Against your better judgement, you wait until the woman stops tapping her spoon and climb onto it. Unfortunately, almost as soon as you do, it begins to move. You cling desperately to it, which turns out to be a mistake as the spoon is dunked back into the oats and brought towards the giantess’ awaiting maw. Her glossy lips close over you and the spoon slips out of your grip, leaving you alone with a heap of oatmeal inside the wet confines of her mouth.
You’re forces to cling to her tongue, although your grip is rather slippery and tenuous on the wet, undulating muscle. All around you is the sound of wet slapping, swishing, and the gurgles and squelches from the back of her hungry throat. Every time you try to move, you only seem to slip incrementally towards the back of her throat, something wish you desperately seek to avoid.
You try to call out for help, for mercy, for anything, but you cough and splutter, your predator’s viscous saliva forcing itself into your mouth. You’re not sure how much longer you can handle being swished and thrown around, or how long until she decides to swallow. Surely she HAS to know that something’s wrong!
