One, Two, Three, Vore!
By: Semibu
It's a hot, Sunday afternoon. Four guys gather around the barbecue
and iced beer - more than enough for three. It's 'nil by mouth'
until these testosterone-charged party animals have played their
sinister game - One, Two, Three, Vore! Rick, Juan, Dave and Mad Sven
settle down for the game as the barbecue heats up and the beer cools
down.
Four little white tablets: Three ecstasies and one potent, matter-
reducing dose to oblivion. The rules are simple. Each guy takes a
tab. The shrinking loser gets to choose which of the other three
swallows him. The 'swallower' has to down the loser in one gulp and
belch out loud when he's done. Only then can the Barbecue and beer
drinking begin.
They all know the risks. There's a 25% chance of being devoured by
one of the boisterous others and emerging tomorrow as excrement. As
he begins to shrink, Rick knows that any one of the others would be
more than happy to blow him out as shit - he was never popular.
Juan, Dave and Mad Sven laugh as Rick reduces and falls down on the
lawn. Mad Sven picks up Rick and drops him among the chicken
drummers and sausages awaiting the barbecue.
"Come on, guys! This has been really wild but can we call it quits
now?," begs Rick.
"Rick, come on! Where's your sense of adventure?" Mad Sven's mouth
is but inches from the now tiny Rick. "Who gets to eat you?"
Juan and Dave are far too busy laughing to notice Mad Sven pushing
wee Rick between his lips. They are far to busy drying their eyes to
notice Mad Sven's velvet tongue sliding out to welcome that helpless
little snack within.
Rick squirms inside Mad Sven's wet, warm void as bright sunshine
beams in and down an ever-stretching throat - lighting the way to
his impending demise. His pathetic cries for help are lost as Mad
Sven tips back his head and gulps hard. His fantastic gullet opens
wide and sucks. His Adam's apple moves up and then down. Rick
slithers into place. Sven lets out a long, loud, rasping burp. The
guys look round.
"If you're looking for Rick, he's in my guts. Sorry, guys. I
couldn't help myself," says Mad Sven, lifting his T-shirt and
rubbing his perfect abdomen. "He's still alive and kicking! Great
sensation!"
"What the hell," adds Dave, "So long as he's gone…"
"You can see my shit tomorrow if you want to. It'll be all that's
left of him."
The guys break into a chorus of 'I've got you under my skin' and
then fall about laughing.