You sit under a tree, thick, muscle-bound legs spread wide around your bulging green belly. You rest your strong arms behind your head, club sitting next to you.
“Pleeeeeeaase,” wails your dinner in pain, “Dooooon’t!” His head strains against your fattened tummy, causing your breasts to jiggle above him. You open one eye and glance down at his imprinted face, smirking smugly with your fanged mouth.
“Quiet, meat,” you order gruffly, and he sobs in desperation. He had been a farmer, with a pretty wife and a healthy son. His family is now a bone-ridden shit pile, and he is now a naked hunk of meat being digested like the food he is.
You, on the other hand, are a raider of great notoriety, a she-orc by the name of Hamitha. You left your homeland of Vorcania some years ago to plunder the prosperity and feast on the flesh of the people of Urdenna. They have proven to be as weak a people as you had heard, and many hundreds have met their end in your bowels since you arrived.
Huuuurrrrraaaap.
You belch noisily as the poor human melts slowly into paste in your belly, doomed to fatten your tits and stink up your ass crack.
“Huuuuuurrrrrggghhh!” He moans in agony. “You’re a m-monster...”
“Thanks. You’re still gonna be my shit,” you promise. “Just like that pretty bitch and tasty welp of yours.” Your cruel words earn pitiful cries of sorrow, dread, and disgust.
Frrrrrrbbbt.
A fart splits your cheeks, filling the air with a rank odor. Humans are always the stinkiest, you’ve found. You grunt and get to your feet, ignoring the diminishing squawks of torture and death coming from inside you. It’s time to get a move on. Besides a couple of decent meals, the former farmer didn’t have much to offer, and coin is running low.
“Where to next?” you ask yourself idly, scanning the picturesque, hilly landscape around you, resting a hand on your faintly twitching belly. “Aha,” you grunt, as you spot a wispy trail of smoke against the horizon.
“Pl.....pleeeeeeeeaase,” the dying farmer begs, crushed into a squishy, barely breathing lump of meat the size of a melon. “M-mercyyyyyyy....”
“The only mercy in your future is death, shitwank,” you snap. “And I’ll keep it from you as long as I can. Trust me, there’s plenty of pain left in store for you. You won’t die until I hear every rib crunch!”
A choked wail of horror follows your grisly promise, and you grin with sadistic satisfaction. You grip one jiggling buttock with claw like yellow nails and pull your asscrack open to release a deadly fart.
Pthhhhhhhhhhhhh.
“Filthy human,” you scoff, as you set off in the direction of the smoke. This is how youve lived your life for the past few years. Drifting from farm to farm, town to town, eating innocents and plundering their livelihood. It’s a good life, free and rewarding. Nothing pleases you more than ending a person’s life for the sole purpose of satisfaction and temporary sustenance, rendering their entire being, their very existence, meaningless. It’s cruel, irreverent, and delicious.
You make good on your evil promise, and by the time you reach the source of the smoke, a homely tavern, the poor farmer is still churning alive inside your tummy, which is now smaller than a pregnant belly. The state a healthy, grown male would have to be in to fit into such a space is unimaginably horrific. In fact, the only evidence that your slightly chubby belly contains a man are the faint imprints of bare, broken bones. And yet, the miserable little creature remains entirely conscious for his torment.
As you feel the last few pops and cracks of his unrecognizable skeleton being compacted, you sway your hips once or twice in a gentle, lazy motion. The slight slosh of your gut is enough to kill your pathetic prey, finally granting him the release and dignity of death. Well... the release, anyway.
Glorp.
Your belly sloshes and gurgles, sucking soupified man down into your intestines, bones and all. Your ass cheeks ripple with another fart, and the stench is enough to cause even you to wrinkle your nose reflexively.
“Nine hundred seventy two,” you chuckle, patting your vibrant green bootie. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a child. You turn to look at her, a little girl around the age of ten wearing a yellow dress. She’s staring at you with wide, frightened eyes, an expression of fearful curiosity on her face. You grin at her, showing off your sharp teeth, and she gulps. Above the noxious stink of farted man, you catch a whiff of her scent, the sweet, delectable aroma of delicate young flesh. “You smell tasty, you little tart,” you rasp. “I might just eat you up.” The girl begins to tremble, morbid fascination turning to terror. Your belly rumbles with greedy anticipation, and you lick your chops. “Do you want me to gobble you up?” you ask her, amused. She shakes her head vehemently, breathing fast and pressing back against a tree, too terrified even to run.
