Maybe some fat elephant pred trunk voring pov or eating a human jock
I'm presuming this is for anthro? Cause that's what I'm going with. Anyway, yeah, weird niche vore incoming. Not that that's new for this blog.
Also, I got really mean with this one. Got stuck in a mood when I came up with the idea so this is probably a bit more extreme in the language than what I normally put out.
The coach grumbles to himself as he pours over the paperwork. His star quarterback, the thing they were relying on for this season, has to be cut. He’s been failing all of his classes and despite several warnings, he’s done nothing to improve it. He can hear the various players in the locker room behind his office. They just got here for practice. He’s got no choice but to go make an example of things.
The coach stomps out of his office, turning heads as he does. They all know when he walks like that, he’s mad. Their coach is an imposing man, too. A towering elephant edging into his 60’s, he keeps a cap on to hide his rapidly graying hair. His already wrinkly skin looks even moreso, like thick leather. But his body, thick with ripping muscles that flex as he moves, would make one not assume such an age. The soft beer belly he has that sways slightly whenever he steps might give it away, though. Despite the softness, though, his towering figure still lets him look over even the majority of the muscular jocks on his team.
The coach blows a whistle and gets the team to quickly come over and kneel down, even with some half-dressed. There’s a variety of species in the crowd, but one in particular, a human, is who the coach has his eyes focused on. “Johnson,” the coach grunts. “Up front.”
Several heads turn. The quarterback gulps softly but gets up and walks over. His shirt is off, showing off his muscular physique. Perfect for someone in his role, although he’s still smaller than the coach. He seems nervous, but he’s doing his absolutely damnedest to keep a straight face in front of the team. “Yes, coach?”
“You’ve had all year to turn your grades around,” the elephant rumbles. “I’ve told you over and over again you can’t be on the team if you aren’t keeping up. Your GPA is in the gutter and now you are, too.”
The human perks up fast, mask cracking as he gets flustered. “Are you serious?! Coach, you need me! You know you do! You can't kick me off the team!”
The elephant’s frown tightens. He’s heard this over and over again. He’s sick of the quarterback’s constant talkback and his lack of care. “You’re right. You’re not off the team. I said you’re in the gutter.” The elephant’s trunk lifts up, exposing his mouth more. “At least, you will be, once you’re fucking dead.”
The human’s eyes widen slightly. They all know the coach doesn’t let up easily. But he didn’t think he’d ever be the one to take the elephant’s idea of punishment. “Wait, don’t—“ He’s cut off as the elephant’s trunk comes down on his head, engulfing the human up to his shoulders.
The jock screams, head stretching out their coach’s trunk tightly. He reaches up to frantically claw and pull on the elephant's trunk, but he’s not even able to scratch it. The coach crosses his arms, glaring at the human with dissatisfaction. His trunk sinks down lower with a thrust, slurping over the human’s shoulders and chest like a snake. Then it lifts up, hoisting the quarterback off his feet.
The coach looks up at the rest of the team. They’re all watching with wide eyes, most of them completely still and in shock. The coach’s trunk starts dragging in the human’s abs, his screaming muffled by the trunk stretching over him. “Let this be a reminder,” the coach says, lifting his trunk higher as the quarterback’s ass sinks in, “that none of you are invisible. You can be the best goddamn player in the team, and if you fuck up, I will kill you.”
The jock’s legs sink in with a wet slurping sound. The coach blows his whistle again, making the other players jolt. “Get dressed and in the field. You’re doing laps. If anyone isn’t running when I get out there, you can join Johnson. You’re all expendable.” A pair of twitching feet sink past the elephant’s trunk now. The shape of the quarterback is stretching it out now in fine detail. It’s clearly tight and is just long enough to fit his body inside. Though only just. The end tire team lurch to their feet and quickly start getting dressed again. Grumbling, the coach returns to his office.
He’s back to the paperwork, now marking off the quarterback and signing on the dotted line. All the while, his truck is hanging down low. And he’s squeezing with it, making the human inside scream and yell. The coach finds it annoying.
“Can’t you be a man about this?” he rumbles, glancing down at his trunk and seeing the frightened face bulging the flesh out. “You had all year to turn things around. I vouched for you to get you that much! And you wasted your time, you wasted my time, and you wasted your team’s time. And now…” The coach marks off the man’s name. “…I’m going to waste your life. If you can’t be a useful member of the team, you can be a useful meal.”
The coach starts to squeeze his trunk more, flexing the muscles with all his might. The quarterback starts to scream more, shrieking out for forgiveness and another chance. But the coach isn’t listening. He’s keeping his ears out for something else, which he gets soon. The sound of popping.
When the first one rings out, the quarterback screams. Each flex of the elephant’s trunk gets another pop or a crunch. The form of the quarterback is getting more compact and tighter. The elephant growls slightly and closes his eyes. “You’re so annoying…just die already!” He squeezes his trunk as much as he can. The human’s voice is cut off by a series of snaps and pops. The lumpy bulge he made is swiftly mulched down, the elephant’s trunk looking more like a sausage instead.
The coach tips his trunk back, starting to funnel the meat slurry he just made down his gullet. It’ll be quickly absorbed and processed by his gut, much faster than it would have naturally. He gets to his feet and goes stomping out.
On the field, he sees everyone turn to look at him. Several men started picking up the pace in a panic, but the coach saw enough. He doesn’t use his whistle, instead blowing out his trunk like a trumpet. A skull goes flying into the field and everyone is starting to come over. Everyone knows when coach is in a bad mood, he’s ruthless. And right now…it’s clear he’s going to be crossing more names from the roster. All because of some stupid, cocky quarterback that already got mulched.