You leap up to attack Q. Bee just as she plunged downwards, her stinger aimed at where you were a moment prior. Time seems to slow you evade the stinger by mere inches. You realize that if you hadn't leapt in that exact moment, Q. Bee's diving stinger would have hit you clean. Be it instinct or be it the guiding hand of fate, you've won a golden opening, one you cannot afford to let slip.
You fire a flying kick into Q. Bee chin, swatting her out of the sky. Shock shows in her blank, insect eyes as she crashes into the ground. As she stands, you press your advantage with combination attack, landing a punch to the jaw, a knee to the stomach, and a twisting kick to the shins.
In mere moments, you've shifted the momentum of the entire fight, and Q. Bee seems hard-pressed to recover. The difference between the two of your has become clear: you are a fighter, and Q. Bee a beast. She hasn't trained and struggled and stove like you have. Grown too used to humans who were easy prey, she doesn't have your resilience... but Q. Bee hasn't given up her fight for dominance just yet.
She attempts another flying stinger-strike, but you've gained a sense of her rhythm now, and handily dodge the attack. Borne on by her own momentum, Q. Bee's barbed stinger slammed into the trunk of a tree and becomes imbedded. You leap up against the trunk of a tree, your muscular thighs tense as springs as you take aim down at your target.
You launch yourself down at Q. Bee foot-first with incredible speed. "Killer Bee Assault!"
Q. Bee detaches the stinger from her tail in a desperate bid to free herself from the tree, but she's still too slow to dodge your kick, and it slams straight into her the center of her chest. You hit the ground and launch another flying kick, at an upwards angle now, striking with enough force to send Q. Bee airborne. You bounce from the tree to tree, striking from a new angle every moment, leaving Q. Bee disoriented and helpless. As you leap towards her one last time, you seize her by her shoulders and flip over her, plummeting towards the ground with Q. Bee held above you, upside down. You position you mouth under her head, and as you land, the momentum drives her down your throat up to her waist in an instant. Her hands and the tips of her wings twitch impotently as they jut from your mouth. You take a firm grip of her round ass with both hands, ensuring she won't escape, and gulp, pulling her deeper into your gullet. Belly swells as you take in this strange, monstrous insect. Her belly and crotch slide down onto your tongue. Hers is a strange flavor, an almost metallic tang softened by sweet, floral undertones. Your lips press against the base of her swollen, striped abdomen, and you stretch your jaw a little wider, your throat bulging with powerful swallows as you savor what is quite possibly the strangest meal of your life. Q. Bee is in full panic now, buzzing frantically and writhing with you. Your leotard-clad belly bulges with her struggles, but you keep on pushing her deeper down, her nubile thighs and abdomen vanishing now between your lips. You swallow down Q. Bee's feet with a final gulp, and wipe your mouth with your wrist.
"I suppose this is what they'd call 'exotic cuisine'," you quip.
Your belly sways and jiggles as Q. Bee struggles within you. Her wings are drenched in stomach fluids now, and their buzzing has taken on the lower, muted quality of a dying motor. "No!" she cries. "This is wrong, all wrong! Humans are food, not Soul Bees!"
You smirk and give your stomach a pat, proud at your victory. "Not today, I'm afraid."
You take a seat at the base of a tree and listen happily to your busy belly as it churns up Q. Bee. Her struggles die out after a few minutes, her buzzing gone silent now as she stews within you. You let out a long, sour burp, then another. It seems Q. Bee isn't sitting very well with you. Of course, all you have to suffer through is frequent burps, while Q. Bee has it far worse. Stomach acids soak into her limp form, and she begins to melt, that once menacing form stewing away into chunky goop. Your belly shrinks considerably now, and Q. Bee's soupy remains begin to sink deeper through your body, the firm grip of your intestines squeezing her into a line of sticky, brown chunks. After a while, you can feel Q. Bee thoroughly processed remains pressing at your back door from within, awaiting release.
You stand up, then crouch, placing one hand on the tree for support. A long, wet fart ripples out between your cheeks, and the pressure on your ass becomes more urgent. You quickly pull your leotard to the side, exposing your puckered asshole just as it begins to bulge and yawn. A massive log of creamy shit begins tumbling out of your ass. The texture is akin to chocolate mouse, though the scent isn't half as pleasant. Despite the grossness of the act, you can't deny that feeling your asshole yawn open to push out such a massive dump is perversely satisfying. Perhaps you're getting a little too accustomed to this, after turning three different fighters into poop. You squeeze out the end of Q. Bee's stinking remains, then blow a long fart that tickles your asshole and splatters the top of the pile with bits of crap.
You let your leotard slide back into place, then turn back and give your waste an appraising glance. "That's a better form for you, I think. You don't look half as scary now."
You give a little smirk, as the Host takes you away to meet your forth and final opponent.
WIP
