Petplay / G/t / Vore

they should make weight loss ads illegal and I’m not kidding

Reform, get ate, repeat

poor little guy is hungry.. surely you'll let him take a sip?

ouugh I love tiny vampire guy.. I have 2 more parts (4 panels) planned but perhaps if there are lovely kofi tippers I'll add some more :>

part 1 (you are here) || part 2 || part 3

every day i am grateful that weed has the mythical side effect of making you deliciously hungry… it’s normally the first thing that hits for me and oufhfhfjkfjf it’s so good. i remember one time i took a gummy and just a few minutes in my stomach made this deep and rumbling growl deep inside my belly like it was warning me for the hunger to come… i love love looooove weed hunger

The first time I brought him a meal, it was an accident. I didnt know what he was, I didnt know what would happen.

He had no name that I could speak, no true shape that he would show me, but he had hunger.

I brought him more. People who wouldn't be missed. People who might have deserved it. People I barely thought about once they were gone.

I watched him take them, jaws parting to accommodate them whole. The silence after was always the most satisfying part. Quiet. The confirmation that the world had swallowed them up, and no one would ever know where they'd gone.

Except me

Then, after, I took care of him. I brought cool water. I pressed my hands to the swell of his stomach when he was too full to move. He shifted and groaned, his voice like claws scraping against old stone. This was my ritual.

I should have died in that explosion—in the bloom of heat when the car burst into flames. But I walked out of it, my skin untouched, my clothes barely singed. The air smelled of ash and burned meat-- none of it was mine.

I told myself I was lucky. That it was chance. And the confusing nature of the event, it must have been survivors guilt.

But then the shadows started following me. And I knew things I shouldn't.

I told him about it the next time I brought an offering.

He was sated, draped in the darkness, in the basement, same as when Id first found him.

The grisly echoes of his last meal settling in the deep of his belly. I pressed my hand against it, felt the heat of his digestion like a furnace beneath his skin.

and said, "Something's wrong with me."

I told him everything that had happened. He listened, uninterrupting until I had told him everything.

He made a sound that might have been a chuckle. "Ah."

"Ah? That's all you have to say?" I demanded. "I walked out of a burning car. I see things. I hear things. And I know it's connected to you."

"it is."

There was an apology in his voice. He adjusted himself, his stomach gurgling over its latest burden.

"You've been offering me sacrifices for months. You're bound to me now. These are... side effects."

I stared at him. "Side effects."

He stretched, his form shifting, a rippling shadow in the dark. "Devotion has power. And you've been quite devoted, haven't you?"

That horrified me. I didnt want to be his devotee. "I just like watching you eat."

"That," he said, "is close enough."

Had he tricked me?

"So, what, I'm your priest now?"

"If you want to be." He tilted his head, regarding me not in the way a human or animal would. "Or you can just keep bringing me meals. Either way, the benefits remain."

I let my hands press into him, kneading the firm swell of his gut, feeling the way his stomach gurgled beneath the pressure.

A god’s belly, full with an offering I had given.

"You're very proud of your work," he said, amused.

Again, I smoothed a hand over his belly flesh. Like being allowed to run your fingers through a lion’s mane

A strong rolling gurgle answered my touch, a sound deep, growling, proof of the work being done inside.

His belly was stretched tight, but not quite like mortal flesh. It shifted strangely under my hands, half-solid, half-shadow, as though his body couldn't quite decide if it needed to follow the rules of the world it inhabited.

The weight of him was immense, his form languid with satisfaction. I pressed deeper, kneading slow circles against his full belly, feeling the dense pressure of his meal, the warmth of it rolling back at me. He groaned, long and low, and his stomach clenched beneath my hand.

“Hhhroourrp—” The belch tore from his throat, vibrating through his chest and against my palms.

I petted his stomach, gentle, praising. No part of me wanted to stop doing this.

Part 1 of the stuffing challenge

He still has a LOT more to go.

current fan creation landscape is kinda like if you went to a party with a homemade cake and everyone takes a slice and silently thumbs up at you with no attempt to start a conversation except for occasionally some guy sits in the corner with a tape recorder critiquing the cake as though he was a restaurant critic and another guy is handing the cake to an uber driver like "yeah i need you to find a restaurant that makes cake like this so i can have more of it" and the only person that's talked to you in 30 minutes is a very sweet little guy who was like "hey i liked your cake" and then ran away apologizing for bothering you the moment you said thank you.

Name a food you like to eat/stuff yourself with and I’ll see if you pass the vibe test👁️👁️

You made probably the biggest mistake an intern could make.

The CEO was still yelling. Muffled, furious, definitely still yelling.

<"You’re fired,"> they bark, their voice vibrating through your stomach walls. <"You hear me? Fired! The second I get out of here, I swear to god—">

You press both hands into the firm swell of your belly, trying to calm it, trying to calm yourself.

"Please," you say, voice tight, "can you—can you stop yelling?"

<"Stop yelling?"> they snap. <"You ate me, you little freak!">

you wince.

<"I am the leader of this company, I should not be sitting in some intern’s gut!">

You groan, curling further into yourself, shifting your weight on the supply closet floor.

It’s not comfortable—the CEO is heavy, far heavier than anything you’ve ever swallowed before. Your stomach is stretched to its absolute limit, packed full, groaning under the pressure.

"I panicked," you mutter, rubbing small circles over your middle, trying to ease the ache.

trying to will your stomach into speeding things up.

<"You panicked?"> The walls of your gut ripple as the CEO shoves against them, hard.

<"Spilling coffee on me is panicking. Forgetting your instructions is panicking. Eating me whole is--!">

Your stomach clenches down, cutting them off. You gasp.

The CEO swears, voice slipping-- nervous now, and you can feel their breathing- fast, shallow.

<"You need to let me out. Now.">

You swallow thickly. "I—I don’t think I can."

The CEO stills.

<"What?>

"I don’t—I don’t know how to... i dont know how to stop it."

You stomach gurgles.

There’s a moment of silence. Then the CEO kicks, hard enough that you yelp.

<"You little shit,"> they growl.

<"You’re going to regret this.">

"I already do," you groan, kneading into the firm swell of your belly.

The pressure inside won’t ease up, your gut is clenching. Relentlessly. Processing.

The CEO tries to push again, but it’s weaker this time. Your stomach is winning.

It always wins

<"Please,"> they say suddenly, softer now, less rage, more desperation. <"You don’t want to do this. I can fix this—I’ll—I won’t fire you, okay? I’ll promote you, even. You don’t have to—">

Your stomach groans, hot and heavy.

You shut your eyes, breathe in deep, and keep rubbing at your belly, feeling it settle.

---

You wake up to darkness.

For a disorienting moment, you don’t know where you are—only that the air is stale, your back is sore, and you must have had an extraordinary meal recently.

Then it clicks. The supply closet. The CEO.

The weight still pressing against your middle, no longer struggling, no longer yelling—only a warm, thick mass, settled deep in your gut.

You bolt upright, gasping, your belly sloshing with the movement.

Shit.

You went into a food coma.

You passed out in the middle of digesting your boss.

Panic shoots through you, and you scramble to your feet, wincing at the dull ache of your overworked stomach.

Your dress shirt is wrinkled, sticking to your skin, and when you press a hand against the swell of your gut, it’s still soft.

You push open the door, slipping into the dim hallway, blinking, bleary and disoriented. Still waking up.

Freezing as a voice calls out—

"Hey. Where’ve you been?"

Your head snaps up, eyes wide.

A coworker—one of the assistants, leans against the front desk, looking at you with mild curiosity.

You fumble for words. "I—I was just—”

"You look awful." They frown, eyes flicking over your disheveled form—mussed hair, flushed face... where your stomach pushes forward, heavy with its stolen meal.

Your gut shifts, contents pressing lower, and you have to bite back a groan.

"You should go home. It’s late." They say.

Your heart hammers. You nod quickly, very quickly.

"Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I—I should go."

You turn on your heel and walk—fast, stiff, legs fuzzy with pins and needles.

Forcing yourself not to clutch at your stomach, even as it groans with each step.

The office is empty, the halls quiet. No one else is here. Except for a few security guards who ignore you.

Your belly sways heavily with each movement, the remnants of the CEO being churned down into something useful.

you step out of the lobby doors, into the cool nighttime air. You breathe it in, deeply. You look up and you can't see any stars.

You don't know what tomorrow will look like for you. But at least you won't be needing breakfast.

he hid them in his belly