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!
Everyone is always talking about how great post vore burps are, and they just end up forgetting to give the OTHER form of post vore gas some much needed love.
Like yeah, sure, I won’t deny that a deep, bassy belch rippling the preds lips as their overstuffed gut relieves some pressure with a burst of hot wind isn’t totally amazing, but the same exact experience from the other side is also a joy to behold. Deep, crass, cheek wobbling butt-belches need some more appreciation dammit!!
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.
weightywritings-adiposeart
Bonnie has the money to be a mutual gainer ’n cover you as your Feeder and I will never let that down-