#vore disposal
Warning: VERY graphic vore and digestion content ahead. Proceed at your own risk!!
The sort of vore where the pred digests and fully processes bits and pieces of their meal while the helpless prey is still alive and squirming within them is criminally underutilized.
I wonder how it would feel, being digested inch by inch, having bits and pieces of my body slowly broken down, boiled and crushed into mulch by the preds powerful stomach walls and gastric juices, leaving me helplessly lying in a neck deep pool of my own mushy, liquified remains. I wonder what sort of sensations would flow through me, feeling my own arms and legs slowly losing their shape and consistency, collapsing into chunky, grimy sludge with a few loud snaps and crunches as the powerful stomach walls cave in, kneading my acid soaked body like a lump of softened dough, grinding my meat and skin into fleshy soup.
I can just imagine being left a broken, limbless torso, quivering and shaking helplessly within the stomach as it starts to drain of its contents, feeling my own liquified body swirling and bubbling around me as it squelches and slops noisily through the sphincter into the preds intestines. I can practically already hear the gurgling and glorping of my own remains pumping through the preds creaking, groaning bowels deep below, knowing that soon they’ll plant their plump ass down on the toilet and squeeze out a hot, heavy loaf of digested preymeat while I still squirm and whimper within their churning depths, waiting for the rest of me to inevitably follow suit…
Warning: VERY graphic vore and digestion content ahead. Proceed at your own risk!!
The sort of vore where the pred digests and fully processes bits and pieces of their meal while the helpless prey is still alive and squirming within them is criminally underutilized.
I wonder how it would feel, being digested inch by inch, having bits and pieces of my body slowly broken down, boiled and crushed into mulch by the preds powerful stomach walls and gastric juices, leaving me helplessly lying in a neck deep pool of my own mushy, liquified remains. I wonder what sort of sensations would flow through me, feeling my own arms and legs slowly losing their shape and consistency, collapsing into chunky, grimy sludge with a few loud snaps and crunches as the powerful stomach walls cave in, kneading my acid soaked body like a lump of softened dough, grinding my meat and skin into fleshy soup.
I can just imagine being left a broken, limbless torso, quivering and shaking helplessly within the stomach as it starts to drain of its contents, feeling my own liquified body swirling and bubbling around me as it squelches and slops noisily through the sphincter into the preds intestines. I can practically already hear the gurgling and glorping of my own remains pumping through the preds creaking, groaning bowels deep below, knowing that soon they’ll plant their plump ass down on the toilet and squeeze out a hot, heavy loaf of digested preymeat while I still squirm and whimper within their churning depths, waiting for the rest of me to inevitably follow suit…
https://www.patreon.com/posts/62617992
New disposal story up on Patreon it’s raunchy so watch out….
Before I could say anything else, my boyfriend slapped his hairy ass down on my face, his hole covering my mouth. His musk hit my nostrils like a tonne of bricks. He always smelt so good, I couldn’t get enough. I immediately started lapping at his hole, his tangy flavour coating my tongue as he began to moan. I teased my tongue slowly into his taint, encouraging it to relax and open up. As it did, another blast of rank air escapes his guts and filled my mouth. Fuck he was gassy this morning and it was making my cock twitch.
“Mmm damn babe, you tongue fuck my hole better than anyone ever could” my boyfriend whimpered. “You really need to open me up, I’m gonna need it.”
I pushed my tongue in further in response, lapping at his insides as much as I could. His ring was stretching nicely, becoming more relaxed and pliable as he sat back onto my face fully, almost suffocating me. I was totally smothered by his hairy ass, his scent and taste driving me wild as my cock throbbed between my legs. My boyfriend began to ride my face, fucking himself on my tongue, letting out fart after raunchy fart as he rocked back and forth. Even though I was under my boyfriend’s ass, I could still hear his huge distended stomach sloshing above me.
Warning, yet another instance of graphic vore, digestion, and their nasty implications ahead:
My favorite kind of dates are the ones when you’ve already scheduled a visit from plumber for the very next day before you’ve even met me face to face. What can I say, I like a partner who’s confident, and who knows what they want!
In fact, the only disappointing aspect of hooking up with someone so single-mindedly predatory and ruthless is the fact that a body as smooth and limber and perfect as mine winds up resigned to such a lowly and humiliating fate… I wonder if you’ll feel guilty at all, reducing these elegant features and succulent curves down into a broken, sizzling pile of hot, mushy meat simmering away in your ravenous stomach? I doubt it. Hunger comes before the appreciation of beauty after all!
Regardless, I don’t think you’ll even remember or care about the disgusting end of my graceful beauty when you’re stuck on the toilet for a few hours straight the next day. I’m willing to bet the only thing on your mind will be how to hide the bones from the plumber~
Warning, yet another instance of graphic vore, digestion, and their nasty implications ahead:
My favorite kind of dates are the ones when you’ve already scheduled a visit from plumber for the very next day before you’ve even met me face to face. What can I say, I like a partner who’s confident, and who knows what they want!
In fact, the only disappointing aspect of hooking up with someone so single-mindedly predatory and ruthless is the fact that a body as smooth and limber and perfect as mine winds up resigned to such a lowly and humiliating fate… I wonder if you’ll feel guilty at all, reducing these elegant features and succulent curves down into a broken, sizzling pile of hot, mushy meat simmering away in your ravenous stomach? I doubt it. Hunger comes before the appreciation of beauty after all!
Regardless, I don’t think you’ll even remember or care about the disgusting end of my graceful beauty when you’re stuck on the toilet for a few hours straight the next day. I’m willing to bet the only thing on your mind will be how to hide the bones from the plumber~
Baking involves chemical reactions and heat, which means that vore with digestion is like baking bread, which means that farts are like an oven timer
It might be a BRAP instead of a DING but both sounds mean that there’s a hot, steaming, distinctly-smelling loaf ready to come out
Baking involves chemical reactions and heat, which means that vore with digestion is like baking bread, which means that farts are like an oven timer
It might be a BRAP instead of a DING but both sounds mean that there’s a hot, steaming, distinctly-smelling loaf ready to come out
Warning: VERY graphic vore and digestion content ahead. Proceed at your own risk!!
The sort of vore where the pred digests and fully processes bits and pieces of their meal while the helpless prey is still alive and squirming within them is criminally underutilized.
I wonder how it would feel, being digested inch by inch, having bits and pieces of my body slowly broken down, boiled and crushed into mulch by the preds powerful stomach walls and gastric juices, leaving me helplessly lying in a neck deep pool of my own mushy, liquified remains. I wonder what sort of sensations would flow through me, feeling my own arms and legs slowly losing their shape and consistency, collapsing into chunky, grimy sludge with a few loud snaps and crunches as the powerful stomach walls cave in, kneading my acid soaked body like a lump of softened dough, grinding my meat and skin into fleshy soup.
I can just imagine being left a broken, limbless torso, quivering and shaking helplessly within the stomach as it starts to drain of its contents, feeling my own liquified body swirling and bubbling around me as it squelches and slops noisily through the sphincter into the preds intestines. I can practically already hear the gurgling and glorping of my own remains pumping through the preds creaking, groaning bowels deep below, knowing that soon they’ll plant their plump ass down on the toilet and squeeze out a hot, heavy loaf of digested preymeat while I still squirm and whimper within their churning depths, waiting for the rest of me to inevitably follow suit…
Warning: VERY graphic vore and digestion content ahead. Proceed at your own risk!!
The sort of vore where the pred digests and fully processes bits and pieces of their meal while the helpless prey is still alive and squirming within them is criminally underutilized.
I wonder how it would feel, being digested inch by inch, having bits and pieces of my body slowly broken down, boiled and crushed into mulch by the preds powerful stomach walls and gastric juices, leaving me helplessly lying in a neck deep pool of my own mushy, liquified remains. I wonder what sort of sensations would flow through me, feeling my own arms and legs slowly losing their shape and consistency, collapsing into chunky, grimy sludge with a few loud snaps and crunches as the powerful stomach walls cave in, kneading my acid soaked body like a lump of softened dough, grinding my meat and skin into fleshy soup.
I can just imagine being left a broken, limbless torso, quivering and shaking helplessly within the stomach as it starts to drain of its contents, feeling my own liquified body swirling and bubbling around me as it squelches and slops noisily through the sphincter into the preds intestines. I can practically already hear the gurgling and glorping of my own remains pumping through the preds creaking, groaning bowels deep below, knowing that soon they’ll plant their plump ass down on the toilet and squeeze out a hot, heavy loaf of digested preymeat while I still squirm and whimper within their churning depths, waiting for the rest of me to inevitably follow suit…
Warning, yet another instance of graphic vore, digestion, and their nasty implications ahead:
My favorite kind of dates are the ones when you’ve already scheduled a visit from plumber for the very next day before you’ve even met me face to face. What can I say, I like a partner who’s confident, and who knows what they want!
In fact, the only disappointing aspect of hooking up with someone so single-mindedly predatory and ruthless is the fact that a body as smooth and limber and perfect as mine winds up resigned to such a lowly and humiliating fate… I wonder if you’ll feel guilty at all, reducing these elegant features and succulent curves down into a broken, sizzling pile of hot, mushy meat simmering away in your ravenous stomach? I doubt it. Hunger comes before the appreciation of beauty after all!
Regardless, I don’t think you’ll even remember or care about the disgusting end of my graceful beauty when you’re stuck on the toilet for a few hours straight the next day. I’m willing to bet the only thing on your mind will be how to hide the bones from the plumber~
Warning, yet another instance of graphic vore, digestion, and their nasty implications ahead:
My favorite kind of dates are the ones when you’ve already scheduled a visit from plumber for the very next day before you’ve even met me face to face. What can I say, I like a partner who’s confident, and who knows what they want!
In fact, the only disappointing aspect of hooking up with someone so single-mindedly predatory and ruthless is the fact that a body as smooth and limber and perfect as mine winds up resigned to such a lowly and humiliating fate… I wonder if you’ll feel guilty at all, reducing these elegant features and succulent curves down into a broken, sizzling pile of hot, mushy meat simmering away in your ravenous stomach? I doubt it. Hunger comes before the appreciation of beauty after all!
Regardless, I don’t think you’ll even remember or care about the disgusting end of my graceful beauty when you’re stuck on the toilet for a few hours straight the next day. I’m willing to bet the only thing on your mind will be how to hide the bones from the plumber~
Warning, graphic vore and digestion ahead
I can’t stop thinking about you… Or more accurately, I can’t stop myself from thinking about your belly. Day in and day out, night after night, your gut has been on my mind. I constantly imagine myself plunging through your warm, cavernous, drooling maw, and down the tight, slick tunnel of your hungry, pulsating throat. I can’t stop picturing my helpless body succumbing to the cramped, caustic confines of your hot, groaning stomach, breaking down into sludge that’s just waiting to be drained into your glorpy, churning bowels. The thought of your bloated, flabby abdomen jiggling and sloshing like a waterbed as my soupy remains pump through the dank, musky depths of your smelly, winding intestines is an inescapable thought. I can’t even begin to describe how often I mull over the prospect of your sagging, sloshing post-vore belly, plumping and fattening up after my churning demise, growing softer from all of my valuable nutrients while the hot, hefty mass of all of my worthless leftovers packs away into your straining, swollen colon, creaking and groaning as they await the gassy, smelly heralding of their final release.
And I think you know what I’m talking about, because you’re thinking the very same thoughts, going through the very same things….
Except… I can’t stop thinking about it, because I’m terrified of it, but I think that you can’t stop thinking about it because you want it. You want to reduce my tender meat into nutritious, fattening sludge and rank, bubbling gas within your bowels. You want to feel my kicking, screaming form grow soft and sludgy within your churning depths. You want to sink your fingers into your bloated, swollen gut and feel my mushy, soupy remains churn and squelch beneath your tender touch. You would enjoy letting my last breath trumpet from your rear in a warm, ripe stream of smelly wind, filling the room with a nasty stench as my pathetic leftovers slowly sluice through your lard packed frame.
Warning, graphic vore and digestion ahead
I can’t stop thinking about you… Or more accurately, I can’t stop myself from thinking about your belly. Day in and day out, night after night, your gut has been on my mind. I constantly imagine myself plunging through your warm, cavernous, drooling maw, and down the tight, slick tunnel of your hungry, pulsating throat. I can’t stop picturing my helpless body succumbing to the cramped, caustic confines of your hot, groaning stomach, breaking down into sludge that’s just waiting to be drained into your glorpy, churning bowels. The thought of your bloated, flabby abdomen jiggling and sloshing like a waterbed as my soupy remains pump through the dank, musky depths of your smelly, winding intestines is an inescapable thought. I can’t even begin to describe how often I mull over the prospect of your sagging, sloshing post-vore belly, plumping and fattening up after my churning demise, growing softer from all of my valuable nutrients while the hot, hefty mass of all of my worthless leftovers packs away into your straining, swollen colon, creaking and groaning as they await the gassy, smelly heralding of their final release.
And I think you know what I’m talking about, because you’re thinking the very same thoughts, going through the very same things….
Except… I can’t stop thinking about it, because I’m terrified of it, but I think that you can’t stop thinking about it because you want it. You want to reduce my tender meat into nutritious, fattening sludge and rank, bubbling gas within your bowels. You want to feel my kicking, screaming form grow soft and sludgy within your churning depths. You want to sink your fingers into your bloated, swollen gut and feel my mushy, soupy remains churn and squelch beneath your tender touch. You would enjoy letting my last breath trumpet from your rear in a warm, ripe stream of smelly wind, filling the room with a nasty stench as my pathetic leftovers slowly sluice through your lard packed frame.
Warning, this is an experimental vore post, going far beyond the forays of my typical, gushy, digestive delights. I’m trying out a darker, more filth inclined style. (Not a permanent change of content or style for this blog, just an experiment) Features all of the usual warnings and more. Please proceed at your own risk!
You probably don’t think of it as much, but the last swallow is the most momentous moment of a poor, helpless prey’s life. One final, decisive swallow condemns a meal like me to a lifetime of suffering. At least said lifetime never lasts much longer.
Once I’m in your stomach, I’m stuck there, trapped and helpless, held at your mercy. I get to endure the torments of my gastric prison, being soaked by churning acids as my flesh softens and melts, until your gut crushes me out of existence, down into a thick, pulpy sludge of ragged, torn flesh, bubbling, oozing blood, and shattered, crumpled bone. My story will come to a sudden, early conclusion with a sickening squelch. I’ll be reduced to nothing, whether I want it or not. Everything I’ve ever done before in life, every accomplishment and every relationship, in the end, they all will amount to little more than a thick, doughy layer of blubber sagging from your fat, overfed gut, and a few extra inches of nice, juicy jiggle on your hips, butt, and thighs.
And that’s not even the worst of it, for your meals like me at least. It’s not enough to torment a treat merely by making them line your waistband. Oh no, preds like you get the joy of making snacks like me float through your sewers too. Once I’ve been pulverized into slop, destroyed beyond all recognition and pumped through your greedy bowels to be drained of all nutritional value and to fatten you up, once I’ve become fuel for a few more rolls of lard on your bulging belly, nothing will remain of me, save for a hefty, smelly loaf of putrid shit nestled deep in your guts, preceded by a bubbly string of the foulest of farts. I’m sure you’ll reek of death and decay as I’m sluiced through you, crammed and piled up in your straining colon. I wouldn’t be suprised if passerby gag from the toxic fumes leaking from your puckered hole.
But that gets you excited, doesn’t it? The thought of turning me, a living, breathing person into nothing but a rancid pile of shit that will disappear down your toilet like every other meal you’ve ever eaten… Oh goodness gracious, I bet that really turns you on… The idea of feeling your gut tear a person apart, feeling it shred them into a bloody mass and braid their essence into your own fat is probably the most sexy things you could ever imagine, isn’t it? The feeling of your stomach clenching and tossing around the thick, chunky stew of my remains as they slosh about inside you…. The awful sloppy sound of me being pumped into your intestines and the accompanying feeling as your muscles, stretch and squeeze and contract, and force more mush through their tight, slimy confines. You probably savor the thought of feeling me die inside your gut, you probably fantasize over feeling my body being boiled and crushed, and hearing my screams and struggles silenced with a wet, gurgling crunch, reduced into a thick brownish-red mush, riddled with bone and lumps of solid meat, and pushed through your smelly bowels until what’s left of me has been processed away into fat, and farts, and shit. I bet you can’t wait to feel me pumping through you, my remains stretching out your intestines as they slither into your bowels, the hard bits tickling the walls of your sensitive colon, eager to swirl down your toilet.
What a way to assert dominance… the only reminders that the brown logs were ever once a human being would be the scaggly, acid-bleached strands of hair and the flaky, yellowed bone chips and shattered teeth, the whole smelly mess destined to be flushed away and forgotten forever.
Warning, this is an experimental vore post, going far beyond the forays of my typical, gushy, digestive delights. I’m trying out a darker, more filth inclined style. (Not a permanent change of content or style for this blog, just an experiment) Features all of the usual warnings and more. Please proceed at your own risk!
You probably don’t think of it as much, but the last swallow is the most momentous moment of a poor, helpless prey’s life. One final, decisive swallow condemns a meal like me to a lifetime of suffering. At least said lifetime never lasts much longer.
Once I’m in your stomach, I’m stuck there, trapped and helpless, held at your mercy. I get to endure the torments of my gastric prison, being soaked by churning acids as my flesh softens and melts, until your gut crushes me out of existence, down into a thick, pulpy sludge of ragged, torn flesh, bubbling, oozing blood, and shattered, crumpled bone. My story will come to a sudden, early conclusion with a sickening squelch. I’ll be reduced to nothing, whether I want it or not. Everything I’ve ever done before in life, every accomplishment and every relationship, in the end, they all will amount to little more than a thick, doughy layer of blubber sagging from your fat, overfed gut, and a few extra inches of nice, juicy jiggle on your hips, butt, and thighs.
And that’s not even the worst of it, for your meals like me at least. It’s not enough to torment a treat merely by making them line your waistband. Oh no, preds like you get the joy of making snacks like me float through your sewers too. Once I’ve been pulverized into slop, destroyed beyond all recognition and pumped through your greedy bowels to be drained of all nutritional value and to fatten you up, once I’ve become fuel for a few more rolls of lard on your bulging belly, nothing will remain of me, save for a hefty, smelly loaf of putrid shit nestled deep in your guts, preceded by a bubbly string of the foulest of farts. I’m sure you’ll reek of death and decay as I’m sluiced through you, crammed and piled up in your straining colon. I wouldn’t be suprised if passerby gag from the toxic fumes leaking from your puckered hole.
But that gets you excited, doesn’t it? The thought of turning me, a living, breathing person into nothing but a rancid pile of shit that will disappear down your toilet like every other meal you’ve ever eaten… Oh goodness gracious, I bet that really turns you on… The idea of feeling your gut tear a person apart, feeling it shred them into a bloody mass and braid their essence into your own fat is probably the most sexy things you could ever imagine, isn’t it? The feeling of your stomach clenching and tossing around the thick, chunky stew of my remains as they slosh about inside you…. The awful sloppy sound of me being pumped into your intestines and the accompanying feeling as your muscles, stretch and squeeze and contract, and force more mush through their tight, slimy confines. You probably savor the thought of feeling me die inside your gut, you probably fantasize over feeling my body being boiled and crushed, and hearing my screams and struggles silenced with a wet, gurgling crunch, reduced into a thick brownish-red mush, riddled with bone and lumps of solid meat, and pushed through your smelly bowels until what’s left of me has been processed away into fat, and farts, and shit. I bet you can’t wait to feel me pumping through you, my remains stretching out your intestines as they slither into your bowels, the hard bits tickling the walls of your sensitive colon, eager to swirl down your toilet.
What a way to assert dominance… the only reminders that the brown logs were ever once a human being would be the scaggly, acid-bleached strands of hair and the flaky, yellowed bone chips and shattered teeth, the whole smelly mess destined to be flushed away and forgotten forever.
Warning, very, very explicit vore, digestion, and disposal ahead!!
I’ll never know why I have some kind of strong, inescapable, perverse desire to end up as a squishy mass of ground-up, acid-softened, viscous soup squeezing through your intestines. It makes no sense! I’m a person, a living breathing human! There’s no way I should actually want to end up as gut-slop, as your literal fat and shit after experiencing the same, humiliating fate that every slice of pizza and every hamburger, every glass of soda or coffee, every plate of cookies and every single other piece of greasy, fatty junk food that’s ever ended up inside of youhas been forced to suffer
That would be weird, and just so horrible and gross… But while I don’t understand it, I remain drawn to such a fate anyways. I don’t really blame myself either. I mean, how could I ever hope to not fantasize over being forcibly swallowed whole as I scream and struggle, before my terrified, fighting body is slowly churned down into a goopy pulp of melted flesh and shattered bone? How could I ever resist the allure of being treated as nothing more than a juicy piece of meat, of being seen no differently than any other gutful of greasy, fattening junk food despite my screams, struggles, and pleas? Why wouldn’t I shudder in delight at the thought of my mushy, chymal remains draining and pumping down through the dank, smelly confines of your tight, winding bowels, feeding you, fattening you, letting your greedy, plump body leech away all of my nutrients, transforming my essence into roll after roll of soft, plush fat for your jiggling, pudgy form, before the useless leftovers are finally squeezed out of you as a massive pile of former gutslut a mere week or so after gulping me down?
Warning, very, very explicit vore, digestion, and disposal ahead!!
I’ll never know why I have some kind of strong, inescapable, perverse desire to end up as a squishy mass of ground-up, acid-softened, viscous soup squeezing through your intestines. It makes no sense! I’m a person, a living breathing human! There’s no way I should actually want to end up as gut-slop, as your literal fat and shit after experiencing the same, humiliating fate that every slice of pizza and every hamburger, every glass of soda or coffee, every plate of cookies and every single other piece of greasy, fatty junk food that’s ever ended up inside of youhas been forced to suffer
That would be weird, and just so horrible and gross… But while I don’t understand it, I remain drawn to such a fate anyways. I don’t really blame myself either. I mean, how could I ever hope to not fantasize over being forcibly swallowed whole as I scream and struggle, before my terrified, fighting body is slowly churned down into a goopy pulp of melted flesh and shattered bone? How could I ever resist the allure of being treated as nothing more than a juicy piece of meat, of being seen no differently than any other gutful of greasy, fattening junk food despite my screams, struggles, and pleas? Why wouldn’t I shudder in delight at the thought of my mushy, chymal remains draining and pumping down through the dank, smelly confines of your tight, winding bowels, feeding you, fattening you, letting your greedy, plump body leech away all of my nutrients, transforming my essence into roll after roll of soft, plush fat for your jiggling, pudgy form, before the useless leftovers are finally squeezed out of you as a massive pile of former gutslut a mere week or so after gulping me down?
Warning, heavy themes of vore, digestion, and post vore ahead
Your girlfriend? Hmm… BWHOAAPP!! OH, yeah, that’s right! I remember her! Great tasting, & a real fighter too! She lasted almost 3 days, but got pretty still & quiet about halfway through
“…….”
Hmm? Where is she now? Well, from the sound and feel of it, her lumpy, sloppy remains are pumping through my dank, smelly guts. C'mon, don’t be a baby! I know you want to rub & stoke my belly, maybe give it a little squeeze here and there to hear her squelch & squish
“…….”
Don’t lie, I can tell from the look on your face! It’s painfully obvious that you actually want to listen & to feel the pulpy mess of her corpse sliding around within me, buried beneath layers of soft, jiggling fat & powerful, merciless muscle
“…….”
Be honest, I just KNOW that you actually want to feel the gelatinous, mushy bulge of her slushy remnants move lower and lower beneath your fingertips, slowly making it’s way down to pack her into my colon
“…….”
C'mon, you might as well help me out with a rub here, I know you want it! Besides, I’m doing you a favor, so you owe me one!
“…….”
What do you mean “What favor?” Isn’t it obvious? I’m gonna ‘dump’ her so that you don’t have to!
