#vorescat
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.
