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
Stretch marks on the belly and hips are honestly just vore tally marks signifying all the prey you’ve eaten. It’s like when WWII pilots drew up their confirmed kills on the side of their planes.
Preds, it’s such a power move to lift a leg and let a ripe, bassy, cheek-wobbling fart rip right as the sludgy, liquified mess of your preys remains start to pump from your stomach down into your bowels.
There’s no better way to establish dominance over your next meal.
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…
Preds, is the best way to flirt with you something along the lines of asking if you’ve had the chance to gulp down and gurgle up any particularly succulent slabs of tender, juicy person meat recently?
Do y'all like it when a preyish partner appeals to your vorish sensibilities and gives your tubby, rumbling, ruthless prey-tank a nice rub while they ask you how much is left of your last meal sloshing and gurgling around in there?
Yeah, being a feeder is nice and all, but being the meal itself is even better.
The gurgles, grumbles, and groans of your partner’s packed guts. The stuffed little moans and half-belches of satisfaction from your predatory feedee. The inevitable transformation of their firm, taut, bloated belly into a plump, plushy, sagging dome of sloshy, squishy goodness after a few tummy rubs and a long nap. The thick, warm layers of jiggling lard packed upon their frame once your sludgy body has been thoroughly churned and processed.
Everything there is to love about stuffing and feeding is practically doubled when vore gets involved, and I will die on this hill.
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~
Hey preds I’m genuinely curious, what exactly does it feel like to have the squirming mass of a whole entire person slip down your throat and fill out your belly? What sort of sensations flood your mind and body when the firm, weighty, wriggling swell of an entire person slithers down your esophagus, stretching out your greedy gullet before settling down into the heavy, distended bulge of your strained, taut belly? How do you feel and what do you think as their twitches and spasms gradually fade away into gurgling stillness while the heavy mass of meat in your gut slowly softens and shrinks, deflating down into a sagging, mushy bulge?
Any and all answers are genuinely appreciated!
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.
Not much is better than an overstuffed predator, moaning and gasping in delight as they stroke and caress their squirming meal.
One of the few things which is better than the previously mentioned prey-packed-pred is an extra overstuffed predator, still moaning and gasping in delight as they stroke and caress the squirming, distended bulges of their many meals
weightywritings-adiposeart
Bonnie has the money to be a mutual gainer ’n cover you as your Feeder and I will never let that down-