Adrift in a Stomach

~ II ~

In a Waterfall of Alcohol

Tough had been knocked out of sleep due to the rocking of his prison, which thundered and quaked, disturbed by the giantess that encompassed it all. He rolled to the end of his raft and gripped its edge, before suffering a splash to the face as the sea rocked toward him.

"Gah!" Tough rolled back as the ship leaned the same, the waters entering an incline, with him on the descent. A torrent of stomach juices washed over the surface, burning the platform slightly, before the belly became balanced again. "Nghh... what the heck is she doing up there?"

Looking up to the ceiling revealed only the curved wall of flesh, a slice that once had been around the entrance, something that only opened when food and drink passed through. There was the sound of fabric sliding in the beyond—the colossus, no doubt, slipping a pair of underwear up her legs.

"Should I even care about what I have on underneath it all?" the voice of the goddess echoed through the chamber, wobbling the waters in tone alone. The waves steadied as the giantess became still—possibly checking herself out in a mirror. "I haven't been to the bar in ages. Much less bring someone home."

Tough crawled back on the raft to its post, leaning against it, looking around in subtle horror. Although the ocean of the stomach no longer scared him as much, it was due to not having to face its violent rage. Velvet didn't exercise often and, on her jogs, did so after only having drunk water.

But to have this place filled with booze, for it to nearly touch the ceiling of the sac, then for it all to be shaked and rocked as the girl was being...

Tough shook his head, but it was all the same, as the ride picked up again. Light slaps came from the shore in response to the woman's steps. Still, she had no clue how her every little action affected this place.

Although it was dark, the walls throbbed with her breath, which entered the place like a consistent breeze. There was also the thundering of the heart, which was soothing at its softest times—and scary at its most active. It thundered. Dulling the expanse of the frame to its sound.

And now, it seemed, that would be returning, along with several new fears.

Velvet admired herself in the mirror and twisted to show herself off, wearing a skirt with a tank top, which was cut just above her belly. She grinned in liking to show it off—how slender it was. Slowly, her hands reached down to feel its surface, the smoothness of her skin, the velvet to the little squish that was there.

She found her fingers tapping onto her belly. Little taps that she liked to imagine rang out within. Like chimes being rung. Velvet giggled to herself before leaving her apartment, taking an elevator down, and hailing a cab at the entrance of her place.

The ride was short, the club wasn't packed, and friends were already waiting for her at the door.

"My! Look at you! Wearing it all out!" Velvet smiled at the friends as they joined her at her sides, not ashamed of feeling down her sides with their hands. "We haven't seen you in a month! I hope that science project or whatever was worth it!" Their hands reached her stomach, the touch of stroking fingers causing her to laugh. "And you kept slender too! Most girls tend to put on a little when they don't have to worry about anyone noticing."

Velvet smiled as the dual hands roaming across her flat belly. She leaned back a bit, flexing her abs, showing that she was toned on top of it. "I've done a little more than just keeping the weight down." She then grinned. "Besides, how else was I going to get you girls to so easily feel me up in public?"

"Whoa, whoa! What the hell! C-C'mon now!" Tough couldn't stand on the raft as the waters had largely drained, and he tripped overboard, hearing and feeling a splash beneath him. The stomach gurgled around him as, all around, there was a continuous tapping on his enclosure. "She's out with friends—and they're doing this in public!?"

That didn't matter as the poor boy sat in the center of the chamber, at the center of the towering woman, who had devoured him without knowing, who piled on him all the chewed food and oceans of liquids, where he was forced to stay in the place where it all was digested.

He was nothing to her. Not even his own person. Barely a parasite that depended on what she did for aid. Velvet took him to work, to the mall and stores, to restaurants where business was talked over lunch. She was dressed in smoking attire, the unattainable kind of lady that was leagues above himself.

And he was inside the smoking thing, in a sac that now spanned a world, where he could never escape from the depths of her. It was as though she held him as a trophy, in the act of domination, to show how easily that midsection could hold him. It was so small, so thin, and yet, deep within, that's where he was.

The girl wore a tank top to show that off as well. To show the world her tight little tummy and how it held someone inside of it. None would ever know he was here. When they checked out that stomach, they had no clue the life it trapped. Or, were they shrunk the same, how many could come to be lost inside of here.

Should a city somehow shrink, ships would fill up here, and the girl would become a goddess, with her leftovers being a region's meal for weeks. All of this phased through the boy's mind as, in the wall in the beyond, the tapping came the hardest and quickest.

It was almost like they knew he was here.

How they tapped all over. The sound echoing within his home. Like little kids tapping on the glass to a pet's cage. They were interested in the pathetic thing, wanting to know how easily they lorded over him—almost as though he already was where he belonged.

Part of him feared that those fingers would come in. That they would pass through the stomach, the skin and the flesh, into this organ called a home. A finger would become his sky as it came to swipe him from the ground, taking him out into the open once more.

Only to be held at the level of all their stomachs, all their different colors, with the ladies grinning down at him from above. Then he would be brought above one's face, which would tilted back, their maw, opening, and their eyes, closing.

The boy would be sprinkled in, and she wouldn't even know when he had passed through her lips. Only that they would close, and that she would swallow, as the woman's mouth would be far too large for a speck to fall anywhere else.

That woman would be his next prison, at least for the next while, and he got to experience what life was like from her belly. Then time would pass, and the girl would get bored—and it would be another one's turn. This would keep on, and the freshest breath he would have would be from the lungs of another.

Soon the drumming on the stomach slowed, and the laughter of the giantesses pulled away, as they could not breach the wall that made his home. Soon motion resumed in the chamber, strides left and right, coming from hips far below and to the sides.

The rocking was calming, at least for the moment, as heels on the pavement echoed from below.

Velvet took a seat on the stool while scratching at her stomach, feeling more exposed than usual, a special feeling coming from that place. She wasn't sure why she became more aware of it lately. The feeling of how food was stored there—or the subtle sensation of liquid sloshing about. It wasn't something that occurred to her before. Now, however, she seemed fixated by all of the above.

Sitting on the stool, she leaned to the right, feeling a tickle starting pelt across the flooring of her tummy. Then she leaned to the right, feeling the same, as though a grain of rice or something had been knocked loose. Velvet became obsessed with the notion of that. A grain of rice that never quite got flushed away.

"What will you have, ma'am?"

She didn't have to look up from her stomach to answer. "How about... the cocktail of the hour?"

"Right away."

Velvet set hands on her tummy again. She pinched at what little flesh was there, wiggling the softness between her fingers... but not feeling content by that. Instead, she breathed in, sucking in her gut—feeling that tickle being squeezed.

Though, of course, that was a trick of the mind.

Tough ran away from one wall as splashes crashed from beneath his running feet, though he slowed as, ahead, the other wall compressed in from the darkness. He looked at both sides, seeing the walls close in, narrowing the chamber and raising the water level to his waist. Wading to the center, he waited, hearing the distant, slow heartbeat—starting to race.

Tough breathed in the fumes of the belly as the structure started to narrow upward. The heartbeat picked up, and the walls throbbed along with it, quicker and quicker, beating and splashing against the waves with greater intensity. If the whole of the place were to close, and the walls grabbed him—he doubted he would be able to take all the punches from the living mass.

The heartbeat race. The waters splashed. Waves rocked and the water rose. The walls neared ever closer.

And then, with a breath, the world relaxed. The walls pulled apart and returned to their natural shape, as the waters lowered back to Tough's ankles. The toils of the heartbeat softened in pitch, and its reverberations throughout the structure weakened as well. Slowly, all returned to normal—despite the close encounter with death.

"Were you holding your breath?"

Violet looked at the friends on either stool and shrugged. "It's been a while since I've counted how long I could hold my breath for." She then looked around, seeing if anyone caught her eye. None stayed in their reflection for long. "Give me a break. What else am I going to do while I wait for drinks to arrive."

"Dunno, talk to us?"

The other spoke up. "You really want to put her through something like that."

"Oh, shove off." The first giggled and glanced around as well. "Well, there's certainly enough young stuff here to have another kind of conversation with."

Violet smiled, inhaling and exhaling through her stomach, feeling how the tautness compressed then expanded. She was still set on rocking that little tickle. To enjoy it for as long as the little thing remained present. "You see... that's the thing. I need a drink, first, before I’m able to be social with others.."

"Is that the other reason you're holding your breath?"

"Maybe."

"Guh." Three sets of drinks had been set before the ladies, and each grabbed a glass, lifting them in unison. Clinking the rims together, one of the girls couldn't help but joke. "You might be a hot thing, but you're still a lab geek underneath it."

"We all can't be perfect. You're nice in personality, but—"

"Yeah yeah. All white teeth but no ass—lets down this thing already, and get the night started?"

The glasses clinked, and the drinks were brought to their respective lips, although the rim paused on pressing into only one pair. Velvet glanced into the red pond within the glass, knowing that, with her stomach sucked in like this, that tickling sensation would finally be licked away by this.

She thought about it for a moment but, in feeling the eyes of her friends upon her, tilted back her head, and let the stream of the drink wash in. Velvet swallowed it whole, the first one drowned to start the night. She gulped and gulped, tilting the drink up more, feeling its burn on her tongue, its smooth texture soothing down the muscles of her throat, and for the liquid herself to fill the stomach that she had left empty due to her late waking.

It was nice while it lasted.

Tough knew what was coming when the mouth in the heaven above had stopped speaking, and a distant waterfall echoed from beyond, the sound, growing and swirling in the maw that had sent him down here in the first place. The roaring splash of the drink carried downward with little perspirations reaching here first.

The tiny colt reached through the water as it sloshed away at his knees, catching sight of his raft against the wall of the chamber. When he was a couple feet away from it, after, the walls closed in against, clenching, demonstrating, in a flex, the muscles that composed it.

And the raft was pulled underneath it, pinned and locked, as the flesh filled over it.

Tough stumbled back a few steps before falling on his rump, in a full panic, stuck in the middle of the area. Light shone upon him suddenly. Looking up, the ceiling of the flesh opened, the slit expanding into a vault—revealing the upward passage of the throat without end.

He'd looked up in time to see the red waterfall coming down. The initial impact denoted like a bomb as the force swirled around the chamber before the drink could have a chance to. Tough was carried up with the weight of the force before slammed back into the turning whirlpool.

In the span of less than a second, he went from sitting in the open air, then, to being submerged in the depths of the alcohol. His mouth opened and drank some of it in, pleasantly burning him as he was whipped in circles.

Above, the stream splashed onto the body of the cocktail, raising it, as the belly kept tightened. Tough was still rolling and spinning as the power started to fade and, slowly, he slowed into his own motion. Soon, he was floating there, without a great force, but feeling a weight mount on his shoulders.

His eyes had to shut to avoid going blind from being bathed in violet booze. Once he felt himself steady, he kicked up, paddling upward as well. He ascended the height of the stomach while feeling the impression of the closed walls, which were closer together the higher up they were.

Soon, after a bit of swimming, and with aching lungs, the boy broke the surface, coughing and spitting—as the end of the stream drizzled on his head. It soaked his hair and seeped down his frame. He spat and tread the water in trying to recover himself.

Then, the stream ended, and the poor boy could finally wipe his eyes. They opened to him near the top of the chamber, far closer to the ceiling than he had ever been in his life. The water lightly splashed around him as the slightest shift could harness the seas. He saw the walls of the stomach were still closed together, making the belly into an alley.

Tough swam to one end and placed his hand on the flesh, feeling it slimy and throb against him. It was powerful, and far greater than him, but the act of being with it did him no harm—nor did it scare him as much. It was almost like dealing with nature. This beating wall was an unconscious bodily function of the girl.

The more in tune he could be with it, the better off he would be overall.

Though his hand felt from the clump of the wall to overhead, the ceiling that was just out of reach. He could see the slice in the flesh above, the slit that could open into a vault to the chamber of the vertical throat. He'd never been so close to it before.

So near possible escape.

In treading directly beneath it, the problem was that the slit expanded in a second—and a splash of the remaining cocktail smacked him. It knocked him underwater for a moment, where he floated as the stream assaulted into the body of liquid. He swam back up again, shaking his head, and looking around.

The stomach had filled to the ceiling, and in the little space and air that remained, the boy was forced to treat it like some sort of pool. Then, there was a pulling in the water, the soft drain of liquid twisting and twirling inward. The water level lowered, and as the surface dipped, there was more space for the boy to swim.

Velvet pulled the glass away from her lips with a mixture of confidence and disappointment, no longer feeling that tickle in her belly, but knowing it was wiped out with the tides. Maybe it was still floating around in there? Floating on the surface, not yet drained?

"You girls go ahead and order the next round," Velvet said as she stood from the stool, stumbling a bit, rocking the currents inside her belly. "I'm just going to go use the bathroom real quick."

One of them rolled their eyes and sight. "Already?"

"Hey, hey!" Velvet stuck out her tongue while turning away, tapping her index finger into the air. “I need to clear space in this belly first! Can't have a party inside of there otherwise."

She walked away while the two friends laughed.

"Yup."

"Total labgeek."

Tough found it harder to tread water when the woman moved as the waters rocked and splashed into him. Sometimes it was a light whack to the face; other instances, he was momtarierly buried by and drowned beneath the coming wave. Whirlpools cracked the surface to the stomps of the woman's foot.

Tough decided to sink into the booze for a moment, free-floating in the scarlet pond, hearing and feeling the distant twists of the stomach walls—how they stroked currents through the middle of the water. Part of him wanted to go lower, all the way down to the ground, to maybe pass to where the bulk of the liquid would be drained.

Usually, there are two sacks, one for drink, one for food, although the former doesn't always catch everything from going into the latter. There might be a chance that I would only be peed out. But the process, much less the stream and... fall. Then there's the surviving hitting the toilet, which would flush you into the sewers.

And you would die.

Either there—or on the way.

Tough allowed himself to go limp for a moment and to let the body of booze control him. Shifting to the rocking of the undercurrent, feeling the water vibrate as the stomach roared, the gurgling causing the water to bubble.

Then everything leaned forward into a decline as, outside, the giantess was leaning forward upon sitting. Tough broke the surface only to be swept underneath it, dragged through the red lake and smacked into the stomach lining. It was like breathing seaweed that spread across him, as though sucking him into it, where the flesh would expand over him, swallowing him against, into the center of the mass.

But his limbs wailed on the suckling walls, and he broke away, leaving the warm area to the usual coldness. He kicked upward and breached the top, gasping a breath, as the echoes of the cocktail slapping sounded.

Then, outside of the tender chamber, there was a loud click, the pulling of fabric, and the setting of a seat. Everything then plummeted as the pool of red shot into the ceiling—drowning tough against as gravity pinned him to the ceiling as well. Then there was an impact, which threw the water back down, with droplets raining afterward, and the boy breaking into the sea again.

This time, Tough spotted a clump of flesh, off to the side, that was thick enough to support him. Paddling from one arm to another, he reached the island of warmth and laid back on it. It pleasantly burned into his skin as the water rose only to his back.

And then, there was another sound, one that he often heard—but tried to block out.

Velvet laid her chin on her hand as she spread her legs, with panties strung from her ankles, and released some of the drink from her body. She looked around to see nothing of interest within the stall. However, that attention soon fell on herself, and of that grain of rice that could be inside.

What would be like to expel it from her? To drain away her inside by peeing, pulling it into the whirlpool, and shooting it out through nature's way? To know all of that was occurring inside of her as she sat on the toilet.

It teased her a bit. Enough to flex her belly, and to feel the stream become more concentrated.

Tough could barely sit on the clump of flesh as the walls pushed him forward, right to its edge, and he was forced to look down at the lowering red liquid. There was a whirlpool at its center, which swirled quickly at first but, as it spread, was slower—but more powerful.

Then the pressure of the stomach's wall was on his back, and Tough, looking away from the beating mass, glanced down to the opening below. What... if he were to fall? To be taken into that swirling water, sucked right into the middle of the force, and plopped through an organic tube? To be taken for a waterslide that was the female anatomy as the beautiful thing did nothing more but sit on a toilet seat.

Everything would go so quickly for her. Nothing even lasting a few moments but seconds. That he would be pulled through a waterslide of intensity, one that spanned hundreds of in size, and miles in length. To be pulled through such a ride, all to be shot out like nothing in the end, expelled from the woman that could be her own vertical waterpark.

Tough leaned forward and, closing his eyes, and lowering his shoulders, allowed himself to fall. He soared through the air as the thundering stream exited the opening in the sac with mist floated up from the violence. Soon, he would be a part of it, and this lovely woman would pee him out without ever knowing.

Without even checking the toilet. Without ever thinking that she peed another living thing out—or of her greatness of size to him. He was nothing but a flea to everyone and everything now. In a way, he had gotten lucky with being able to live within her stomach, where everything could handle, where this small sac could be his fleshy town for a little bit.

But as Tough struck the waters, he actually struck the ground, which sunk beneath his meager weight as the slit had closed. Little waters remained on the stomach's flooring as the bulk of it had been drained. The little guy sat up, looking around in the darkness, as the beating beast continued around him.

His moment of freedom, gone.

And his imprisonment, eternal.

"About time you got back!" The friends turned on their stools upon Velvet's return, each holding up a shot glass. One awaited her on the table, which she leaned in to grab, peering beyond its rim on pulling back. "We're onto shots now? What's the game? Who can get wasted before closing first?"

"Chicken?"

"Oh, it's on."

The three girls put shots together and up, as the rims clinked, and then set on their lips. There was no hesitation this time. She downed the stuff as it burned her throat, and the lava waxed the bottom of her belly. Velvet could feel the burn.

Tough had given up hope, yet he heard the barreling stream above, and his legs picked up on their own. He dashed away as, high above, the slit expanded, and down came the thickness of the drink. It blasted the ground like a cannon, splashing up and spreading out, coming down in a slice that licked at his ankles.

"Tch! W-What the hell!" Tough raced to the end of the stomach and, seeing the beating wall, stepped back at the living mass. It terrified him in how strong it pulsated, and how it toiled along with the heart. However, the rising water was wearing at his skin. "Shit! This stuff will burn me alive! My boat's busted for the moment—and it doesn't seem like she'll be eating much of anything tonight!"

"Gah!" Velvet gasped from the taste before delicately placing the drink back on the counter, but the bartender was already back, holding a thin and long and black tipped bottle. He dunk the end of the thing into each of their glasses, before leaving with a nod. "H-Hey! J-J-Just how many of these things are we good for?"

The other women laughed. "The whole bottle."

Each of them lowered to her hips, the two of them already tipsy. Their palms stroked at the slender belly as it clenched and became taut with abs. They pried into the trench caved between the islands of muscles, enjoying the slender feeling of the skin that coated him.

"What's the matter? Can't your tummy handle what we used to drink in college nights?"

"Maybe it's too small now! Can only hold a shot now."

"It can hold a lot more than a shot!"

"I wish." One of the girls hummed as they squeezed the stomach. "What I wouldn't give to get inside of this thing."

Velvet couldn't help but scoff in stepping back—but not before leaning forward to reach her drink. Swirling it between her fingers, she grinned at the two girls. "Just the two of you wait. If our research at work goes where we need it to go—the two of you might be able to bunk inside of here for free."

She then thrust her crotch forward and created a lean-to her belly, which flexed in response. Velvet then down her drink as she towered over the thing, imposing over that prison, knowing what she was sentencing to anything trapped inside of it. Soon the shot carried down.

Tough looked over his shoulder to see the second blast decimate the center of the stomach, wobbling the levels and raising it. The burning carried up to his knees, now, and this wouldn't be the kind of waters he could tread.

Nor would the girl be bringing any sort of end.

Rather Tough was forced to look to the pulsating wall and deal with it. Inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, he stepped forward, seeing the beating squishiness. Setting his hand on it, the clump of flesh enveloped it, holding it—almost like mutual contact.

Tough blushed and was frozen still as, far behind, another mac round of a shot penetrated the swamp. Everything tumbled within as another blast followed behind it. Yet Tough couldn't help but enjoy how the wall clenched and relaxed against his hand. Pulling it in, pushing it out, sucking it in again—holding it for a second—before releasing once more.

The tiny man walked to the giant pulsating wall of the girl and, even though she was unaware of him, and possibly could never be—this felt like their first contact. He leaned into the wall, letting his frame sink into it.

The wall swallowed him for a moment, trapping him within the clumps of undulating flesh, which were plump and smooth, sinking into him as they rubbed across. He was trapped inside it. Hugged by utter softness in the depths of the woman. Then it spat him out, covered in a different kind of drool.

But it warmed him from the long cold.

Tough felt the next barrage of shots streaming in, moments after the last, as the chamber started to fill. With a steadying breath, he threw himself into the wall, feeling its suctions suckled around him. Slowly, he started to crawl up, chuckling from the ticklish sensation.

"Oh... hehehe... I... haha... t-think something I drank is tickling me." Velvet laid a hand on her stomach and patted it, wanting to milk that iota of pleasure being caressed from deep inside of her. It seemed as though she had a sweet spot in there—and the rum was warming it just right. "All this talk about my tummy has me feelin'... different about it. M-Maybe, this is a new fascination or something?"

The other girls, although wobbling in their stools, glanced at each other. "I-Is there even a name for a fetish that has to deal with your own stomach." They looked up as though that would give them an answer. Then they stuck out their tongues and laughed. "Naaah!"

Velvet, however, was too focused on herself. With hands set over her belly, she patted it, like she was playing the drums. Her head happily bounced from side to side, coming to lean the same, in the bliss of this strange feeling.

Tough had nearly been knocked from the walls, the sudden tapping on his cage, the thunderous clap that rocked the setting—followed by another, then another, without an end in sight. Sometimes his wall would lean into a spread and, sometimes, it would compress into itself as the giantess leaned the other way.

No matter what, however, the man learned how to climb. He would throw his hand upward into the squish, letting it be swallowed and tucked into the undulating pocket, using the support to free his feet from the same prison. Then he would climb another foot, as the chamber rocked around him, as the rum splashed below him, as another stream poured in the background.

He climbed high enough to be safe, to lean back into the wall, where it suckled on him whole. It was here he could stay for the time being. Letting his body give out, the wall retained him and, as the stench of drunk booze composed the scene, the boy was finally able to close his eyes.