Taken In: Story breakdown!

Going over the story and breaking it down was a fun process, all in all. But this was originally a text document, which I had to completely manually refit into this post you're reading (oof...!). Still, for the sake of posteriority, I think it was worth the effort.

If you're up for this non-linear read, then I hope you enjoy this sneak-peek into my thoughts! Just hover or long-press over the links with dotted underlines (Just like that!), and it should show the relevant annotations. Now, without further ado, let me reintroduce...

Taken In¹ (I usually try to make titles with a double meaning. Here, 'take in' usually means bringing a pet to one's home - in this case, it's more like the 'pet' has forced itself into the PoV's place! Plus, the PoV is taken into Sam's body.)

Clank! Shuffle! Crunch!² (I actually had to rewrite most of the intro from scratch, it got too wordy and just boring to read. For a PoV segment, I thought something less detailed and to-the-point was more fun.)

The sounds outside are too loud to be stopped by the walls in your room, and you jolt awake.

Ugh, and you were finally in deep sleep...

You check the time, and it's still too early to be out of bed.³ (With PoV stuff, even details like 'when you wake up in the middle of the night' are better left ambiguous.)

The sun hasn't even risen yet. But the commotion continues outside, forcing you to get up and investigate.

It's probably some wild animal messing with the trash, you think to yourself. You navigate through your place in the dark and out the door⁴ (Again, leaving 'what the place is' ambiguous so it could be a house, an apartment, etc.), too tired to worry about your own safety. You don't even bother to lock it behind you as you leave.

There's nobody outside, with only dim streetlights to illuminate the empty street. It seems you're the only one who bothers to investigate the noise, and it definitely sounds like it's coming from a metal trashcan. Or more precisely, from something messing with it, with no regard for the neighborhood's peace and quiet.

When you get close enough, you find some animal with its upper half inside of the metal bin⁵ (A lot of this was having fun with how I would look and act as a feral. Despite the narration following the PoV, I still wanted to make my sona's actions credible, even if the intentions are omitted. In this case, Sam is just digging through trash, looking for something interesting to play with.). It's too big to be a raccoon, or even a fox. You can only see its long, furry legs and tail sticking out from the cylinder as it continues to nose its contents.

You can't tell what species it is without looking at its face, but the feral might be a dog or a wolf. Its coat is quite unusual, green with white patterns at the back. The paws and the tip of its tail are also colorless, except for its bright green pawpads, and some light teal spots between body and limbs. An unusual coloration, for sure – you imagine that the tones don't offer the creature much in terms of camouflage, out in the wild...

As it continues to scavenge the trash can for food, and make a ruckus while at it, you slowly approach it without any sense of danger. It doesn't really give wolf vibes, so maybe it's just a weird breed of dog? If it's an escaped pet, it might be wearing a collar — hopefully, it'll have the owner's phone number engraved on a tag.

"Easy, boy..."

You call out in a whisper, instinctively assuming that the animal is a 'he'. The slim and fuzzy creature stops, hearing your groggy voice even while constantly bumping against the metal walls⁶ (Sam has great hearing thanks to his large maned wolf ears.), and pulls himself out from the can.

As you step back, you can see his front side when he turns on all fours towards you. The front paws are similar to the hind ones. Definitely canine, with a gradient that goes from white to green, and teal at the middle. Sadly, you can't get a good view of his face, as he's carrying a sizable object with his snout⁷ (Always fun to pretend the briefcase is covering my face. I also played with that concept in the story 'Part of the Show'.). Something rectangular, which he must've fished out of the trash. Your tired eyes have to adjust to the bad lighting in order to process the blurry image, but the defining features of the gray texture and the handle at the top clear up any confusion.

"Is that a...metal briefcase?" You ask yourself, and the strange dog simply tilts his head to the side⁸ (I never decided if Sam actually understood what the PoV spoke or not, despite being sapient. So I left that ambiguous, even for myself. Whatever the case, here he just acts curious about the PoV.).

The container hiding his head also rolls along, only letting you spot his large ears. They are too big for a dog, so his species can't be that, either. Maybe a maned wolf, then...? It'd certainly explain why he's got such long legs...! But they aren't from around here, you're pretty sure. He might be an exotic pet that has escaped, one without a collar. Maybe he was looking for food, and smelled something tasty inside of the briefcase⁹ (Normally I write the reasons after I decide what happens. In the case of PoV stories, it's easier since reasons don't have to necessarily follow or be consistent. For example, the narrator could be mistaken - like in this case.).

"It's okay, boy..." You slowly approach him with a cutesy voice, careful that he might get aggressive, drop the case, and bite you. Do maned wolves even get rabies?

Your bluff about him being domesticated seems right on the money, as he doesn't seem alarmed by you at all. He sits down, slowly wagging his tail like a huge brush as he eagerly awaits¹⁰ (Sam just acts like a silly dog who wants to play.). You can't see his eyes, but it definitely feels like he's staring at you¹¹ (Sam can see with his entire mimic face. In his case, I like to play with that eerie feeling you get when you're being observed, but without any eyes staring back at you (see the story 'Part of the Show' I mentioned earlier).) – even with the metal box in the way.

One of your hands moves to the back of his head, holding the base of his ear. His fur is so silky and warm! You can't help it but give it a few rubs. He seems to immediately like your scritches, thumping one of his legs against the floor and panting excitedly. He certainly sounds just like a dog, making you wonder if maned wolves also bark like them.

"Good boy..." You whisper to him, stopping the scritches to give his head a couple of pats¹² (You can pet the Sam! This was one of the cheeky images I really wanted to include. My stories have plenty of self-serving moments like this scattered around.).

He replies with a happy whine, and your hand brushes against the back of the briefcase. He still hasn't let go of his prized possession. Either that, or – you think to yourself – it may be stuck to his face... Poor thing, that must be it! Of course, domesticated or not, the best thing that you can do for the maned wolf is get his face free. That's simply the logical line of reasoning¹³ (Poking fun at the absurd line of reasoning. The reader is likely aware (either from seeing my sona or reading the tags) that the plan won't work, so there's a big chance they're in on the joke.).

You squat to his height. Your other hand approaches the friendly canine, and each one holds the aluminum briefcase by the edges. Then you grasp it and start pulling slowly. It's weird, the metal almost feels warm to the touch...

His head moves along with it, and he starts growling like a dog that doesn't want to let go of his toy¹⁴ (Sam growls because you're pulling on his face! But it's sturdy enough that it doesn't actually hurt him, it's just bothersome.). You mentally apologize for the temporary discomfort you might be causing, but the briefcase is stuck harder than you thought. If so, this unfortunate canine could've been starving for hours, or more...! His growls don't matter – it will be over soon, once you manage to get this blasted thing off.

You start pulling harder, but the briefcase simply won't budge! In turn, the maned wolf growls harder at you, and then...hisses at you? Isn't that more of a feline thing...?¹⁵ (Being a mimic, Sam communicates with sounds he's learned. Even as he speaks, he doesn't use his vocal chords! Which means he can communicate even with prey blocking his throat.) Regardless, the aluminum case doesn't seem to move an inch. Even though it feels stuck to the creature's face, it almost seems to bulge forward as he continues to hiss...

"...Wh-What?"

It's hard to tell under the awful streetlight, but for a moment, out of the corner of your eye, you swear that you just saw something, slithering in the middle of the maned wolf's face...

The slight distraction causes you to lose your balance, falling back and pulling the maned wolf on top of you. Lying flat against the hard sidewalk, his canine forepaws pin your chest down. He's not too heavy that it hurts, but you notice how he's about the same size as you. But something more urgent calls your attention. He still has that briefcase on his head, almost against your own face – and you can see an opening in the middle.

The metal deforms and bends, not unlike skin or some other organic tissue. A symmetrical slit begins to expand and part the rectangular surface into an upper and a lower half. A pair of jaws. It opens just enough to reveal a set of long and jagged teeth along the vertical direction – and a yellowish tongue that looks more like an octopus tentacle without its suckers. The maw twists into something like a smile, and the maned wolf wags his tail as the slobbery appendage drags over your face.¹⁶ (I hardly display my maw if I can help it. But here I want to give you some affectionate face licks, to show I'm just being playful - not realizing my actions will be misunderstood.)

Panic sets into you. Suddenly face to face with monstrous mandibles, your instincts tell you to fear for your life before those razor-sharp fangs can sink into your skin¹⁷ (His teeth are dull, so this is another case where the narration is purposefully wrong. I tried to lean heavily into the unwillingness of the PoV with these descriptions.). You squirm and struggle, trying to get out from underneath this 'maned wolf'.

He makes no effort to keep you down, and slips to one side while you roll to the other. The creature yelps before falling with his back against the trash can, knocking it over with a loud 'clang!'¹⁸ (A bit of a self-joke, since that's the sound I make when I (purposefully) bang my face against a hard surface. It's become a bit of a joke greeting, similar to kobolds yipping and dogs murring - meanwhile I go 'clang!'.) that rings in your ears. Adrenaline rushes through your bloodstream, and you quickly get up to run back to your door.

Maybe the beast wasn't trying to eat you. But that thought immediately gets shoved to the back of your mind, as you are still too frightened to think about whether you should've given it a second chance. Right now, your only priority is making your way home, and locking the door for safety.

Each step as you sprint feels like it's in slow-motion. You don't even pay attention to whether there's anyone else around the street to cry out to, and running seems like your best call of making it out of this hunt.

Finally, you're back at the entrance to your place. Relief washes over you... But suddenly, something grabs your body and constricts you like a lasso.¹⁹ (In my head-canon, Sam doesn't get angry at the PoV for pushing me, thinking that it was a mistake. But seeing them run away makes him think that the PoV is playing tag.) You lose your balance and fall forward.

"Oof...!"

Thankfully, the appendage coiling around your chest and arms cushions your fall. You can hear excited murrs behind you. It's clear that the creature gave chase after you, catching up before you could make it inside – and, quite literally, catching your fall with his tongue²⁰ (My tongue is very helpful, able to grab and lift heavy objects with ease.). It feels so slimy and fleshy, drooling over your constrained ribs. You struggle some more, but the tentacle's grip is almost like a vise's.

Then, you can feel warm slobber much further down your body. The tip of your feet are quickly engulfed by his maw – that terrifying, ravenous opening²¹ (Feral Sam thinks vore is just another kind of play! He thinks everyone likes being squished in his stomach, even if that's more of an exception than a rule.). You don't even look, squirming harder and trying to pull your legs free. He keeps his tongue around you, preventing you from getting up again. Your ankles brush against the inside of his maw, wet flesh against your skin. His mouth is as wide as the briefcase he has for a face. It has no issue squeezing your limbs towards his throat.

"H-Help..." Your voice comes out weak after the initial shock. Your only choice now is to hope a passerby can hear your pleas. "Someone! Please help–pmMFmf...!"

Before you even have the chance to shout, something gags you. It's the yellow tip of the creature's incredibly long tongue²² (...Although he can get too into his predatorial role. Even if you are willing, chances are he will still fall into his instincts and try to restrain you. His tongue definitely helps with that!), forcing itself between your jaws and pinning down your own tongue! Yuck... It tastes like saliva – but also citric? Not what you expected...

Then again, having a beast's tongue pry your lips open as it devours you alive was the last thing you'd expected when you left to check the noise outside your place.

His surprisingly versatile muscle does an unfortunately great job at keeping you quiet and still, helping the voracious animal consume you whole. ...Which does seem weird, and begs the question. If it wanted to devour you, why go to such lengths to immobilize you and eat you alive?

First of all, you're too big. There's no way it can swallow you whole...right?²³ (Same size prey are Sam's favorite, even if they are harder to devour. Though he will usually nom prey smaller than him.) Besides, with the daggers protruding from his monstrous gums, he could have shredded you to pieces. But even as you feel the pearly spires brushing against your lubricated calves while struggling, his tongue seems to do its best to guide you through the gap between them, leaving you unscathed.

Unable to do much, you look back at it. The sight of your feet disappearing between the two rows of fangs is terrifying – but you can feel them in his throat. When you struggle, you catch a glimpse of bulges moving in his neck. His back legs are straightened vertically, and his forepaws are low against the ground. This twisted maned wolf almost looks like a playful pup...and the tail wagging wildly behind him seems to confirm it. He seems to be eating you alive not just for food, but for fun.

Well, you can't say you're sharing in any of that fun. You thrash and grunt helplessly, yet you continue to gradually vanish within the lime green confines of the unnatural canine. The bulge in his neck slowly shifts down to his chest and belly, distending his slim abdomen with your own limbs. The dry, clean appearance of his furred midriff doesn't reflect the sensations around your feet – it's hot, slimy, and tight inside. He shouldn't be eating you... He can't be eating you! You aren't meant to be food!

Keeping you down on the ground, he slowly scoots closer, maneuvering his parted jaws around you to claim you. One of your arm slips free from his tongue's grip²⁴ (I wanted to give the PoV some agency to make the vore scene more interesting, in contrast to my previous, more passive attempts at PoV prey. It also elevates the unwillingness and the pred's cluelessness.), and you reach for the first thing you see – your doormat. You grab it and toss it against your assailant, but it misses and flops pathetically to the side.

The briefcase-faced creature is completely unfazed, simply fitting the last of your legs into his mouth with more gulps. He begins working up your hips with no signs of stopping, and your knees get forced through his cardiac sphincter, bending to fit more into his tight stomach. It's surprising (and disturbing) how much his can distend to fit a large prey, just like a snake.

His tongue seems too busy plugging your mouth, making sure that you aren't making any sounds that may alarm your neighbors. Though considering how no one bothered to investigate all the noise earlier, it seems unlikely to you that anyone would even respond to your calls for help.

Regardless, you still have a free hand, and you tap around the ground for anything else that you can grab onto or throw at him again. It's hard to move your eyes or focus, but you can't really find anything. Your time is running short. Unless you want to become maned wolf food, you need to think of something.

With his tongue being the only thing you can reach, you grab back the slick appendage that was just holding your arm fast. It's smooth and slippery, and not really a pleasant texture to have between your fingers. It's hard to keep your grip on it, but you pull on it and try to get it out from your mouth.

The beast only seems to enjoy the fight you're putting up. It starts making sharp, repeated noises – a hyena's laughter, perhaps...?²⁵ (Again, Sam isn't restricted to only the sounds a maned wolf would make - in fact, he's more likely to mimic a dog's bark than a maned wolf's one. (Seriously, have you heard a maned wolf's bark? It sounds like a bark in reverse!)) As he mimics yet again the sounds of a completely different animal, he keeps wolfing you down as quickly as before, or maybe even faster.

Your other arm, pinned against your ribs, sinks in against the squishy floor of his maw. The touch of tight walls and warm saliva reaches your fingertips. Your lower body has been crammed into his belly, squeezed as compactly as it can be. Despite your size, you fear that he may have just enough room to take in all of you.²⁶ (Sam could eat prey larger than him - if they are cooperative enough! This sentence is also a play on the story's title.)

With your upper body slipping down the back of his maw, he's forced to readjust the serpentine coil of his tongue. His entire pose shifts, craning his neck upwards and standing tall on all fours to lift your head off the ground. With gravity on his side, the constant tug from his throat is more potent. His greenish tongue moves up your body, wrapping itself around your face and slobbering you as it steals your flavor... All without its tip ever leaving your mouth.²⁷ (Sam can control each section of his tongue independently.)

You continue to pull on the probing muscle. Your chances of breaking free on your own are nearly null. No matter how stretched his stomach might already be, the beast likely won't be satisfied until the rest of you slides down the slope of his esophagus. Your last recourse is to call for help, one last time.

His jaws relax a bit after your shoulders squeeze into his gullet, and his swallows only get louder and closer to your ears. Your head is still smooshed by the tongue wrapped around it, slithering like a tentacle across your skin. Your whole body is drenched in his slobber by now. It's getting tighter around your arm, and thus harder to keep trying to yank his muscly appendage out.

But for a moment, its unforgiving strength wanes. You finally manage to yank the appendage and ungag yourself...! But you need a moment to sputter all of his drool from your mouth before you can speak. Once it's clear, you can yell.

"S-Somebody–!"

Unfortunately, it's too little too late. This single moment cut short by a snap of his jaws, his teeth clacking less than an inch away from your face. The frail light from the lamppost turns into complete darkness, and your gaze is confronted with the squelching, hungry reality of your situation.

With just a single gulp, you slip away from his maw entirely.

The peristaltic tunnel hugs the contours of your face even more greedily than his tongue did. It feels like being shoved into a stuffy bag – a wet, tight, groaning bag. You still want to shout for help, but a part of you knows full well that your words will fall on deaf ears. You lost, and the animal has claimed his quarry.

Compressed into the tightest ball that your flexibility allows, your upper half curls past the bend at the bottom of his gullet. It's not a loose fit, but at least the pressure doesn't hurt. The tautened wrinkles of his stomach massage your muscles, making sure that your body won't be sore from the stress that the walls inherently force onto you. That's one less worry for your stay in his organ, at least – though now your worries shift to how long that stay might be.

Given what stomachs normally excel at, your prospects are not great, admittedly. The walls, probably green-hued like his tongue, churn around you with careless abandon, likely treating you no different from a large clump of food. Despite that, the damp air is breathable, and the slime sluicing around you doesn't cause you any harm. Maybe this creature can't really digest you, or maybe it won't. You can only guess – and hope.²⁸ (Sam doesn't ever digest his prey, but the PoV doesn't know that. I'm exclusively a non-fatal vore writer, but I'll play around with mentions of digestion when it fits the narrative. In this case, it comes back to the prey's unwillingness - and any reader that has checked the tags beforehand, or is familiar with my writing, knows that no digestion will occur.)

Nevertheless, the creepy-looking canid starts walking – it's easy to tell when the chamber sloshes and sways with your weight. You can hear his happy heartbeat as he heads somewhere after his satiating meal. Thankfully, there isn't anything else in his stomach other than you and his sluices. His trashcan scavenging must have been a flop, you figure...²⁹ (He wasn't actually looking for food. Plus, my vision was for the vore to be clean, except for drool and slime to accentuate the possessiveness of the predator over his prey.) And you are (relatively) lucky to have been the only thing he has eaten tonight.

Suddenly, the movement stops, and you are flipped against your side. The whole place shifts as the ravenous animal lies down on his side, keeping his extremely bulged out stomach against a soft surface.³⁰ (As is revealed later, after voring the PoV, Sam walks through their half-open door and lies on their bed.)

You can hear when he starts purring like a cat, rumbling the walls around you in his pleased state.

As if all of this already isn't demeaning enough, something outside of his stomach starts pressing and rubbing the wall against you. It's too small and long to be one of his paws, and it makes a subtle 'shlick... shlick...' noise each time that it presses into his fur... Is he licking his own belly?³¹ (Also another self-indulgent image I wanted to include. I love the mix of possessiveness and affection when a pred licks their prey-filled belly.) Why would he do such a thing? Is he trying to comfort you...?

Well, it would certainly explain why you saw him wagging his tail playfully earlier – although you were more focused on escaping his metallic lips –, and why his body isn't interested in breaking you down like food. This is all simply dumb fun for him, at your expense. A twisted entertainment for a twisted being. At one point, you considered that you'd judged it too harshly... But then again, you did end up in the belly of the beast, and you don't really have a choice except to trust in his good intentions – if he really has any.

The licks seem to stop, and you figure that you might as well try talking to it. He may be feral, but with the artificial-looking face of his, he's not your usual feral. Perhaps he can understand language.

"H-Hey, uhh, boy..." You speak out, trying to avoid the gastric mucus from getting onto your mouth. "You maned wolf...briefcase...thingy. Can you hear me?"

His body shakes around you briefly, reverberating with a soft cat-like trill. That doesn't really say much about his sapience.

"Umm... Do you think you can let me out? Please...?"

Silence. You try to adjust your position, but the walls cradle you tightly. You ask him again, but you can only hear the idle sounds of your predator's body. Then, you finally hear something else in return: his gentle, cute snores. He fell asleep with you in his stomach...³² (Who can resist a good nap after a hefty meal...? Either way, Sam thinks his prey will also relax in his belly and enjoy a nice night's sleep inside of his stomach.)

Well, then. This isn't good. It could be worse – but matter of fact, it seems that you're stuck in this creature for now. Your limbs are compressed, so there isn't any way of struggling or escaping on your own. Stuck in a stomach, against your volition. You can only hope that his organ won't get active while he's unconscious. Other than that, there's nothing you can do. All that you can do is wait and see.

* * *³³ (This story was meant to have full-tour from the start, but it did end up feeling like two stories stitched together. I was considering breaking it into two shorter stories, but I feel that would defeat its purpose. Still, I personally prefer the first half over the second. Especially since I've never actually gone and written an actual full-tour scene before (only the beginning, or the end; never the FULL full tour).)

Despite the creature's peaceful slumber, and how tired you feel, you can't really catch any sleep. Forced into a fetal position, you are constantly disturbed by rolling wrinkles and their low groans. The air is heavy and sour, even though it's breathable. Slime keeps clinging to your skin, unable to be brushed off as it coats the entire chamber.

Time doesn't seem to move, and you can't tell if it's been minutes or hours. By now, you wish that you'd been asleep all along, that this had all been a nightmare you'll simply wake up from... But it was all blatantly real – the creature with an unprecedented appearance really had consumed you whole. If only you knew what it was, you could figure out how to escape its clutches. Maybe.³⁴ (Here's the biggest reason why I wanted to make the prey unwilling. By giving the PoV a motivation - escaping from Sam -, I figured that the second half could be more dynamic, giving them more to do than simply watch the full tour unfold itself around them. It was still a gamble, since it might not suit the reader's preferences, but I think this specific story wouldn't work quite as well if I had taken a more passive approach to the PoV.)

The walls turn and squish, constantly creating a vacuum between the flesh and your skin, making squelches when the gaps are filled with gastric sluices. It's a persistent suction along your trapped body. If this wasn't his literal stomach, you could mistake it for some weird massage, where his inactive acids served as some acrid lotion.

Suddenly, the walls stop and churn louder. The low sound isn't pleasant, especially from inside. It shakes your whole body with its rumble. The walls uncomfortably contract and smoosh you tighter. You fear that this is finally the moment when the creature's nefarious intentions get revealed, and his digestive system will make short work of you.³⁵ (As much as I wanted to use 'imagined imminent digestion' as a plot point, I ended up rewriting this specific part a lot. I didn't want to be too graphic in my descriptions, and alienate people who dislike digestion like myself.)

You feel a shift at the parts furthest from the stomach's entrance. Suddenly, there's some new space manifesting at the bottom, beside your butt. Your body is slowly eased into the opening by the muscles, and you can feel the heat and smoothness creeping up your skin³⁶ (Standard PoV ambiguity to broaden the definition of 'anthro'. No fur/scales/feathers, only skin. No paws/wings/talons/etc., only hand/feet. And no mentions of tails, either.).

Knowing that you aren't being digested is a huge relief but it doesn't change your situation. If anything, it only means you'll be sent even deeper into this feral's guts. After the stomach comes the intestines, of course – which doesn't give you much comfort.³⁷ (In my head, Sam's intention was to keep the prey in his stomach for the whole duration of their stay. Having them slip into his intestines is more of an accident.) Supposedly, this initial part of the long tubes should be even more efficient at breaking down food than the first chamber.³⁸ (This is something I think I've read about on vore Twitter, but I've never actually verified it myself, so I added it as a little nod to that random memory that might be incorrect. lol) But your experience so far tells you it won't be that simple, for better or worse.

More and more of these new walls, taut and smooth, replace the cushy folds from before.³⁹ (I haven't really done a lot of research into the gastrointestinal system for this story, so the descriptions might not be accurate. But since I was committed to the full tour part, I wanted to make each part different visually to show the progress throughout the story.)

Since your predator is about your size, there isn't much physical space in here for you. It feels less like you're actually slipping deeper, and more like his whole body is expanding and contracting, readjusting itself around you.

Like the rest of his anatomy so far, the snug spot is stretched way beyond an ordinary creature's capacity. The walls of the duodenum, much tighter and more uniform, are coated in that same pervasive slime from before. Overshadowed by the myriad sounds of his gastrointestinal system, you hear something akin to a purr. Your captor is surely having pleasant dreams with the large mass hidden within him, adding even more insult to injury.

After your head passes through the pyloric sphincter, there's thankfully no huge discomfort. Still, this place manages to be worse than the last. It's just as loud in here, the flesh has even less give, and the juices slathering your body are thicker.

Your only hope really seems to be waiting it out, making more progress slowly but surely. But how long is that going to take? ...How long has it already taken? What if the creature wakes up, and forces you to stay even longer?! That won't do! Since there's no help on the way, your best bet is to try and exit before he wakes up.

With nothing to lose, you try to squirm again. Unexpectedly, the walls clearly shift in turn. They are slippery enough, and your movements help the muscles' natural disposition to push chyme deeper in. It's still sending you the opposite way from the closest exit – but at least you manage to find a sliver of agency.

It's still a cramped and uncomfortable fit. More of the sluices slobber you up, not ruining your skin more than it already has been ruined, yet lubing it up in turn. Your squirms continue to dig a path, slightly making headway past the entrance of his intestines.

The tunnel groans, likely from being filled past its any reasonable limit with something that shouldn't be there – a living being, big and squirmy.⁴⁰ (I pictured that it wouldn't be the first time feral!Sam has passed a large prey through his body - which explains his actions after he wakes up, later on.)

The fact that you are even conscious to experience all of this is a tragic miracle.

With enough back and forth, the texture changes around your feet. Instead of smooth, it's bumpy and soft, like a bunch of squishy buds. Fidgeting like this is a tiring process, but you don't imagine yourself getting any rest as long as you're surrounded by the hostile creature. You slip into the small intestines, and instead of muscles lined with gooey mucus, there are many villi brushing against your limbs.

Like myriad tendrils, the walls brush and tickle your tightly compacted body, now nestled in the tightest part of the tract. There's a more noticeable peristalsis from the walls compared to the duodenum, intended to guide whatever ends up in here through the long and winding path of absorbent tissues. It's at this stage that his body finally agrees about how you don't belong here – and its autonomous movements draw you through the tortuously long journey that will follow.

You try to wriggle, but your mind and body are in in a numb haze. Less so from the environment – which is equally distant from amenable and intolerable –, and more from your lack of energy and sleep. Whatever vigor you can muster is spent fidgeting, to push yourself through seemingly unending flesh.

The slimy lubrication on your skin slowly rubs off on the villi, making your skin less sticky as it's recycled back into the body.⁴¹ (The second part of this story was much more wordy, with loose internal thoughts and repetitive descriptions. Basically, stuff that I added in a first pass, thinking they'd be cool additions. But most of them felt pointless and dragged down the pace of an already long section. Normally, when I edit, the total word count increases by about 5% in average, as I clarify certain passages and add missing bits. For this story, the word count during editing actually went down, from 6k to 5.9k - which is the first time that happened in writing for me.)

You are unable to fall asleep, no matter how much your physiology craves it. But the harsh environment forces your hand with its unsettling cacophony. Sore and tired, your muscles continue to thrash within his muscles, but the progress is literally palpable from the many protrusions lining the walls moving past your head.

From outside, it wouldn't seem like much has happened after you'd been consumed – just a person-sized bulge occasionally moving a few inches here and there⁴² (Wanted to play a bit with my mental image of a large prey forced through guts, without the bulges looking any different to an outside observer. Keeping the prey stuck in the same position for all of it was part of that objective, albeit a challenging limitation in itself.). But after many bends and twists, the walls relent a little, stretching further out as you approach the end of the small intestines. The worst leg of the journey is finally over...⁴³ (I did make the small intestines part short on purpose, even if it is technically the longest, since there's only so much you can describe without being too repetitive. Thankfully, there's no need for the story's length to reflect the actual passage of time - it's all for the sake of making the story interesting, after all.) Though other than a thinner coat of slime than before, and extreme exhaustion, there's not much to show for it.

Then, you hear a musical sound, muffled by flesh as it comes from outside. But you know this ringtone, it's the alarm going off on your phone. Has it been this long already...? At least, you have an idea of how many hours you've spent trapped in these detestable tunnels.

Still, how come you can hear your alarm? You thought you'd left your phone at home when you went out to check the noise. Unless... Oh! The dots finally connect in your fatigued head. The creature must've made his way into your room in order to sleep.

The briefcase-faced animal stretches on your mattress, and the intestine clenches you as he yawns. His most minute stirs cause everything to shift around. The alarm has clearly caused him to awaken, and without you to turn it off, you two might be listening to it on repeat for who knows how long.

Your surroundings move again, and then the phone goes silent. What?! Did he–? ...What Manner⁴⁴ (Yep, can't forget my cheeky secondary signature! I've tried to include the word 'manner' or variations of it in every story, and the ones featuring my sona are no exception. In order to avoid it from being too distracting, I make sure it only appears once. There have been times I forgot to add it to the text until I edited them, but I try to insert them in the initial writing so it doesn't feel too ham-fisted. But in this case, this one got moved around from a usage in the first half (specifically, when I mention Sam making cat noises in the trash can scene) to here. Partially because it felt more natural, and partially because I like using it when referring specifically to my sona or another of my OCs, since it's so fitting!) of beast even knows how to even disable an alarm?

"H-Hey!" You call out, realizing the creature may be sapient after all. "Can you let me out?"

The feral doesn't reply, except by slumping his weight onto you. It makes things harder and more flustering. He simultaneously pants like a dog and purrs like a cat, seemingly enjoying your mass lodged deep in his intestines.⁴⁵ (Feral or no, he does enjoy having the prey in his intestines. As he wakes up to find his prey deeper than before, he decides to enjoy himself with this nice morning surprise, not really minding that things didn't go to plan.)

Thankfully, the walls continue to gently squeeze you further out rather than in, and with the promise of freedom lurking so closely, you keep squirming against his tight flesh.

Finally, you feel your ankles brush against another sphincter. It's gotta be the bend leading to his large intestines! Unfortunately, it seems closed off, thanks to the tunnel being pinched by him lying on his belly. No matter how much you struggle, there's no way you can make any headway without his cooperation.

"I-I'm stuck...!" You whisper to yourself in frustration. "Please..."

As you bemoan, the creature seems to acknowledge this – with a gloating bird's chirp, no less. Everything shifts and sways as your predator turns over, no longer grinding his belly against the mattress. Instead, two objects squeeze the walls near the top. You imagine that the beast is kneading his own guts with his forepaws. It temporarily takes away some precious space, but dislodges you through bowels once more.⁴⁶ (Another instance of me not deciding on making Sam capable of understanding the PoV or not. At the very least, he can tell the prey is frustrated - and having pushed other prey through his whole body before, he realizes this and decides to help their 'new friend'.)

You wonder if your captor even understood your plea, but he appears to agree that you've overstayed your 'welcome'. You're in no position to deny this improbable aid, but eager to finally leave the winding intestines behind.

Finally, it's time to go spelunking into his large bowels, the last of the tunnels. His massage spills you into the wrinkly chamber in no time, earning you a quaking stream of playful growls. Of course, he seems to love having you in there... The beast continues to make joyful moans that sound so alien, from animals you don't recognize.⁴⁷ (I tried to be careful with the language, since this story isn't supposed to be sexual. Maybe it didn't come across too well in the final version (and I'd have to spend way too much time perfecting these descriptions), but I wanted to convey that Sam's gratification is solely from the vore itself, enjoying the hefty prey in his guts and what-not.)

Still, with newfound resolve, you prepare yourself for this final trial. It's much easier and quicker to make progress in this wide and linear section of his gastrointestinal system. The bigger folds roll around you as your curled body trudges through each corner. It definitely smells in here too, but your nose is too familiar with it to be bothered.

It's still hard to believe that you went through all of this. That you took a meal's route, forcefully balled-up this whole time; that you managed to use what little and precious resources were at disposal; and, most of all, that you survived⁴⁸ (Another instance where I'm not too happy with the language I finally settled with. But balancing the unwillingness and non-fatal aspects was hard enough, and I didn't want this story to never be released, so at one point I settled with 'good enough'.). But it's too early to celebrate.

Your toes brush against yet another sphincter, one with much thicker muscles than the others. As your weight is forced against it, the beast pants and heaves his belly, flipping you around. From the way your surroundings are inclined, he's likely getting into position to push you out.

He strains himself and pants, putting a lot of effort into passing you. NOW he cares about getting you out of his body. Still, beggars can't be choosers, and you fidget to try and push your toes through the anal barrier.

Finally, your feet slip out, and the creature lets out a soft whine. You can feel a slight draft – it's so cold compared to these innards –, but it's such a relief to finally move your toes and not brush against another one of his walls! But your extremities are still covered in slime, and it follows them to the outer world. It dreadfully dawns on you that the creature is still standing on your mattress.

"Not on the bed!" You shout out panickedly. "Not on the– A-Ack...!"

But it's too late, and the creature doesn't bother to readjust himself. He strains harder, forcing your face against the rectal wall while the bowel compresses you outward.⁴⁹ (Again, tried to avoid too many descriptions of anal bits, since there's no sexual component to it, simply the hostility of being forced all the way through a pred's guts.) More of your ankles and butt get freed, but his anus continues to grip you. Your upper half can barely wriggle in his clenching tunnel, meaning your freedom is subject to his pace.

These seconds feel like an eternity, slowly feeling your grimy body being deposited onto the soft bed that you'd just cleaned. In a few more moments, your bent legs fully slip out, and they slowly stretch once they find more space. Your knees and muscles feel so sore and weak. The abuse they had to endure finally catches up once they are allowed to move. But they are intact, like the rest of you – and frankly, you can't really ask for more right now.

Your chest feels lighter once it reaches the other side, and his pucker quickly releases your shoulders as well, growing less tight around the smaller girth of your neck. Only your head remains to be released. You can't wait to get some fresh air, but your arms feel too much like jelly to push against the creature's hinds and free yourself immediately.

One more squeeze from the feral is all that remains, and with the last of his straining, your head slumps onto the bed along with the enveloping slime. Still mostly curled up in a ball, you sputter the sluices coating your lips and the rest of your body.

The morning light strains your eyes, after getting used to the complete darkness of your captor's insides. The foul smell with the slight hint of lime is perceptible against the fresh air of your room. You shiver as his enveloping warmth quickly dissipates once exposed to the elements.⁵⁰ (A lot of the editing went into the second half, and a sizable chunk of it focused on the last part of the full tour. Editing in this case mostly consisted moving sentences around, cutting on some superficial descriptions, and reorganizing the break points of sentences into different paragraphs, clustering related stuff in tidy blocks. If that sounds tedious, it's because it is. But I think it's an important process. Not only to make sure your story is understandable on a full pass or has few typos, but that it's paced properly.)

You're finally free, but your body and mind are both too weak after the ordeal. The better part of tonight has been spent inside of this voracious creature, writhing about instead of getting some much needed rest. Far from a pleasant journey, you wish that you could erase it from your head – but for better or worse, you are alive and free from the beast's clutches.

But the fluffy perpetrator is still standing on the bed with you. Carefully avoiding any stains from getting to his fur, he jumps off and brings his metallic face close to yours. You can only stare, with anger and scorn, at the rectangular surface. He has no eyes, but this...thing⁵¹ (It's subtle, but I wanted to give the PoV a bit of an arc. After having to endure all of these events, they can't help but feel contempt for Sam - and that feeling is only strengthened by his alien appearance.) is clearly looking right back at you.

Then, the briefcase starts to split again, forcing you to realize that the feral still has razor-sharp teeth, a prehensile tongue, and an empty stomach – and you can barely move as he approaches.

"N-No," you beg hoarsely. "No more..."

With your spent energy, you can only muster to lift your fingers. The beast's maw follows them, watching the greenish ooze between the digits. Then, it happily licks your hand and purrs, replacing slime with saliva in a lacking attempting at cleaning them.

Satisfied with his little show of affection, his tongue retracts into his maw. He closes his jaws, hiding the terrifying features within. As if nothing had happened, he heads to the half-open door, tail wagging on his back, and leaps out into the world, leaving you with even more questions.⁵² (A huge hint into Sam's motivations, to complement the other ones peppered about the story! This pretty much confirms that Sam was only having fun, and he had no intention of harming you. But it does leave the reader with contradictory views of both Sam's actions vs. intentions (he wants to play, but he is a bit of a bully by forcing his prey to swallow them down), and the PoV's inner thoughts (the narration sides with them, but their misconceptions are constantly challenged). It's something I purposefully had in mind when writing this story, in order to add some depth and challenge both myself when writing and the reader when interpreting it.)

You simply stare blankly, fully aware that you're a filthy, aching, sorry mess that smells like canine guts. As the sun shines brightly outside, you collapse against the slimy pool on your bed, before dozing off for some extremely overdue sleep.⁵³ (Kind of an implicit joke that, whatever the PoV's alarm was for, they are gonna miss it. Maybe work or something? I did want to leave it ambiguous as well, and the fact that it's not explicitly mentioned plays into it. It also plays into the narration reflecting the PoV's internal monologue - they are too exhausted to even worry about that!)

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And that's that! I don't think this is something I'll do often, but who knows? It was fun to try my hand at meta-commentary, at least once. I hope it can be instructive for any potential writers.