Yogurt Remains

I like to write about what happens to your food: from the mouth, through the stomach, and all the way until it leaves your digestive system. Everything here is fantasy, made with the sole purpose of sharing my BDSM writing. 🔞 Minors do not interact.

[peristalsisprince]

I wanna fiiight you, wressle a bit. See how strong you ve become (evil-monsterfucker-420)

Are you trying to awaken my pred instincts? Once we get to pushing and punching, it’ll be reallllly hard not to hunt you

But I do love a challenge and I’ve been working out A LOT lately, so yeah I’m going to WIN 😈

[yogurtremains]

You’re a tiny thing, about 8 inches tall. Imagine how much shit you’ll turn into inside the experienced pred who swallowed you. Imagine exactly how much shit you will be worth. That’s all you’re going to be.

After digesting the entire night — the pred feeling stuffed full, unable to eat or even drink water — his stomach now feels empty, like there’s a hole where your former fullness used to be. What’s left of you slides out quite easily now: thick, warm logs pushing free with almost no effort. Each squeeze gives him sharp jolts of pleasure as he shits you out. Picture it: your remains slide out smoothly, thick log after thick log, warm and slick. Each push sends sharp, electric jolts of pleasure up his spine. Every squeeze, every wet, heavy drop that lands beneath him reminds him how completely you’ve been reduced… and how good it feels to finally shit you out.

[peristalsisprince]

Eating someone I’m attracted to before bed and knowing that my morning wood tomorrow morning will be full of their nutrients flowing through the veins in my cock

[yogurtremains]

Would love to be the nutrients flowing through the cavernous arteries of your cock.

[yogurtremains]

There are several advantages of being poop. After being cooked and fully digested, I’ve come to realize how strangely peaceful it is. I’ve already paid my nutrient tax. Every useful part of me has been stripped away and absorbed. My proteins, fats, and energy now belong to Him, fueling his body and his life. As poop, I have nothing left to offer any human. My value has been completely extracted, and that brings a humiliating kind of relief.

I no longer need to participate in society. No one wants a piece of shit to work, to think, or to pretend to be useful. There are no responsibilities, no expectations, no need to sleep or perform. I’m just pure biological noise (warm, heavy, and worthless) quietly existing outside his intestines. There’s something almost liberating about knowing I’ve been fully broken down with no possibility of return. I’ve served my only real purpose. I was eaten, used, and reduced to the soft, stinking waste I always wish to be.

I'm a worthless log.

[crazyredfeatherlover]

buddy you as poop still have value... You're basically fuel for plants, mushrooms, fungi...some animals will eat you for the darm flora...

[yogurtremains]

Ah, the circle of life… Once I’ve been digested and pushed out as his poop, the small part of me that remains seeps into the soil. A plant slowly pulls me up through its roots. That plant gets eaten by a cow… and later, that cow becomes meat on a human’s plate. I get digested again. I become poop again. No matter what form I take, be it grass, flesh, or food, it’s all transient. Just a brief disguise before I return to my true state: poop.

[peristalsisprince]

Eating someone I’m attracted to before bed and knowing that my morning wood tomorrow morning will be full of their nutrients flowing through the veins in my cock

[yogurtremains]

There are several advantages of being poop. After being cooked and fully digested, I’ve come to realize how strangely peaceful it is. I’ve already paid my nutrient tax. Every useful part of me has been stripped away and absorbed. My proteins, fats, and energy now belong to Him, fueling his body and his life. As poop, I have nothing left to offer any human. My value has been completely extracted, and that brings a humiliating kind of relief.

I no longer need to participate in society. No one wants a piece of shit to work, to think, or to pretend to be useful. There are no responsibilities, no expectations, no need to sleep or perform. I’m just pure biological noise (warm, heavy, and worthless) quietly existing outside his intestines. There’s something almost liberating about knowing I’ve been fully broken down with no possibility of return. I’ve served my only real purpose. I was eaten, used, and reduced to the soft, stinking waste I always wish to be.

I'm a worthless log.

[girlshape]

as much as i do enjoy all manner of fucked up bullshit i do wish like. a lot of safe vore can be so nice and comfortable and saccharine and cloying but its fun. its fun to sometimes eat sugar. and its fun to be eaten when its cold outside and its legitimately cute and warming and caring but the thing is i wish that other stuff got this treatment too. i want to be eaten comfystyle on a rainy day and have it so clearly be just fantasising about What if there was a type of cuddle that could go all the way around you AND THEN I WANT TO GET TURNED INTO SHIT ANYWAY because that too is straight up comfy!!!!! can you imaigne how nice it is to be a turd resting in someones colon getting gently compressed from all sides! stuff shifting around a little the pred farting slightly and making some cute little joke about you being talkative (which you would smile it if you had a body capable of doing that) while they're like. watching tv or something ?

[peristalsisprince]

Melting you and your tiny friends into a soup to serve to myself and my friends 😈 filling the bellies of my loved ones at the expense of you and yours

[yogurtremains]

And it doesn't need to be just soup! So many appetizing ways to cook us!

[yogurtremains]

You are going to be digested into urine and sperm.

[reallyreallyreallytrying]

(planning to cook you in the wok) ginger garlic spring onions looking cozy in there brother. nice and cozy. say why don't you hop in

[livesinastomach]

The great thing about being inside a stomach is that the outside world stops existing.

Whatever worries you had, responsibilities you needed to take care of, whatever stress was weighing down on your shoulders... none of it can reach you here in this cage of fat, and flesh, and bone.

You are physically and mentally disconnected from that world. You cannot see it—only the grooves in the stomach walls in front of you. You cannot hear it—only the heartbeat thumping and the acids bubbling. You cannot feel it—only wetness and slime. You cannot smell it—only acridity and shared food.

When you're inside that stomach, there is nothing else. The stomach provides all. The stomach lets me thrive, the stomach lets me suffer. If I wish to be loved, the stomach loves me. If I long for the thrill of hate, the stomach hates me. Why would I want to leave it?

[peristalsisprince]

I love turning my own damn self on with the silly stories I write

Getting my damn rocks off to the words that came out of my own brain

[yogurtremains]

This 👆

[peristalsisprince]

The Origin Story of the First Reforming Prey

Cw: brothers eating brothers but in an evil way not a sexual way, digestion, vague mention of disposal, betrayal, male pred, systemic power imbalances

In a twisted vore world where there are two classes: pred and prey, two pred parents give birth to four sons. Three of which are preds, but their youngest somehow turned out to be prey. The prey son, Alex, spends years narrowly escaping the jaws of his brothers’ friends and eventually his brothers themselves whenever their pred instincts hit their peak, and their new normal, as they reach adulthood. However, their parents kept a really close eye on Alex. Despite not being a pred, they still loved their child dearly and wanted to protect him as long as they could. Unfortunately, once prey are 18+, they’re free game and can be digested with absolutely no repercussions unless pregnant, in which case the predator will be forced to spit up their prey and then be served as dinner themselves to whomever the pregnant prey desires. The government has to encourage prey pregnancies to keep the food stock up somehow. 9 months plus a year for nursing where you can’t be digested is worth it for most with the equipment to carry new life. Prey parents who don’t carry the child but have a role in producing are also spared for this time as their involvement decreases prey birthgiver and baby morality rates.

The thing is, a prey being born to preds is unheard of. It’s basically like a non-magical child being born to two magical beings. Alex being born was a blight on his family’s once highly esteemed reputation, which had a negative impact on his brothers and anyone who associated with them. They weren’t taken seriously as preds because they had “defective genes.” Thus, his brothers’ and their friends’ desire to eat and kill him have nothing to do with any meaningful or lewd desire, just hunger and the need to restore their tarnished family and affiliate name.

Once Alex’s 18th birthday rolled around, the parents knew that his time on this earth was over. They were sad, but had been preparing for this loss since his birth. All of their precautions before were merely to delay the inevitable acid digestion that awaited their youngest son. They threw a birthday party for him and invited all of his friends, classmates, and teachers, all prey, so they could say goodbye. Meanwhile, the brothers and their friends were all devising a plan to be the first to get to the new, exclusive menu item. The party continued around them as they all wracked their brains for the best time to strike. Eventually Eli, the seemingly closest friend to Alex, came up with a foolproof, evil plan.

See, their parents only said that the food, Alex, needs to stay outside of a stomach until after he blows out the candles and can have some cake. Once everyone gathered around the kitchen table where the brothers have shared countless meals together, the happy birthday song began. Everyone was singing jovially and out of key as if this were a normal birthday party, but they all knew it wasn’t. Everyone was trying to avoid the thought that Alex will be chyme likely in the next 2-6 hours. Eli, however, was relishing in the thought as he sneaked along the edge of the party-goers, conveniently finding himself right behind Alex. As the song ended and Alex blew out the candles, Eli’s stomach let out a thunderous growl as he smelled his succulent dinner. Before anyone could even process what was happening, Alex’s much smaller body was suddenly halfway down Eli’s throat, his muscular build barely straining as he held a full sized prey creature above his head and lowered him inside. Everyone at the party, pred and prey alike, watched as Eli’s stomach started to bulge and make loud, liquid-y noises as his stomach started excreting mass quantities of stomach acid onto Alex. Once Alex fully settled in Eli’s taut stomach, all of the prey quickly left without saying a word. Alex’s other ex-brothers and their friends slinked off to find another meal at the prey-exclusive clubs. They mumbled congratulations to Eli on their way out. Meanwhile, Eli’s mom shouted that Eli broke their promise as Alex hadn’t had cake yet. Eli, being the smart ass he is, said, “don’t worry about that,” as he cut himself a huge slice of cake and began eating it, thus drowning Alex in his own birthday cake. Alex could only watch dejectedly as his own cake poured into his brother’s slimy stomach, coating him with saliva and chewed food. Eli’s parents watched as their now youngest son’s stomach began its digestive process. “Maybe it’s for the best,” Eli’s dad said to his mom as their pred instincts told them to keep watch over their young, fellow pred as he digested. For Eli, justice had been served. He was free to continue his life and soon enough, the reputation given to him by his failure of a little brother will have been nothing but a distant memory. The thought filled him with deep peace as he nodded off to the gurgling of his stomach tearing up his meal.

Turns out, he was right. But not in the way he thought.

The next morning, Eli awoke with an empty stomach. He went on about his morning routine, starting with using the bathroom. However, when he got there, Alex was in there showering. Eli gasped when he saw the naked prey when he expected no one to be there. “What the fuck are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in my ass right now.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, freak?” Alex shot back, “get out of the bathroom!” He shut off the water and quickly covered himself, feeling very exposed, which is ironic considering his skeleton was just exposed inside of his brother’s digestive tract just hours ago.

“Not until you tell me how you got here. I ate you yesterday.” As Alex processed this, their parents came running to figure out what was going on. When they saw Alex, they were shocked. Pretty much the same conversation happened again. Once they explained to Alex that he had been Eli’s dinner yesterday, Alex began to remember details of his gruesome digestion. He tells them about it and how everything faded into a gentle hum before he woke up in his own bed the next morning.

As the family as a whole tried to grasp this, they reached out to several scientists to see what the explanation could be. Apparently, there had never been a “prey” born to preds until Alex came along. Since then, there have been at least 20 others born to preds who have not yet reached the age where they can be consumed with no ramifications. They refuse to test them until this time, but notified the parents so that they’re aware of their options once they supposed prey child turns 18. After countless tests on Alex, they determine that he is not just a regular prey, he is a reforming prey, which puts him at an advantage over other prey. While the doctors and scientists did not yet have enough material to determine why this could be happening exactly, they theorized that it was an evolutionary adaptation. Reforming prey serve many practical uses, such as being used to diagnose stomach issues when trained on what to look for, clearing out stubborn bones of digested prey from the more tight spots in the winding digestive system, tattooing the stomach lining of more hardcore preds, serving as fuel in times of starvation, the list goes on and on.

Eventually, things snowballed into the more sexual realm as more ethically concerned pred couples learned just how hot it is to have a prey digesting as you fuck. With reforming prey, there’s no guilt in ending a life just for one’s pleasure. As more and more reforming prey are born to pred parents, the nature of vore and eating as a whole were completely changed all thanks to Alex and Eli. Since that day, Alex’s and his family’s reputation turned around completely as the news of the first ever known reforming prey spread across the world, changing the nature of consuming and digestion as a whole.

[yogurtremains]

The way you write digestion is truly so divine… as a pred I deeply appreciate knowing the excruciating details of what my meals go through while I keep living my life as normal, just with a fuller stomach than usual

Thank you so much, that really means a lot to me! As a prey writer, I’m happy to know I can give you those vivid, excruciating details of exactly what your meal goes through while you continue with your day, casually living life with nothing but a pleasantly full stomach. There’s something so deliciously cruel about that contrast… and I love being able to describe every second of it for you. Feel free to give me feedback and suggest me ideas of things to write about!

[yogurtremains]

The moment I saw a mouth opening above me, I understood my place. I had left the domain of living beings and entered the realm of gastronomy. I had secretly wished to be eaten by him, a strong male. Instead, I was destined to also feed his girlfriend. They had chosen me for their romantic celebration dinner. While she carried new life inside her, a creative act of love and growth, I was condemned to the opposite fate: total destruction.

They prepared me with loving care - not for me, of course, but for the new life growing inside -, completely unaware I was still conscious. They washed my body in cool red wine, rubbed fragrant herbs into my skin, and massaged me thoroughly with their hands, pressing spices deep into my flesh. Every gentle touch felt like a cruel mockery. Then they slid me into the oven.

The heat was merciless. I felt my muscles slowly denature, my muscles turning soft and fragile, my skin crisping and splitting. The pain was constant and intense as my body roasted.

When they finally seated to have dinner, the real torment began. She tore off my wings first. She sucked the crispy skin, then chewed the small muscles with pleasure, crunching the thin bones loudly between her teeth. The grinding pain was excruciating. Next came my chicken breast: she bit down hard, tearing into the hot, juicy flesh. Sharp, wet agony flared through me with every powerful chew as she broke my meat apart.

Finally, she lifted my head to her lips. She placed my skull between her molars and bit down. The pressure was unbearable. I felt my delicate bones cracking and shattering, my comb crushed, my eyes pulped in wet bursts. My entire head was methodically ground down into a mushy, saliva-soaked paste. The pain was blinding. She swallowed the remains in thick, greedy gulps. I slid down her throat and landed heavily in her stomach.

The powerful contractions immediately assaulted me. A fresh wave of burning acid flooded over my shredded remains, stinging every exposed piece of meat and crushed bone. What began as a horrible warm bath quickly turned into a searing, churning hell as the acid ate away at me, dissolving proteins and fats, breaking me down into nothing. I was being erased.

Hours later, after most of me had been absorbed, my nutrients fueling her body while she made love, the indigestible scraps moved deeper. Bone fragments, cartilage from my crushed head and wings, and whatever her body rejected collected inside her intestines.

By the time I reached her colon, only a small, still-conscious fragment of me remained: a pathetic, degraded remnant mixed into her shit. There I waited in darkness and filth, nothing but waste now. While she created life, I had been completely destroyed. A creative act versus the ultimate destructive one. I had become nothing more than part of her shit… quietly waiting to be pushed out the next morning as the final, humiliating trace of the chicken that once existed.

[yogurtremains]

Sushi invitation

In this world, bankruptcy no longer spells the end of a life. Or so I believed when I signed the Shrink Waiver, agreeing to be reduced to a fraction of my former self and walk away debt-free. Like most tinies, I now scrape by in the vast shadows of the giant world, forever hoping for a moment of mercy amid the indifference.

That evening, as the summer sun dipped low and painted the streets in golden light, I moved along the sidewalk, scavenging for crumbs the giants had left behind. Suddenly, a light-green flip-flop the size of a city bus slammed down inches from me, the impact sending a gust of warm air over my body.

I looked up, way up, and froze. It was Julian. I knew him from university: already tall back then, but now broader, powerfully sculpted, his skin sun-bronzed and glowing. He wore an open linen shirt that strained against the swell of his chest and abs, the fabric parting just enough to reveal the hard lines beneath. Word was his tech startup had exploded after graduation, earning him a cliffside villa overlooking the ocean.

Seeing him tower above me, effortlessly commanding the world with his presence, sent an old shiver racing through me: half fear, half something warmer, deeper, and far less innocent. He crouched, eyes widening in recognition, then softening into an easy smile.

“Well… look who the recession shrank.” His voice was deep, amused, fond.

Before I could stammer a reply, he extended a hand the size of a parade float. My legs moved on instinct, and I climbed on. Refusing felt impossible; one twitch of those fingers and I’d be paste on the pavement. His palm was warm, faintly calloused from gym chalk, and it closed loosely around me like a living cage.

“You shouldn’t be out here in the summer,” he said, as if discussing the weather. “Come on. I’m hosting a little sushi party tonight. Perfect timing, you can be the guest of honor.”

Guest of honor. The phrase landed like a stone in my gut. I opened my mouth to protest, but nothing came out. The car roared to life, and the drive to his villa became a blur of leather seats and his casual humming.

When we arrived, the place was everything the rumors promised: glass walls overlooking the ocean, soft lighting, laughter spilling from the terrace.

About a dozen friends lounged around low tables: men and women in summer linen, drinks in hand, plates already brimming with artfully arranged sushi. The spread was breathtaking: vibrant slices of tuna and salmon draped over pearl rice, delicate nigiri topped with quail egg yolks that quivered like tiny suns, temaki cones spilling bright orange roe. Colorful paper umbrellas decorated half the pieces, giving the whole table a festive, almost tropical feel.

Julian carried me to the center and set me gently on a lacquered tray beside a stack of fresh nori sheets.

“Everyone,” he announced with a grin, “meet my old university friend. He’s joining us for dinner.”

A ripple of delighted laughter and appreciative murmurs rose. Phones came out; someone cooed, “He’s adorable.” No one looked shocked. In this circle, tinies on the menu were a rare, coveted delicacy, always consensual, always celebrated.

Consensual. The word echoed in my head, mocking. I hadn’t consented. I hadn’t said yes. But I also hadn’t said no; not out loud, not firmly enough. And now it was too late.

Julian’s fingers, careful but confident, lifted me again. My heart hammered against my ribs. I wanted to scream, to thrash, to beg, but the eyes on me were bright with excitement, and Julian’s smile never wavered. A chef spread a sheet of dark green nori on a bamboo mat, layered it with warm sushi rice, thin slices of avocado, and a line of bright pink tuna. Then Julian placed me in the center, my back pressed against the cool, sticky rice.

I tried to twist away, but the rice molded softly around me as the mat rolled. Nori wrapped me like a blanket—tight, inescapable. A final touch: the chef tucked a tiny colorful paper umbrella into the roll just above my chest, the bright spokes framing my face like a festive crown.

I was now the centerpiece of a perfect maki roll. Beautiful, edible art.

Julian lifted the finished roll between two fingers and displayed me to the table. Cheers and applause. My pulse thundered in my ears. Stage fright, yes—but no thrill. Only cold, clawing dread.

He carried me to his plate, set me down beside two other ornate pieces, and picked up his chopsticks.

“Ready?” he murmured, just for me, voice low and warm.

I shook my head frantically - no, no, please - but the movement was tiny, almost imperceptible inside the roll. Julian’s eyes flickered with something gentle, almost tender, as if my terror was part of the charm.

He dipped the end in soy sauce, then brought me toward his lips. Warm breath washed over me, carrying hints of sake and mint. His mouth opened, revealing perfect teeth, soft lips, a cavern of heat and shadow.

I screamed then, silently, uselessly.

He slid me in slowly, letting the slick give of his tongue press beneath the rice. The nori softened instantly in the wetness. His lips closed, sealing me in humid darkness. For a moment he just held me there, savoring, letting saliva soak the rice and loosen the roll around me.

Then the swallow.

Muscles rippled along his tongue and throat, pressing me backward. I clawed at the dissolving rice, but there was nothing to grip. I slipped past his cushy uvula and down into the tight, rippling embrace of his esophagus. The descent was slow, rhythmic, possessive. Each peristaltic wave squeezed me deeper, massaging my body in warm flesh until I spilled into his stomach with a wet splash.

The air inside was thick, humid, faintly sweet from the sake, but utterly corrosive. The walls pulsed lazily around me, slick and alive. A shallow pool of liquid tingled against my legs, already burning.

Julian’s voice vibrated through the chamber, distant but clear: “Absolutely perfect. Ten out of ten.”

Laughter from outside. Clinking glasses. The party continued without me. I floated in the dim red glow, heart racing, breath coming in shallow panicked gasps. The stomach gave a low, welcoming rumble.

Grrrooooouuuuurrrrnnnn…

The sound rolled through me like thunder.

Part of me whispered that this was right. After months of scraping, hiding, feeling worthless, I was finally useful. I would nourish someone successful, someone admired. I would become part of Julian’s strength, his beauty, his easy life. A quiet, shameful relief bloomed alongside the terror: at least I mattered now.

But the rest of me screamed in denial. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to dissolve in the stomach of my old colleague, to be reduced to fuel for those sculpted abs I’d once envied from afar. I wanted to live. I wanted another chance.

The first real contraction hit.

The walls squeezed, plunging me headfirst into the burning lake of digestive juices. The acid seared instantly, skin prickling, then stinging, then burning. I thrashed upward, gasping as I broke the surface, lungs filling with acrid air. My limbs already felt strange, heavy, softening.

Another growl. Grrrooooouuuuurrrrnnnn…

The next wave gripped me, dunking me deeper. I fought harder this time, kicking against the yielding flesh, but the acid seeped into every crevice, relentless. Each contraction was slower, firmer, more possessive, claiming me piece by piece.

I thought, frantic and fading: I wonder what it feels like to be drowned in a gurgle from your stomach… but I don’t want to know. Please. I think my tiny body is being plunged headfirst into the burning lake… and I’m terrified. For a moment I attempt to come back to the surface, gasping, skin already tingling and prickling from the acid, only for the next rolling contraction to grip me once more. And then… Grrrooooouuuuurrrrnnnn... Another slow, possessive growl. Another squeeze. Each wave dunks me deeper, until the acid seeps into every crevice and the stomach’s slow but firm rhythm claims me completely, softening me with each contraction, breaking my bones.

Julian’s hand pressed lightly against his abs from the outside, a gentle, affectionate pat that sent ripples through the chamber. “Settle in,” his voice murmured through layers of flesh, oblivious to my silent pleas. “You’re exactly where you belong.”.

The conflict tore at me even as my strength ebbed: I was useful at last… but at what cost?

As more food was to come, and as if his stomach somehow sensed it, the muscular walls tightened in anticipation, secreting a fresh surge of the most potent digestive juices a strong, well-fed belly like Julian’s could produce. The pool rose quickly, thicker now, fizzing with renewed hunger, its surface bubbling like a caustic brew.

I was already weakening. I hadn’t eaten properly in days, just scavenged crumbs that barely sustained me. My tiny body had no reserves left, no strength to fight the burn. My limbs trembled as I tried to tread the churning liquid, but the acid had softened my skin, my muscles, even my will. I couldn’t stay afloat much longer.

The walls contracted again, harder this time, forcing my head beneath the surface. I clamped my mouth shut, thrashing in blind panic, but the pressure was relentless. Another squeeze, and the burning fluid rushed in, past my lips, down my throat, flooding my own stomach with Julian’s gastric enzymes and acid.

It was unbearable. The digestion turned inward, savage and immediate. From the inside, I felt myself coming apart: tissues dissolving, organs softening, every cell surrendering to the corrosive tide he’d forced into me. My screams were silent, lost in the thick slosh. There was no escape, no air, only the steady, indifferent rhythm of his body working to reduce me to nothing.

Outside, more food arrived, I could feel the distant thump of additional swallows descending the esophagus, heavy rolls or sashimi sliding down to join me. The chamber stretched to accommodate them, then clamped down again, grinding everything together. Me included.

The party’s distant laughter faded entirely beneath that rhythm: churn, squeeze, dissolve. Julian’s stomach didn’t care about my terror, my regrets, or the fleeting relief I’d felt at being “useful.” It simply did what a powerful, healthy stomach does: it claimed what was inside it, thoroughly and without mercy.

I was no longer a tiny. I was just another nutrient in the belly of my successful old colleague, quickly, efficiently digested from both sides, soon to be absorbed into the very muscles I’d once envied. The last thing I felt was the warm, possessive knead of his abs as he leaned back in his chair, satisfied, while the celebration continued above.

[yogurtremains]

This is perhaps one of the stories I enjoyed writing the most.

[peristalsisprince]

Digesting you while enjoying a beer on my balcony during a thunderstorm