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The Legends of Vorule - Page 35 - The Quaint Farmhouse - By PurpSoul - Overview
You heave an exasperated sigh, tired of these seemingly endless blind decisions you’re being forced to make. You’re surprised you’ve made it this far, honestly. Almost randomly you pick out the farmhouse as the safest gamble, and slowly trudge your way towards it. You give Navi a glance, shrug, and knock on the door.

You can hear movement from inside the house, slow footsteps towards the door. There’s a moment of eerie silence, long enough for you to consider retreating. The door cracks open as the resident peeks out. You wait anxiously, standing on the balls of your feet, preparing for a fight.

“Why, it’s a little boy!” The door flings wide open, revealing a matronly woman, middle aged, tall, and quite fat. She wears a tunic that is far too tight and much too revealing for your tastes, and a pair of pants that seem ready to explode around her wide hips. Her plump, pink lips split in a friendly, toothy smile as she brushes a lick of curly yellow hair from her face. “We don’t see many little boys out this far! What brings you to my farm, sweetie?”

“Just looking for directions,” Navi answers for you. “We’re trying to-“

“Oh, my” the fat lady gasps. “A fairy! Are you one of the little forest children?” You nod, frowning curiously. “Mercy me, you are a rare little hunk of boy, aren’t you?” She giggles sweetly. “Come in, have some milk! I can help you get where you belong....” Without waiting for an answer, she ushers you in with a meaty hand and closes the door behind you. You follow her lead, somewhat reluctantly. She guides you into the kitchen, quickly closing a window and drawing the curtains. “So, what’s your name, dumplin’?”

You stand awkwardly in her kitchen, searching the place with your eyes, it’s a cozy little house, but you feel ill at ease, like something is out of place. You mumble your name, eyeing her back as she pours a cup of milk.

“Link? What a cute name for such an adorable little munchkin. Here you go, sweetie,” she coos, handing you the milk. You sip it quietly, frowning thoughtfully as you try to piece together what’s wrong here. The farm lady leans back against the counter, smiling down at you. “What’s wrong, darlin’?”

You shrug and manage an awkward smile. It’s too quiet, like some sort of ambience is missing. You turn to glance at Navi and signal that you want to leave, but...

She isn’t there. You freeze as the puzzle clicks into place. The farm lady shut the door before she could follow you. That’s why she closed the windows. You drop the glass of milk and reach for your sword in a panic, but it’s too late. She grabs your wrists and hoists you off the ground.

“Testy, aren’t you? Come now, there’s no need to be scared. I just wanted to have some alone time with you..” she pulls you in close and hugs you to her chest, your eyes just beneath her fat lips. “And, of course, to eat you,” she whispered with an ominous giggle. Her mouth opens wide and she gives you a lick with her slimy tongue. “Mmmmm!” She moans exaggeratedly. “Simply scrumptious.”

You squirm desperately, grunting as you try to worm your way out of her crushing grip and get your weapon, but it’s no use. You call for help, but all you can manage is a wheeze.

“Shhhhh, tut tut now,” the malicious matron cops. “You’re all mine, you yummy dumpling... there now, it’s okay, this is what you were made for... mmm, come here...” she opens her mouth wide, saliva dripping from her fat lips onto your face. Her tongue cups your chin and her upper lip slides over your nose, leaving your eyes directly beneath hers. Your breathless grunts become muffled by her round, rosy cheeks. Her breath is hot and thick and stinky. She stares down at you with a cold unbridled hunger, all semblance of friendliness wiped away, revealing the killer inside. You scream. She swallows.

Your head is sucked into the back of her throat. You see her fuller open up to welcome you, just before you plunge inside. She shreds your clothes lazily and drops your gear on the floor. She tilts her head back, just your head and the top of your shoulders in her mouth. With a long, lewd moan, she takes just one gulp. That’s all it takes to eat you.

You gasp for air inside her gut, as you plop into a disgusting puddle of goop. You choke on the stench as the painful liquid soaks into your naked body. You wheeze and whimper, maneuvering yourself inside the very cramped sac, searching for the way out. The belly jiggles and you are bent uncomfortably as she wraps her arms around her fattened tummy.


She wipes her mouth as she burps, smirking I’m satisfaction. “There now, nice and cozy where you belong... isn’t that better?” She sighs happily. There’s nothing nice and cozy about the hell you fin yourself in, but the issue doesn’t seem to be up for debate. You’re being constricted, and slowly but surely, you’re losing any room to work with. Despite your struggles, you are soon curled up in a crushed ball, fighting just to breathe. Pain engulfs your body now, both from the extreme pressure and the acid intent on turning you to slush. Each breath is a labored, desperate sob, and you’re getting weaker. “Hush your crying,” the fat woman scolds. “ Just let momma enjoy her dinner. You’ll be dead soon no matter what happens. If you be a good little boy and die quietly, I’ll use you in my garden when you’re poop.”

This revelation does nothing to reassure you, of course, but you’re too weak to keep struggling, and your entire body is doused in tummy juices. You can feel your body starting to cave in as it weakens, giving in to the compression of her belly. You let out a final garbled whimper.

Your whole skeleton seems to creak suddenly. Then, with a resounding crunch, your whole body is reduced to the size of a watermelon. The ball of meat that used to be you bubbles and gurgles away, slowly digesting.

In the meantime, Navi has been frantically buzzing around the house, throwing herself against the windows. She can’t see what’s going on inside, but she knows it can’t be good. After several minutes of trying and failing to come to your aid, she collapses on the windowsill, exhausted. “I’m sorry, Link,” she whimpers sadly, assuming (correctly) that you’re done for.
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