Adrift in a Stomach

by B_25

Rating: mature
Tags: Original Character, Porn, Fetish, Sex, Anthro, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 13146

Tough Luck is a stallion, shrunk and drowned in mashed potatoes, soon to be eaten by an unaware mare. Stranded in her stomach with little tools, this is how he makes a life out of it.

Tough Luck is a stallion, shrunk and drowned in mashed potatoes, soon to be eaten by an unaware mare. Stranded in her stomach with little tools, this is how he makes a life out of it.

Commission for Bronydog!

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Published 2021-01-15 05:30:02 UTC
Last updated 2021-07-08 02:42:09 UTC

Prologue | Swallowed and Stranded

The Unaware in Her Stomach (Tentative Title)
B_25 & Bronydog

In coming back to life, the stallion did not know how he had become small, submerged in the depths of mash potatoes. But he knew, in swimming through the heated, steamy, and creamy texture that if he did not surface in time.

That the mare would eat him whole.

Tough Luck had woken to the feeling of being baked and could barely twist within his strange cocoon. All was dim as the light was distilled through the surrounding texture. He could move the paste, shifting and spreading his arms and legs. Moving the paste as though it were snow.

There came thunderous steps in the distance that should not have been possible on the ears. Coming through, muffled, into the current mountain—before the sinking of a cushion from afar. None of this registered to the forefront of his mind. Other than the flick into a state for his survival.

Tough looked up and, although he was squeezed as though in a tunnel, he tore away at his ceiling and started to climb. The tanned whiteness was hot on his hands—nearly scolding—although the distant clinking of metal was far more fearsome.

The higher he climbed, the brighter the ceiling became, the filtered light, more potent in the meal. Tough tore and shovelled and wiggled upward, the packed steam, released, by his movements.

Until breaching the surface.

There was a splatter of mash at the top of the pile as the stallion burst into freedom, a need to pant from the exertion, hunched over in his new freedom. He took a moment to breathe. Looking out across the spread of the plate, to the haze of the table, a sprawl of wood, overseeing an eternity of room—a TV, so far away, so large as to be the sky itself.

And if that was there, then that meant, a couch had to be behind him.

Tough twisted and waded in the mesh before looking out to a view that should have been impossible. So large in a spread that the minuscule frame of his vision could barely take the mare in. Naked was she, that structure of woman, sitting back on the couch, naked, legs crouched, a muzzle up in the heavens.

Watching the television.

Tough had been too busy in being stunned by the beauty to notice her leaning forward. That drawbridge of her torso, as dark and blue as the sky becoming night, her twin orbs set above the cuff of her stomach.

It scared him. That thing. So large, so wide, vast and yet taut. Going on for miles, and somehow, always appearing toned. It looked small. Slender. Perhaps it was to those of normal size. Yet to him: it spanned a desert.

And he was to become its dessert.

Tough had been too busy staring at the belly to notice the gleam of silver overhead and, in looking up, the edge of the spoon had lowered into view. Like a floating pond of metal, it dove into the top of the mountain, a slice through its density, made with ease.

The poor stallion tried to scream but set himself to brace for contact. The spoon had loomed afar, level with him and, in its forward sweep, stole the land from underneath him. His stomach lurched as he gained in fastened acceleration with a flick that turned everything around.

Once the ride was over, the stallion was laid forward, needing to hug himself, barely possessing the will to look ahead. But a blink of an eye did so. Staring off into the sky, seeing the cliff of a chin. With a gulp, he looked up to the monolithic, busy face.

This girl sat with a leg over the other, leaned forward with the ponds of her eyes reflecting the television. So much unaware of that which she was about to put into her mouth. She exhaled. Gales of breath washed over the spoonful.

Tough was rocked back by the blast, the air warm, tinged with moisture, and the scent of berries. He would keep that way as those same lips, which devoured the whole of his vision, had parted to the spoon's thrust.

There was nothing to hold onto as the rest of the girl's face grew and disappeared from view, soon her mouth being all that was within frame, the dimness of that cavern, the tease of teeth and a serpent in the dark.

The space of a park inside a woman's maw.

The stallion held up his arms and screamed and none of those squeaks even reached the giantess's ears as the spoon had plunged into her mouth, the lips sealing on the spine of the tool and, when the metal pulled out—it was clean of everything.

Inside those cheeks and within the cavern of the mouth, all was dark and everything echoed, a constant backdrop of breathing, little sounds with a touch of a moan, it all permeated the scene. Tough rode the spoon in as it turned, the heap deposited onto the tongue, from top, to bottom, once again.

Failing first onto the sea of dim pink to the clattering of a mountain that piled on top of him. There was no moving here. Merely wagged aboard the tongue as it endured and enjoyed the heat and the taste of the mash. Moans rumbled off the wall, echoing off each other, a domination in sound to the one inside.

The weight lifted from the pack as the heaps were lilted from side to side, from one row of teeth to the other, the two laid inside of darkness. They couldn't be seen. But they were heard. The gnawing of the pearly columns and the splatter of a thinner sludge.

Tough laid forward at the front of the tongue, his body, draped, over the rises and falls of taste buds. With a cough and a shifting of his cheek on the coarse surface, he looked outward, over the tip of the tongue, across the backs of teeth, to the pressed lips that enclosed his prison.

Getting through them would mean his escape.

And chance at letting the mare, know, that he was there.

Tough crawled to the end of the tongue, a foot after the next, weak, but not yet defeated. He glanced around to the far off cheeks, the curved, thick walls, and the expanse of the fleshy, tiled ceiling above. All of this was someone else's mouth. That place, typically so small, now able to house a school.

Suddenly there was suction on the back of his legs. Tough glanced over his shoulder to see the heaps of mush, now in separate piles, being thrown into the darkness behind. An invisible force yanked on him as well. Enough to drag, several feet at a time, until his hand grabbed clumps of the tongue to hold on.

Stillness came.

Only after the gulp.

It was monstrous in sound and robust its reverberations around the cavern. How everything wobbled when the beast had swallowed. The wetness of it, the echoes of the food descending. Wet smacks of swollen muscles, beating into each other, clumping in carrying the meal down.

Tough waited a few seconds to be sure and started to crawl forward again at the sign of no trouble. Creeping and crawling and looking at the slice of light in the slit of those closed lips. Soon they opened, slowly, the pouring of light into the cave.

Blinding white to light his hope.

Until the blurriness cleared and, beyond those lips, floated the pool of wine; round and deep was the glass, which inched toward the lips, resting on the bottom's sprawl. The cup blocked all view, sealed sounds inside this place.

As the splashes of the torrent began.

Tough could barely hold on in watching the incoming tidal waves as each curved and crossed into the other, washing and filling the expanse, coming to rise well above him. He looked up as down came the splash. It ripped him from his hold on a few bumps, submerging him in the bottom of a coursing ocean.

The little stallion rolled in the liquid and was stolen with its current. He spread his arms and legs as bubbles rose from his snout in the pinkness. Righting him, he, at once, beat forward, trying to swim through the stream.

He didn't bother looking behind. Swallow after swallow, each deafening, as it quaked the place and rippled across the wine. He swam and swam as, behind him, ponds were flushed at the back of that staggering throat.

It was a dark place, only its outline teased, a hanging thing, much like a bell, with an edge that overlooked a vast abyss. The boy continued swimming, breaking through the liquid to a sudden fall. He pelted the base of the tongue, a couple of meters from the tip of the beast.

Tongue laid there, coughing, sputtering wine that'd gotten in his lungs. Everything in him burned and ached. There could be no staying here. To be swallowed would be it. No coming out from that. Getting through those lips, although dangerous, would allow him a place to find. Some crook where he could eat crumbs and find a better plan.

But being lost and imprisoned in the taut tummy of this woman would lead to zero chance of being found.

None of that seemed to matter, however, as the tongue rose and dipped. In the distance, the lips opened again, the glass, set, already. Flushes of torrents flooded into the maw, and the stallion, in laying forward, tried to rise.

Pushing his hands into the tongue, he struggled to rise, and, in the second next, the wall of the wave ripped him from that place. He floated in a swirl with the current, now weak, unable to move, watching the light for the last time.

Soon the torrent splashed at the back of the throat, swirling in its swallow into the tightness of the passage. Muscles reached out, undulating, from the walls. Darkness and hums were all there was. Sometimes a plushness would extend, pushing into him, squeezing, although the current slipped him through all grips.

After the long, long fall, without light, and booming in sounds, the stallion could finally hear the splashing of a waterfall. A large valve was opened below him, which he flooded through, coming into a vastness of a chamber.

The stallion pelted the top of a heap of mash, sliding down its front as though it were a snowy hill. He rolled all the way down, smacking the flooring of the flesh, feeling it sink and rise, if only a little, beneath his weight.

Tough slowed until he moved no more, eyes closed and body dead, laying there for the end. Yet it never came, and sleep never stole him. Instead, he kept like that. Hearing, all around him, a thumping heart. Fast and overwhelming. Echoing from everywhere, undulating the flooring to its beat.

There were a few groans in the struggle to regain himself. The permeating heartbeat matched, occasionally, by the windmills of air that collected in the distant lungs. Either up or down or somewhere further beyond. Wet squelches echoed from inside the chamber.

Mountains of food, sliding out from underneath itself, as all came to settle.

Tough finally found the will to sit up in the dark place, wetness covering him, a splashing throughout the zone. It was living, breathing, and shifting beneath him. Nothing could be seen but the impressions of the enormous matters around him.

He patted at his legs and, in feeling a bump, reached a hand into his pants. There was his phone. Sighs of relief were not held for long as the thumping of the place seemed to become larger and louder as the area seemed to become smaller.

Tough turned on his phone and the flash of light drew a cry from him. No longer would he be blind for the rest of his short life. Swiping down and enabling the flashlight, the torch came on, flashing the world around him.

And he nearly squealed at the view.

Afar from him was the curved, beating walls of the cavern, always billowing to a tempo. His light carried up to a ceiling many feet into the air. Tough flipped onto his knees only to hear a splashing. Looking down, he saw the low, yellow waters blanketing the space.

How they burned.

And how they boiled.

Gasps in realizing what that liquid was, the stallion shone the light ahead, to the distant objects like buildings. Clumps of mash and the vaults of sliced carrots loomed in his view. Severed, chewed, and being burned.

Tough stood and strode across the waters, which splashed outward in every stride of his legs, his skin tickled by the temperature. Part of him wanted to lie back, float in the warmth, and let the end be a good one.

Instead of that, however, he reached a pile of mash and, even falling into its surface, came to wiggle out from it. Tough ascended the mountain as though it were a snowy hill. Coming to reach the top, standing there, flashing the light around... to no other structure, shadowy in the distance, as tall as the one he was on.

He sighed before flashing the light up. So high the flashlight waned and was faint in touching the ceiling. Further way, high up above, there was a valve. Closed now. Although a swallow came from the heavens. Loud though muffled. Streams coursing down.

Sure enough. On the other heap several feet from here, the valve opened, and more wine poured into the clump. Slicing into it, severing it, as it merged with the rest of the waters. One it was done, the valve closed, and with it, the way out of here.

Tough couldn't help but collapse onto his knees, staying like that, knowing there was no escape. Even to get that thing to open, he would not only need to reach it but do so as matters were coming through it.

Then he would need to climb through an impossibly long throat composed of matters that's sole goal was to keep him down. Maybe, if the woman ever vomited, there could be a chance.

Though even that would be in a toilet bowl.

The smell finally got to him. The bile of being inside a sewer as toxic fume rose from the waters. He choked on in. Nearly driven to puke as well. He tried to breathe in the oxygen sucked into this place. For now, though, he would have to adjust to the atmosphere. of the smell here.

Because he was stuck. Inside this giantess that had no clue there was a little one inside of her. That her stomach, usually small, toned, and slender, was like a city to him. So vast and round as was the custom with ponies of this world.

She would have no idea he was here. Going throughout her day, clueless as to her little guest inside her. Eating foods and putting on clothes. Doing work and hanging out with friends. All the activities of life, and in being herself, no clue to the one living, surviving, within the tautness of her stomach.

There was a slap outside. Upon the expanse and through the density of the skin. That massive hand set to pet the place, rubbing it to how good the meal tasted. Little slap with a touch of a moan, ones elongated into something more, that vibrated throughout the lake and echoed from the stomach's walls.

Tough would be a prisoner of this place.

And slowly.

The waters started to rise.

Time had gone by in the darkness. Hours to days to weeks to an unfortunate month. The stallion had passed out on the top of a clump of mash, letting what happen, may, and waking on the stomach's flooring. It was dry. Everything drained through another valve—one he wouldn't survive.

He was left with his phone and the few odd tools in his pants. Outside, his captor did as she did, walking and striding, twisting and turning the chamber, every rise and drop of a step, bouncing him, the vibrations always consistent.

Tough found ways to live. Using his phone, he found that, due to the horn of the giantess, it intercepted his signal. However, her magical essence allowed for his phone to be charged. He used it for light and the few games installed on it.

And soon he became used to living in the stomach.

He'd endure the boredom of her walking and would listen to the muffled words of whatever she said, knowing when she was sitting as, around him, the cavern would bend a certain way. During such times, he'd wait below the overhead-valve, waiting, until water, wine, and food of any kind—came through.

One day, however, the girl had swallowed a bit of bone and, walking across it like it was the skeleton of a dinosaur, Tough found a section that could be ripped off. From this, he was able to fashion a knife and carved the rest of the instrument.

In the end, Enough carve, flatten, and smooth a platform, a raft, out of the thing. He'd use mash potatoes, striking light with his knife, as a gluing agent to the rest of his designs. When it came to the rise of the floods, he would be aboard, set adrift as the woman walked, enduring the splashes like a boat set out at sea.

It didn't take long to extend the platform, set to find a way to make himself a little house of bone. The goal was to create an enclosure to allow him to be asleep during a storm. Anything too big, however, would drive a violent response from his living surroundings.

And anything too small would be flushed away.

Tough currently laid back on the center of the raft, the woman that encompassed him, laid on her back, which changed the dynamic inside. The waters around were calm today. No splashes except the occasional one.

His eyes started to close, much like the one who had swallowed him, unaware, that she wasn't alone. Sharing the same places and the same foods, all conversations and actions, heard and felt. Nothing to be a secret.

It would be an exciting time indeed. A life together, until escape, survival, and hope could be found.

I | Getting Used to Her Mornings

~ I ~

Getting Used to Her Mornings

The first few nights in the depth of the stomach, where darkness and encroaching growls composed its length, had been the hardest for Tough Luck to find sleep. There was always the feeling of soon meeting his end. His body was on a struck nerve.

He'd laid back on his raft of bone, one with a curve as to become a special kind of boat, as the waters boiled at his sides. It reminded him of a boiling pot on the stove. Bubbles rising and popping and releasing fumes unable to be smelled. Beneath the murky waters, there was food, or its remains, the disintegration into mush.

And then nothing.

Laying back and looking up, he was always frozen, shocked into place—tense. One roll from him and he'd go over the edge. It'd be like drowning in lava. Sleep came harder with that fact tucked in his mind. Or how, if the woman were to flip in her sleep, that he'd have to endure the transition of gravity.

And Velvet's snores were worse of all.

Tough Luck couldn't sleep in the vast darkness of an unsteady wave pool. Nor could he handle the hammer on an anvil, echoing monstrously throughout a stadium, that was the distant, beating heart. Much less the vents of currents of air. And the loud, deafening, snores that thundered from outside his prison.

But Tough Luck soon made peace with this.

That first week was nothing but naps and the attempts at planning. Relying, after the swampy waters had drained, for what drop was to come from the overhead passage of the throat. Standing beneath that valley as heaps of mash, stacked, and chewed bits lazy submerged and slid down that mountain.

Tough would throw himself into that pile. Swimming deep to bite useful bits. Pieces of bones or other matters not easily as adjustable. Anything to ensure his survival here with the attempts to soon escape after enough thought had been given.

It took to the end of the week to finish but, after a while, the tiny was able to fix a special boat of bone for himself. He made it into a box shape, with its ceiling, wedged into the space, keeping locked unless pushed on by him.

It was enclosed darkness that kept the rest of the belly outside of it. Here. He was able to sleep. No fear of rolling out or the giantess doing the same out in her mighty world. Even if she were to flip back to her stomach, his cage would change, but the water pressure on the cover would keep it in place.

Sleeping was still tough. He was at sea each morning. Forced to be rocked on the waves and able to nap despite it. Soon he adjusted. Mornings would see his box stranded somewhere in the stomach, on its sides, with a few good kicks to get the cover off.

He would crawl out onto the squishy flesh, stretch, and look out to scavenge. All was dark, and the repeating sounds were fainter on his ears. The ground undulated beneath his feet—hardly noticeable now.

Tough wandered the chamber's vastness, walking over the curves that were like exploring the room's vastness as sometimes it rolled into turns that took little hills. There'd been smaller boxes he'd made. Whatever tools or whatnot needed to be saved.

His morning was to find anything leftover from the burning of the acid. Anything strong to survive a session with that, no doubt, would be of use to him. It gave him something to do. During one such search through food, he came across a long string of hair.

To him, it was as strong and thick as rope. Tough wrapped it like a belt around himself and would find various uses for it. In finding all his little boxes, one such thing was to slip the tip of the hair through the loops he'd fashioned on each.

From there, he would pull, adding another box once they were found, hauling them back to where his home had washed up for the night. He kept this practice up and evoked as he did so. Or, at least, until he could sleep better at night.

There's been shifting to the world and, to Tough Luck, that meant time to get up. Lazily he stirred as the world around him rocked. He rattled inside of his box, a series of terrific booms outside of it. The sounding of springs, muffled through the density of skin, as the giantess sat up on her bed.

Tough was rattled inside of his box in feeling everything start to rise. The box flipped, and he fell with a crash into its underside. Sliding out from the loose cover and onto the smooth skin, he laid there, fighting to get himself.

Springs roared their final blow as an intense swirling slashed inside Velvet's stomach. The woman must have stood up to a hundred feet ascended in a matter of seconds. Her walking was never an issue. But standing up and sitting down would always be like the take-off and landing of a plane.

The giantess's ascension was enough for him to clench his eyes and grit his teeth. Dealing with the horrible thunder of footsteps on creaking wood. This girl was his vessel, now, for being able to live in a world that was now a galaxy.

She must have walked with a twist as, in every step, the walls ahead would flex. The left side would reach right before relaxing, and then the right would do the same to the left. Tough reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. With hair tightly wrapped around his forehead, he set the phone there—enabling his light.

He could better see the curvature of the wall and how it twisted. Able to sense the world outside of it as the woman carried herself across it. His stomach growled and, a second later, the one around him did the same.

It was a roar of fans in the bleachers of a stadium. The violent vibration rocked the enclosure like the sea in a storm. The flesh beneath him wobbled enough to sway him in place. The whole site contracted, shrinking, in need for food.

"Nnnghmm..." Tough shook his head and wobbled onto his feet, barely able to hold himself, with scrawny legs and torso more bone than flesh. He glanced back as the white light flashed from the pink ground to the white of his capsule. "Must have gotten another day off. Lucky girl. Sure is nice being able to sleep.”

He walked around the structure and checked it for the usual. Seeing the burned chunks of bone and how its density was becoming thin. Its walls could survive another night or two in the green sea.

His glance to afar reread another ivory box. "Should have some leftover bone that I can smooth into its shielding. But this thing is breaking apart. Can't expect upkeep to keep it around for long." He bowed his head. "I'll have to find something better soon. Or a way to fashion the same thing."

Tough thought about it some more. "Able to make a little platform would be nice. Four square blocks with a building for each." He then wiped his face as, beyond the setting, the squeak of a door handle sounded. "Would be nice to be able to sleep lying down for once. Or even to sleep for longer than an hour. I won't be able to keep alive for long like that."

Outside the tautness of the stomach that twisted a little in every step of the woman, up and out to reveal her scale, there, was the giantess that wasn't even in the know that she was a giantess. Velvet Night left her bedroom as she always did—naked.

She'd gone to the bathroom to take care of business before freshening up, a trip to the kitchen, next, to cook some eggs, bacon, and peppers. Standing before the stove in the nude, she held a plastic spatula in her hand, pushing it down on the strips of meat.

Velvet couldn't help but moan and feel good about it. Rubbing her tight little tummy in circles as it always allured her. Feeling how smooth it was, the effort that went into the tightness, how, no matter what she ate—she could always feel it inside.

It evoked special feelings that were probably unique to her. But she loved the sensation of food. Would like back on her couch, reclined, to enjoy that feeling of being full. A little did a lot for her. She'd keep like that, looking over her bust to her belly, which she stroked, up and down, sometimes a couple of pats to nail the feeling right.

And, a little to her shame, a cute, little burp, that she would laugh away.

Right now, the heat of the stove was wafting to her tummy. Warming it. Heating it. Pricking her with lovely little feelings that evoked a flick from her hips. She licked her lips and set about cooking her meal.

Deep inside that warming stomach and in the middle of its terrain, the tiny stallion pulled a string of hair over his shoulder, setting his boxes beneath the holy valve. Once all was set, he fell back, sitting, earning his breath.

The surrounding flesh beat to an unending rhythm. The colossal clatter of pots soon came to a close as the screeching of a fork had pelted a plate. It didn't take long for the footsteps to resume or for the chamber to flip.

Tough Luck squeezed the swollen flesh of the ground in waiting for it. Everything dropped as the mare sat, and a feeling shot right up through his being. Enduring the intensity for a couple of seconds before the drop ended.

All was flat and still and calm.

There was the clatter of metal and the squeaking of wood—the hitching in breath to light shining it. Outside light didn't come often—and sunlight was but a dream. When the passage overhead opened, though, through the long corridor of pulsating flesh.

There. At the top and the end of the tunnel. There came light. Like the dim reflection it has on the water as it reached the back of the giantess's throat. Sounds were clear in these brief times. The outside, suddenly, not so far.

That it was a passage and a cave away to be able to leap out through her gigantic lips.

Those hopes were dashed in the sounds of chewing. Light sealing to the chomping of the heavens. Mush breaking with a back a backdrop of crunches. Crashing waves of torn food that slick echoes had passed through the passage.

And then came the swallow. Loud and ringing and deafening. Tough Luck knew the exact spot to sit as the gulping rebounded off the walls. Seconds later. The vault opened and expanded. He watched on to see the giant mesh of a blob splat onto the ground.

It spread as it lost its condensation from being ground into the muscles of the throat. Tough Luck stood before the sprawling log of chewed up bacon. The woman never really chewed her food. Got it enough that it could be swallowed.

Which he was thankful for now.

He walked over to the edge and end of the trip and, finding a section of it that had failed to be bitten, then ripped it from the rest. Holding it both hands and starting to chew. The image of an animal chewing up its food, a mother to its cub, all so it could eat it came to mind.

And Tough did not like the mental image of that.

Yet he ate and ate and even dove a hand into the eggs, the white, untouched bits that, while being small—were of normal size to him. Even the pepper stood tall in the chamber. The size of a turbine with a hollow middle he could pass through.

He went over to one of the monolithic objects and twisted his head, leaning in and taking a bite, preferring to eat this way. There wasn't much time as more slush dropped in behind. The groans and moans started to fill the place. After the slowing rain of food behind that the real storm would come in.

Tough went and grabbed one of his boxes and tipped it onto its side. Water poured from it and washed over the stomach's flooring. He turned back to the mush and, with a sigh, started to climb the hill. Over the broken bacon and the heap of mashed eggs.

Standing to the top to get the freshest source.

Soon enough, the swirls boomed above. The washing of a cavern as waves bounced from cheek to cheek in rushing to the throat. Thus began the orange waterfall. Tough squinted to be able to see the bend of it appearing above.

How the streams swirled like a tornado and crashed through the pipe. He planted his feet firmly in the mush with the regret that this wouldn't be the shower he'd been hoping for. Still. The box was high over his head as he waited to brunt the storm.

The first spray of the current spread out from the tight opening of the valve. Running water echoing non-stop as the current smacked into Tough. The bucket filled in an instant and, in bringing it down, he sealed it.

Seconds later it'd been torn away. His stomach clenched as the rage of waves was punching into him. He didn't breathe. Opened his mouth and swallowed. The box drifted out with the current where it'd be safe with his supply.

But soon the lock of much that rose to his ankles wasn't strong enough. More gulps came as the giantess planned to down the glass. Constant gulping and moaning as the waters never stopped pooling. The next splash was too great, and Tough, raising his arms to protect himself—was blasted back.

"Aughh!"

He flew back in the air as the waters crushed beneath him. Falling and splashing beneath the current, it pushed him out, and he swirled with it. Kicking out his limbs in fighting to break to the surface. Able to peek his head out for a breath, that was, until another crash of a waterfall erupted from the center of the stomach.

Tough Luck was thrown against the stomach's wall and was ground into it. His hands swiped at the slick surface for anything to hold. Bubbles burst from the corners of his mouth as he kicked from the lack of air. Soon he was able to break above, gasping, still caught in the whirlpool.

His eyes shrunk as he realized another function was happening early. The chamber rose with the orange liquid with a dip at its center—suction like a pulled cork in a bathtub. Fluid already draining into the small intestine.

And he would be pulled in, drowned, if he were to be caught.

Tough's body was whipped on the edges of the whirlpool as he fought at once to be tucked in. Reaching out his hands to the walls, he would bang into it, grab it, be pulled back before slammed into it again. He coughed and cried. Straining himself to get that wall.

As above and beyond, that lovely girl, was simply enjoying a glass of juice. She had no idea what was going on in that naked stomach of hers. The colossal scale of the whirlpool as it drained inward. The tiny inside of her, barely able to keep afloat, threatened to be pulled inside into another unconscious bodily function of hers.

Tough Luck was then swept and bashed into a wall. He scrambled up it at once, able, on burning muscle, to pull himself into the little cot of flesh. Lying back on it and catching his breath, he watched on to the strange effect.

The pool continued to swirl inward as the levels lowered. Golden light shone down from the center of the ceiling. Yawns echoed around the colossus. No doubt looking outside during a yawn. The place was awash in heavenly light for but a moment.

The pink of the beating flesh. Distant bobs of white that were his boxes and home in being lifted by the current. Soon the plug returned, slowly closing, as the waters were slower in its power. Everything started to settle.

And Tough could hop down from his safety.

Wet splashes met his feet as he touched down. He fell to his knees in a collapse, looking out to the beyond, where that golden, holy light, was still shining. Fresh air even wafted in for a second as the mare breathed it in. The feeling of being outside. The touch of a fresh breeze. How majestic it all felt.

Until the girl closed her mouth and got back to work.

Tough was still on his knees when all went dark again. Sometimes, the outside's light was strong enough on her tummy to illuminate the walls a little bit. His flashlight was still on, that waterproof case worth the purchase. It flashed an inch in a mile of darkness.

He sighed and lowered his cupped hands to the juice. Lifting it to his lips for a drink, he noticed all the bits of chewed food in it. With a clenched eye, he dropped it, forced to drink from his box for the moment.

Everything ascended as rumbles rocked from outside. Footsteps to the twisting of the prison. Tough slumped as that was breakfast out of the way. No doubt the girl was off to her shower.

And that could go various ways.

The bathroom was expected from an elite hotel with golden tiles for the floor and a ceiling as high as the sky. Velvet settled her hands on the marble of the sink and peered into the glass. There'd been a phone call last night. The one that couldn't be knocked from her mind.

"We'd like to bring back the serum."

Her eyes closed and head shook and stomach clenched. Their previous test subject had left the lab after a week of no results. She'd given him her address and even a code to get in an absolute emergency. Yet he'd gone missing.

Runaway? Kidnapped? Killed? Lost?

Or...

Shrunk down, somewhere, lost.

Or already dead.

Velvet weirdly rubbed her stomach that she had. Causing her to feel better in being caressed—even if it was her hands. She couldn't help but feel different there. Little touches and pangs. Meaning to see a doctor about it.

But never getting around to it.

"I still need to give them an answer."

There'd be no point in doing that now. The best time to think was when one's hair was wet. She turned to the cubical glass and opened it, her feet gracing the smoothness of the shower's tiles. The door clicked behind her.

Tough Luck sat near the front of the darkened chamber, staring at the wall ahead, how it curved a little bit like a sheet of a movie screen. Squeaks roared from beyond. The unleashing of a stream as torrents of water crashed afar.

And then he could see it, feel it, and be immersed in the shower. The pelting of rain on the stomach to the continuous plit-plat on her belly. Skin being assaulted by a pleasant storm as the woman who encompassed him started to wash.

The sounds were dull in the abyss. Even the beating heart and the expanding lungs were nothing to the rains. It was his one time for peace. To be serene. Hearing how the water pelted the belly and ran down it. The heat that he could feel.

He walked up and laid a hand on the wall. Slime and squish impressing underneath his push. It was a different kind of heat, of warmth, the touch of steam that could be made out through the sheer density of the belly. His eyes closed in wondering how it would feel.

Would it be so hard for the woman to open her mouth? To drink a little bit of that warm water? When was the last time he had a wash? She drank water, sometimes, that was cool. But never would she drink a hot tub or take a shower for him.

The hottest water came around here was when it was able to boil him alive.

It was unlikely her mouth would open to swallow the waters.

And yet...

Tough Luck had been jostled out of his trance as the woman stepped back, with a light appearing behind, a cause to turn to the ceiling of his chamber. Breakfast had been swept and meshed around the dome with the center relativity clear.

He strode toward the dim, white light, that shone there. Getting there in time to feel a waft of steam flush from the opening and spread in the chamber. Then came the crashing of a seal and the mighty gulping that he was used to.

Seconds passed before waters swirled down the passages and struck the flooring of the belly. Tough's eyes widened at once as he already stored his shirt into one of those boxes. He ran forward, his feet wading through the thin, oncoming waves. His footsteps flashed the warmth of fresh, clean water.

It rose higher the closer he came as each blast of a gulp was shot outward in a circle. She seemed to be drinking the water in little bits for whatever reason. Tough couldn't care for it as he stood as though on a beach. Feeling the steam that tickled his skin and the running waters that washed the filth from him.

He reached the opening and stood in the light while looking up, in the bend of the ceiling, to the open valve revealing the throat. Water high above, coursing in a swirl, flushing downward. He closed his eyes and awaited it.

Then it came in a crash. Enough that his planted feet nearly swept him with the storm. But the douse of water consumed him. Washing down him and cleaning him, and warming him. All the acquired muck, gone, with a feeling of freshness as his hair was finally washed. In the seconds until the next crash, he stood there, breathing, with warm water dripping down him.

The currents of the water echoed in the zone and thinned out in its furthest reach. He allowed himself to be swept with the next crash like the sound of waves washing on a beach. He laid on his back, floating, as the force took him back. Relaxing as it pushed out before pulling in.

The water rose enough that, so long as he was on his back, he could be submerged. The woman soon stopped drinking the water. The passage cleared, and the light above was sealed away by the closing of her mouth. He started into the opening until even the valve closed.

And all was dark again.

But Tough didn't mind this time. Riding the waves and lying back. Allowing the warmed waters to claim most of his body. He breathed. Glad to be alive. Able to properly think and feel again. One was not the same after coming out of a shower.

Around him, in the walls that composed the woman, outside of those, the lady continued to wash. Turning around and creating a swirl inside of her. Rubbing at her back and turning back around. Stroking hands down her stomach, the dull thuds, pelting the chamber, which carried beneath the water.

Tough took a moment to think about how high he was from the ground. Of course he was in the stomach of the giantess but, to him, that was still miles above the ground. Her long legs sprawled down to the ground, the tiles of the shower.

This stomach was more like an apartment many feet from the ground. An organic one, at least. He rocked in the waves in hearing the heavy splashes of water beyond. Muffled but no doubt from the mare washing her hair.

The stray waters quickly washed from her head and down to her chest and over the terrain of her stomach. Hearing beyond the sheet of the walls, the loofah that scrubbed all around. Monolithic and scary.

He'd have to fear such things in the outside world. Were he on the outside of this stomach, then those hands would have caught and crushed him. Or he would have been washed off by the waters, killed by the fall, or drowned in the drainage.

Yet he didn't have to fear those extensive or terrific things. Nothing in this world could get to him while he was inside of here. Sure. He had to deal with the stomach acidic and the woman's sporadic actions that affected him in here.

But at least he could scale the stomach. It was large and the size of a park to him. But he could travel that distance and be safe within it. Were he to be on the woman's nightstand... needing to get down... or even escape past her bedroom.

It would be days of a journey that would only lead him to the living room. Granted, if he could even find a way down and across and not get stuck in a crack or lost in a forest of fibres of a carpet. Of all the places he could have wound up, where he could traverse the world, be safe from it, and be able to survive.

This was hardly the worst outcome.

So he allowed himself this moment of peace as the next squeak was the end of the waters. Dripping of the falls still loomed afar. Yet it was starting to quiet. Footsteps sounded, and the chamber rose and dropped from side to side. Then came a breath. The opening of a mouth.

The buzzing of a toothbrush sounded from heaven with the power of a windmill. Crashing into the stone beams of her teeth with the swirl of a tornado. The waters even buzzed from the effect, a series of ripples across the pond. But there hardly was any danger.

It was strange to be hearing it, though. In this pond in her stomach as, above, the woman brushed the teeth in her mouth. Working at it as she walked. Rise and a drop. The rocking of water all around. By the time the ride reached its end, she was spitting, a violent echo that carried now, bouncing off her stomach's walls.

Velvet washed her mouth and spat and patted it with a towel. Her mind was still not at ease, and she had even drank water to warm the inside of her. It helped—but didn't do much. She'd have to go back to the lab today and make a call.

And be able to make the last call at the bar after that.

She left the bathroom dressed in a towel and patted herself through the hall. In reaching her bedroom, finally, was the time to get changed. Nothing special. Long skirt and white undies. Tucked in a dress-shirt with maybe a blazer over it.

Sighing, she got dressed.

Tough frowned as his back touched the stomach's flooring, the light pool, already drained into its valve. He laid back in his moment of defeat. Looking up to the breathing of the walls. Listening to the movements and booms outside his prison.

Light didn't shine inside her stomach. Yet he could always feel when her clothes went on. He felt better when she was naked, as though there was less separating him from the outside world. It was already impossible for him to be seen. But maybe. If someone looked at her stomach. Pressed her ear against it someday. Possibly... his yells would be enough.

But when she put on her shirt, all became darker, tighter, and more lonely. Hearing the fabric shuffle outside to the sounds of the buttons being pushed through. Or how her shirt became tucked into whatever she was wearing.

None looking at this girl would realize the truth about her. Even those who thought about what she looked like underneath that outfit wouldn't know either. In looking at this woman, who in all the world would think, for a second, what the inside of her stomach would look like?

Rather they would see that cute and nude little thing. Not think much about her taut belly. Closest luck he would have was a doctor doing an ultrasound with an abnormal finding. Maybe she would put two and two together on that.

Or maybe she would take some pills that would kill him.

And not only that.

It meant that she would have to get knocked up by some guy before that would happen. That he would have to be trapped inside this titan as she laid on her back, rocked with her, as some random guy thrust inside of her. Tough wasn't sure if he could handle something like that.

But it wasn't like he had much choice either.

Instead, he stood up and enjoyed his feeling of cleanness for the moment. The mare had gotten dressed, and now, it was time for him to do the same. Repairs needed to be done as well as the thinking of inventions that could help or save him in here.

That and, at the very least, he could listen to how her day at work would be.

II | In a Waterfall of Alcohol

~ 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.