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.