“That's not what I asked.” He tried to match their tone, insinuating right back.
“Sir, we're in the Wyldelands, and answer to no one but ourselves. That being said, we don't want any neighboring kingdom's rangers or warrior guilds to come poking around. We simply... pay well enough that some of the more desperate Small Folk choose to overlook the requirement of being swallowed alive in return for generous wages and rather comprehensive benefits. Any of our workers are free to leave at any time, of course, but our gag spell is... rather extreme, and even more so for anyone who manages to get themself fired.”
They paused, evaluating him as they tapped their stencil idly against a protruding fang. Apparently deciding that elaboration would assuage the potential customer's doubts, they continued in a slightly gentler tone, “Our prey sort out their own assignments; those willing to accommodate predators of a more... bestial nature are paid more. As our clientele shifts, so does their roster; vacant positions would be much harder to fill if we had a mortality rate.” Their whiskers twitched in apparent amusement as they angled their stencil to indicate him. “I think I know the perfect prey for you, sir, if you don't mind a... 'spicier' mouthful?” Their grin grew wider, with almost catlike mischievousness, “You might be just the predator for them as well.” Barely had Rikard nodded – with significant confusion – than they ducked out.
Rikard looked around the small room, slowly taking a seat in the single chair at the only table. He noticed that there was a small door built into the wall, level with the surface of the table. It didn't appear to have a lock, or at least not from his side, and opened into whatever space lay on the other side of the wall.
A firm knock sounded, and he looked over at the door he'd passed through, then back to the smaller one, realizing his mistake. The door swung inwards, opened by a disgruntled tiny, a woodsy-looking Fae, who stepped out onto the table and grimaced, looking at him. “Thank the gods your order lasts close enough to the end of my shift; I'm not sure how many more predators I can handle this week.”
Uh oh. “Wait, are you saying you don't want to be eaten?” All employees were supposed to be willing participants, that was the only reason he'd been willing to come here, that was why he'd practically interrogated the waiter, that was what the waiter had just claimed.
“Yes, but I have to as part of my job,” they replied sullenly, staring him down with a disgusted look on their face as they folded their legs beneath them to sit on the table.
“If you don't want to be eaten, why do you still work here?” Rikard was now extremely confused. The waiter didn't have to tell him some people enjoyed being eaten – whether customers or workers – since Sam, and a few other borrowers, had been downright excited when he asked if he could eat them. From there, it made sense that there would also be people who could be bribed into letting themselves be eaten. Yet he knew better than to assume everyone – or even most of everyone – was okay with eating someone, or being eaten by someone, or with simply the idea of eating or being eaten by someone.
“I need the money. But they said if I go home early today again, I'm fired.” They looked down at their hands. “It's not that I hate my job, it's just that I think they need to screen their customers better. The last one kept trying to chew on me. Some have creepy requests and a few have gotten really mad if I won't – or can't.” They looked back up at Rikard anxiously. “I didn't ask, and you haven't said – you're not one of those, are you?”
“I might be disappointed if you aren't comfortable with something, but I wouldn't say I get mad.” Since it was so incredibly illegal, Rikard didn't understand why anyone would risk losing their temper and being banned from the only place one could freely eat people.
The tiny slowly nodded once, satisfied with that answer, though still clearly not at ease. “I suppose I should stop wasting your time. It's rude to keep a customer waiting.”
“But are you feeling better?” Rikard inquired politely.
“I- what?” Their head shot up sharply, confused.
“Obviously you needed to vent.” Rikard repeated, slower, “Are you feeling better now?”
They frowned, not entirely understanding. “Why would it matter to a predator? On the clock – and the table – I'm just prey.”
“It matters because I prefer my 'prey' to be at least somewhat willing.” Rikard folded his arms on the table, resting his head on his hands, now more or less at eye level with them. “I really like it when a meal struggles, but it just doesn't feel quite right to know someone is so opposed to being eaten.”
“I've never seen you here before, though.” They were still frowning, but the Fae's expression was now more confused than anything else.
“Long story.” He glanced away, chewing on his lip. Bryce had come here. But at this point, maybe it didn't matter so much if his former neighbors knew he wanted an agreeable appetizer. “This place was recommended to me by someone I knew growing up that shared my... unusual habit.”
They picked at the hem of their shorts with a sigh. “You're ordering just the regular 'help help don't eat me' prey that fights you all the way down, then?”
Rikard angled his hand up, interrupting. “I don't mean- I don't like the begging, even pretend, just the movement.”
They managed a small cheeky grin. “That's an odd take on such a common request. You don't mind if I work a bit of my frustration out on your insides as part of my 'movement'?”
Rikard's own grin started relatively small, gradually stretching across the left side of his face, widening into a toothy grin, then a full predatory smirk. “I'll let you know if it hurts – which I doubt – but I'll be sure to leave a nice tip if you can make it convincing enough.”
That finally got a genuine smile, and even a quiet laugh. “Since there's money involved, I doubt you'll be disappointed, sir.” They climbed to their feet and gave a very precise half-bow. “Now that you've placed your order, welcome to the Prey Bay, satisfying predators of the Sustenance Shack for over a century; my name is Tailor and I'll be serving as your prey today. Any attempt to harm your prey will result in you being escorted from the premises, and any attempt to use magic or artifacts not approved by management will get you banned for eternity. Are you ready to dine or are there additional preparations you would like to make?”
He dragged his tongue along his lips slowly, mouth watering. His stomach had caught on that it was about to have a visitor and growled quietly. “No thank you, I'm quite hungry.”
They chuckled, “So I can tell, sir,” and climbed into his proffered hands.
Rikard lifted the tiny up to his mouth and gently pushed them in. It hadn't been noticeable from the table, but the tiny Fae was larger than any tiny borrower he'd eaten before. They weren't so large that he couldn't run his tongue all over their body, though. “Mmm.” They were an odd combination of flavors – the clear tang of the air after a storm but also fresh cut grass on a warm sunny day – that somehow went together perfectly.
They were still at first, and Rikard assumed they were apprehensively waiting to see just what kind of predator he was after all. Fine by him, so he started pushing Tailor around in his mouth to taste them on all sides. They shoved at his hard palate when he held them against it to suck gently on them, and he grinned. Rikard carefully lowered them down, angling them so their back was set against the inside of his teeth, and dragged his tongue slowly up and down their body.
Tailor went still again, before they caught on, and squirmed enough to work their hands up enough to shove at his tongue again. He moved them around, held at different angles in his mouth, very gently massaging them with his tongue while they managed to slowly force his tongue away. But as delicious as they tasted, it wasn't a fight in his mouth that he wanted.
He tipped his head back, feeling the small Fae trying to clutch at his tongue, feet attempting to push off from his throat but sliding down further and further each time. Rikard closed his eyes, grinning. Since he knew his prey was willing, he felt absolutely no guilt in enjoying the struggle. He swallowed, as loudly as he could, hearing a quiet yelp – of surprise, not pain, thankfully – as Tailor was dragged into his throat.
Immediately the tiny began thrashing back and forth, barely able to do more than a frenzied wiggle, but still kicking and throwing elbows as best as they were able. Rikard pressed a hand against his throat to stroke the faint distortions they were producing. He swallowed again and chuckled quietly to himself; his meal was already proving to be worth not just the trip, or just the price, or even just the private shame he felt for accepting Bryce's invitation, but all of it.
Rikard pushed back a little from the table, tilting his chair and propping his feet up, one hand over his stomach. All he had to do was wait, his body easing the tiny down into his gut on its own. It felt wonderful, to finally have what he was too ashamed to ask his friends for. Briefly, it occurred to Rikard that he would have to send some form of thanks to Bryce, to keep up the appearance. The thanks would be legitimate, as he could easily see himself returning to this place.
He smirked, as the tiny he'd swallowed only moved about hesitantly once they had landed, giving a few of what could only be called kicks if one was being extremely loose with the distinction between 'kick' and 'cautious prod'.
“Tsk, those other predators couldn't have been that bad; if you were actually upset about being forced to be prey then maybe you'd do something about it instead of sitting there like mere food.” While it wasn't entirely accurate, as Rikard could feel Tailor moving around, he figured that the fastest way to get some more of that delicious squirming was to provoke them. It would also give the tiny not just an outlet, but a target at which to direct all their anger from previous predatory humiliation. “If I'd known you were going to be so passive as a meal, I wouldn't have swallowed you so soon. I mean, if someone watching can't see any signs of movement, obviously the prey's willing, am I right?”
They let out an inarticulate yell of pure wordless frustration and flung themself at the side of his gut, flailing away with not just fists and feet, but what felt like elbows and knees, and even a few shoulder tackles. The attacks finally slowed, and he could feel the tiny sag against his stomach lining and gradually slide down. Rikard smirked, prodding at his belly. “Congratulations, all that effort has earned you a hefty tip.”
“Glad to- to hear it. Sir.” Tailor chuckled weakly, out of breath.
Rikard sighed happily, rubbing his gut just firmly enough to feel the tiny slumped inside him. “I know you're probably tired, but would you mind squirming just a little more?” He felt Tailor shift around, pushing against and gently kneading at his stomach walls. Rikard sighed again. “Oh, that's perfect. Does this place allow predators to request specific prey? Because I forgot how delicious a struggling snack could be.” He licked his lips and swallowed once.
The tiny laughed, bracing their feet against the opposite wall and straining against the pressure of his hand. “It is indeed, sir, and you'd be a welcome change from my usual sort of predator.” He could hear the smirk in their tone. “Actually, I think I just won a bet from this.” They climbed onto their feet and paced slowly around his stomach, continuing to gently massage the folded rugae. “We keep track of requests on our end and some of the more, ah, 'habitual' prey like to brag about how often they're requested, or by how many different predators.”
Tailor stopped suddenly and shoved at the fleshy wall in front of them. “Those of us who are only in it – in you predators – for the money and benefits, we uh, think it's a bit crass and generally try not to encourage you lot in your more exotic preferences.” He wasn't going to comment, and the Fae's tone brooked no argument, so they continued after a pause, “Briallen even bet me this morning that Declan was going to be requested before I ever would.”
“What's Declan's problem?” It had just occurred to Rikard that he could try to order more than one prey 'dish' next time. “The waiter implied you were rude, are they just that much worse than you?”
“He's too accommodating.” Their tone was wry. “Or, as one orc put it, 'borderline sycophantic'.”
Hmm. “I wish I didn't know exactly why a predator would be unhappy with that.” Sure, he himself might be annoyed with such an attitude, but willing prey was willing prey and Rikard wasn't going to complain. “But I think it's time to say 'Thank you for the meal', and be on my way.”
“Of course, sir.” They drew in a focused breath. “If you will give me a minute I can Teleport myself out of here.”
“Oh, no, that's easy enough for me to do.” Rikard clenched his stomach muscles, “Just hold on.” He forced the tiny up into his throat. Tailor hadn't gone limp, nor stiffened up, instead finding just the right posture for Rikard to ease them out into hands cupped in front of his mouth.
“You've done this a lot,” Rikard noted with a raised eyebrow, at the exact time Tailor exclaimed with wide eyes, “You really have done this before!”
More than I'd care to admit. “Of course, just not- uh, not here. Back home.”
Tailor tilted their head in curiosity, so obviously not caring about the assorted slime coating them that they didn't even appear to notice. “Were your normal hunting grounds no longer safe? Is that why you sought this place out? That's the reason I've heard most often, closely followed by wanting a bit more variation with their prey.”
Rikard flushed, in both embarrassment and shame. Bryce was responsible for this, to blame for this. Tailor's tone was far from judgmental, but still he felt compelled to explain, to defend himself. “No, there was a... a person from my old village that told me about here, and declining would have been suspicious. I'm... well, I'm worried about them finding out – not that I was here, but that I don't like digesting anyone or that I like willing prey. They used to trap tinies for feasts.” He chewed on his lip then, drawing confidence from the simple fact that the village couldn't do a damned thing about it anymore, grinned cheekily. “If you're still curious the next time you're squirming around in my gut I'll tell you then; it's kind of a weird story.”
Tailor snorted, “For an experienced predator to claim a dinner story is weird, now that's saying something.”
“I do have one last question, though.” He grinned, showing all of his teeth. “Would there happen to be any other frustrated prey-workers who wouldn't mind keeping you company next time I order dinner here?”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[[If you liked it, please reblog and let me know what you think. :3 I always appreciate feedback whether ask, reblog, comment, or other! I also check the tags on every single reblog - no exceptions.]]