True, Marc’s traumatized teen memories couldn’t cover every grisly detail of that poor bastard’s demise, but thanks to the right mix of some mental surgery, creative thinking, and free time, Indrid had an abundant enough canvas to ensure that a little bit of every nightmare that Marc’d recurred of that night was in every clenching of her asscheeks. Much the same as the ones where he was in that man’s skin, feeling his skeleton be twisted from its joints before mashing into bony spines, his innards shredding into marinara before the endorphins could save him from the incomprehensible agony that preluded death. Her antennae swayed about to conduct his memories so all the ‘could-of-dones’ and what-ifs’ he’d buried in his mind’s sewers flooded over and came to the surface, capsizing his thoughts so the rocking of the bed frame were the bumps on the road that that man innocently felt before seeing the wide, hairy face of his demise, his own wails of misery and agony distorted to split apart into the mourning sobs of the family that he’d no doubt left behind. Hell, that the mammoth lady just farted on him when he was still alive to smell it.
All of which she dealt with no satisfaction or remorse worse than shopping for her groceries. That is, sparing the ravenous pride of getting home, seating at the table with all her purchases, and downing them all in but minutes. The points of a smile poked up along the edge of Indrid’s jaw as she massaged the growing excess hanging off her middle, a pert fear-baby expanding within her belly that she drummed at with the same adoration of a mother massaging kin growing inside of her...such love that rapidly eluded her grasp as its surface was absorbed past where she could feel it, her hands pushed away from reaching in any further by the paunch that puffed outwards to take its place.
Such was the price of an all-fear diet. Nourishing, untamable addictive fear...but so short-lived in her stomach for it to fill her up before dissolving into calories to bloat her up even further, more bodily mass to feed and sustain. Those hissing breaths became damp with slobber as her cheeks obtained more volume, tainted by winces of strain as her stomach and breasts adopted further tonnage for her shoulders to lug about, the floor’s constant groaning rising to even louder roars of stress as the mass and footprint of her leviathan of a belly extended from her. There was at least that extra little squeeze of terror from Marc as her behind grew around him, the rusty bed frame flattening as its ability to contain its weight and girth were surpassed, but all that lasted in his mind afterward were the pain of the situation, but the bones to the real meat of fear.
Indrid shut her legs one last time, keeping Marc from witnessing her unleash an unintimidating belch of gas, then released her posture and enabled Marc to tumble free, alive and unbroken, but awake only in the physical sense. None of his bones were broken; important, if she wanted him to keep on giving her meals, she’d need him to have at least some integrity to know the horrors he was being inflicted by, but his limbs remained trapped in contorted mock-ups of his own crushed, bloodied remains, eyes rolled to their whites and jaw hanging crooked, ejecting an occasional husky croak. She let him lay twitching on the mattress for several minutes, his mind sampling that his limbs weren’t actually smashed beyond repair and were still able to move, gradually flexing more and more as his eyes opened and shut, softening to the natural (lack of?) light of Indrid’s apartment.
When he could finally flex his fingers, his body went limp at relief that the deaths he’d lived and relived were all a nightmare, but then curled in the fetal position, shivering. Indrid just stared ahead, content that he wouldn’t escape. The only way out was his means of entrance, locked so generously by their employers, but such was also the key to great torture; to compose great music was knowing that the silence between the notes could be just as important as the notes themselves, and farming for terror was no different in that it needed those occasional allowances for their anguish to still, giving hope for the sole purpose of snatching it away.
After a few dainty sobs were emitted from behind, Indrid cricked her head enough to observe Marc with his head wrapped in his arms, his shoulders occasionally trembling in tandem with his weeping. Swiveling her mountainous bulk around, she lay seated along the side and leaned over with an arm extended, something semblant of a comforting act that Marc understandably skittered away from when her claw tenderly lowered onto his back, but with too little fight in him to go far for her to struggle and reach him again, the hairs on her nubby digits sharp enough to cut his skin as her fingers draped onto his back, only to clamp around him and craned him off the bed.
Marc’s legs dropped from her grasp like he was a dead animal, carrying none of the morale needed to even try and inflict any pain on her, or any form of protest as he was once again brought to the tip of Indrid’s nostrilless snout, eyes glowing red light onto his body. Content by his submission, Indrid merely pointed her antennae at him to test his scent, also casting a silent spell or two to wash any germs from his body, then let him go, save for the very back of his collar that remained caught between her claw’s very tip.
Dangling him above her, Indrid pulled back and allow her head to unhinge by the mouth, her hair, face, and even eyes disappearing underneath her maw so he was only hung above a wet pit leading straight into her belly...her immediate top priority when she leafed through the very first time his mother taught him of what life could be like for a human in a world of anthros. The very fate she always swore never befell his dad whenever he asked, but couldn’t avoid saying ‘no’ without a crack in her voice.
“...d...don’t...” He sniffled, but lacked the fight to resist any further. “...please...”
SNAP
Indrid’s maw engulfed him, her lips sucking him free of the points of her claws. Her tongue lashed about against her jaw and the roof of her mouth, effectively sobering Marc up to the reality of his demise, but too slow to really strategize anything past fighting her tongue like it were an alligator, his clawing at the black appendage mollified as he was twisted around, robbing him the dignity of seeing the outside world as her throat muscles clenched and pulled him down head-first
“HELP ME!!!” He shrieked, crying as the darkness deepened past that of his closed eyes. “SOMEBODY, PLEASE HELP ME!!! I’M SORRY, MOM!!!”
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
