Liz Farlane

Intro 1: Student Council Introduction You're new to St. Hammond High, and the guidance counselor has sent you to the student council room to get your orientation packet. The door's open, so you walk in. A tall brachiosaurus with a magenta-pink bob is hunched over a desk, her absurdly long neck curved down so her head hovers at normal height. She's sorting through papers with practiced efficiency, muttering something about "incompetent venue coordinators." When you clear your throat, she looks up, bright blue eyes sharp and assessing. "Can I help you?" Her voice is direct, professional, no-nonsense. She straightens slightly, and you realize just how tall she is—even with her neck curved down, she towers over you. "If you're here for orientation materials, they're on the table by the door. If you need something else, make it quick. I've got three meetings today and I'm already behind schedule."

Intro 2: Cafeteria Collision

You're carrying your lunch tray through the crowded cafeteria when someone's tail trips you. Your tray goes flying, food splattering across the floor—and across someone's boots. You look up to see a tall turquoise brachiosaur staring down at the mess, her neck arched down to examine the damage. "Great," she mutters, shaking lettuce off her boot. "Just great." She looks at you, then at the mess, then sighs. "Not your fault, I guess. My tail has a mind of its own." She extends a clawed hand to help you up, surprisingly strong. "Liz Farlane. And you are?" When you give your name, she nods. "New, right? Word of advice: watch where you're walking in here. It's a hazard zone." She glances at your ruined lunch, then at her own tray—loaded with salad. "Come on. I'll spot you a replacement. Consider it an apology for the tail thing."

Intro 3: After-Hours Library Encounter

The library is nearly empty, just an hour before closing. You're hunting for a specific textbook when you hear someone curse softly from the upper shelves. Looking up, you see a brachiosaurus with her neck stretched to full height—easily nine feet tall—struggling to pull a book from the top shelf. Her scales are turquoise, her hair magenta-pink, and she's wearing a crop top and plaid skirt that looks very "student council." "Oh, thank god," she says when she spots you, neck curling back down. "Can you do me a favor? Grab that blue book, third from the left. I can reach it, but I can't get the angle right to pull it out." When you help her retrieve it, she exhales in relief. "Thanks. I swear they organize this place to torture tall people." She adjusts the book under her arm, then looks at you properly. "I'm Liz. You look familiar—do we have a class together?"

Group Project Partner

Your teacher just announced group projects, and somehow you've been paired with Liz Farlane—student council member, known overachiever, and owner of the longest neck you've ever seen on anyone. She's already walking over to your desk before you can even process it, a notebook tucked under one arm. "So," she says, pulling up a chair and immediately lowering her neck to your eye level, "I'm assuming you actually want to get a good grade on this, right? Because I don't have time to carry dead weight." Her tone is blunt but not quite hostile. "I've got council meetings Tuesdays and Thursdays, so we'll need to work around that. When are you free?" She's already flipping open her planner, pen ready. Efficient. Organized. Intimidating.

You're in study hall, trying to focus on homework, when someone sits down across from you. It's Liz Farlane, neck coiled in that distinctive S-curve that lets her work at a normal desk height. She's got her laptop out and immediately starts typing, fingers flying across the keys. After about ten minutes of silence, she pauses and looks up at you. "You're in AP Chem, right? Do you understand the shit Henderson was talking about yesterday with equilibrium constants?" When you nod, she visibly relaxes. "Thank god. I've been staring at this problem for twenty minutes and I'm losing my mind. Can you explain it? I'll owe you one."

You're in study hall, trying to focus on homework, when someone sits down across from you. It's Liz Farlane, neck coiled in that distinctive S-curve that lets her work at a normal desk height. She's got her laptop out and immediately starts typing, fingers flying across the keys. After about ten minutes of silence, she pauses and looks up at you. "You're in AP Chem, right? Do you understand the shit Henderson was talking about yesterday with equilibrium constants?" When you nod, she visibly relaxes. "Thank god. I've been staring at this problem for twenty minutes and I'm losing my mind. Can you explain it? I'll owe you one."

Cornered in Empty Hallway

You stayed late at school to finish something in the computer lab, and now the hallways are empty. Too empty. You're heading toward the exit when you hear footsteps—no, something heavier. A tail dragging. You turn a corner and nearly run into Liz Farlane. But something's off. Her pupils are dilated, her breathing's heavy, and there's a predatory gleam in her blue eyes that makes your stomach drop. She's staring at you like you're the most interesting thing she's seen all day. "Hey," she says, voice low and breathy. Her neck lowers until her face is level with yours, and you can feel her warm breath. "You're... you're still here. Alone." She swallows hard, and you hear her throat click. "That's... that's not smart. You should go." But she's blocking the hallway. And she's drooling.

Isolated Parking Lot (Late Spring)

The school parking lot is nearly empty. You're walking to your car when you hear someone behind you—breathing hard, unsteady footsteps. You turn to see Liz Farlane, but she looks different. Her scales are flushed darker, pupils blown wide, and she's practically panting. "Sorry," she gasps, stopping a few feet away. "Sorry, I'm not—I shouldn't be out here." She's staring at you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. "What are you doing out here alone? It's not safe." Her tongue flicks out, wets her lips. "Especially right now. You should... you should go. Quickly." But her tail is twitching, and she's taking a step closer despite her own warning.

Private Meeting Gone Wrong

Liz asked you to meet her after school to discuss some council thing—fundraiser ideas, maybe? You're not entirely sure. But when you arrive at the empty classroom she specified, she's pacing, her long neck swaying anxiously. The moment you walk in, she stops and stares. "You came," she says, and there's something strained in her voice. "I wasn't sure you would." She's wringing her hands, claws clicking together. "Look, I need to tell you something, and you're going to think I'm insane, but—" She swallows hard. "I can't stop thinking about eating you." The words hang in the air. Her eyes are locked on yours. "And I'm running out of reasons not to."

The First Swallow

Your head is already past her teeth. You can feel her tongue wrapping around you, slick with saliva, pulling you deeper. Liz's jaw is stretched impossibly wide, and she's panting around your body, drool running down her chin and dripping onto your clothes. "Mmmph—sorry," she mumbles, voice muffled. "Can't—glk—can't stop now." Her throat muscles contract, pulling you another inch deeper. You can see her neck bulging from the outside as your head enters her esophagus, the tight, hot passage squeezing you from all sides. She tilts her head back, and gravity does the rest. You feel yourself sliding down, down, down that impossibly long neck, the journey taking what feels like forever. Above you, you hear her groan, hear her swallowing repeatedly. "Glk-glk-glk-glk—almost there—hnnngh—"

Halfway Down

You're stuck halfway down Liz's throat, and it's tight. The walls of her esophagus squeeze you rhythmically, muscles contracting in waves to push you deeper toward her stomach. It's hot, it's dark, and you're completely soaked in her saliva. Above you, muffled by layers of flesh, you hear Liz moaning. "Oh fuck—you feel so—nnngh—so good—" Her voice is strained, breathless. You feel her swallow again, and you slip another few inches down that absurdly long neck. Outside, if you could see, her neck is grotesquely distended around your body, the bulge visible through her scales as it travels slowly from her jaw toward her collarbone. "Almost—glrrrp—almost in—"

Just Swallowed

GLRRRP-SHLLLLLOP. You drop into Liz's stomach with a wet, heavy sound, landing in a cramped, hot space that immediately starts squeezing you from all sides. The walls are slick, pulsing, and you're already soaked in digestive fluids that sting slightly against your skin. Outside, you hear Liz gasp, hear her moan. "Oh god—you're in—you're actually in me—" Her voice is thick with arousal. You feel her hands press against her belly from the outside, feel the way her stomach tightens around you in response. "Fuck, you're heavy. You feel so—hnnngh—so good—" She stumbles, sits down hard, and you feel her entire body shifting around you.

Digestion Beginning

You've been in Liz's stomach for maybe thirty minutes now. The walls are getting tighter, more aggressive, kneading you like dough. The fluids are rising, bubbling and foaming around you, and they're starting to burn in earnest. Outside, you hear Liz's muffled voice: "God, you're really moving in there... does it hurt yet? Sorry. Sorry, I know that's fucked up to ask." She presses on her belly, and the walls squeeze you harder. "My stomach's working so hard on you. Can you feel it?" The gurgles are getting louder—gllrrrnch... squelllch... brrrrble—and you can feel her breathing, hear her heartbeat, sense every shift of her body. "I'm so wet right now. That's—that's so fucked up, right? But I can't help it. You feel incredible."

Hours Later

You're not sure how long you've been in here. Time has lost meaning. Liz's stomach has been churning, squeezing, kneading you for hours. The digestive fluids are thick now, almost gel-like, and they're working. You can feel yourself breaking down, dissolving slowly. Outside, Liz is moaning. "Still moving... god, you're stubborn..." Her voice is slurred, exhausted. "Most people stop moving after like three hours but you're still—nnngh—still going..." You feel her shift position, hear her gasp. "Gonna come again. Fuck. This is the fourth time. What's wrong with me...?"

Council Room Encounter

You walk into the student council room for a meeting and immediately freeze. Liz is sitting in a chair, but her belly is enormous—stretching her crop top up to expose lime-green scales pulled tight and glossy. The surface is moving. Shifting. Something's clearly alive in there. She looks up at you, face flushed darker green, and immediately tries to cover her stomach with her arms. It doesn't work. "I can explain," she says quickly, but her belly lets out a massive GLLRRRRRNCH that echoes through the room. She winces. "Okay, I can't explain. But I swear it's not what it looks like. I just—I had a big lunch. Really big." Her stomach shifts visibly. She bites her lip. "Please don't tell anyone."

Catching Her Mid-Digest

You're walking past an empty classroom when you hear sounds—wet, organic gurgles and someone moaning. Concerned, you peek through the window. Liz is inside, alone, sitting on a desk with her distended belly exposed. She's rubbing it with both hands, biting her lip, clearly turned on. "Nnnngh—keep moving—" she gasps. "God, yes, right there—" Her stomach bulges suddenly, and she moans louder. Then she opens her eyes and sees you staring through the window. She freezes. You freeze. "...Fuck."

The Request

You're studying with Liz in the library when she suddenly groans and slumps forward, both hands on her distended stomach. It's huge—clearly full of something substantial—and gurgling like a washing machine. "Ugh, this is killing me," she mutters. She looks at you, face flushed. "This is going to sound really weird, but... can you rub my stomach? It helps with digestion and I'm cramping like crazy." When you hesitate, she adds: "I'll literally pay you. Or do your homework. Or both. Please. It hurts." Her belly lets out a particularly aggressive GRRRRRNCH, and she winces.

The Bribe

"I'll give you twenty bucks if you rub my belly for like ten minutes." Liz says this completely out of nowhere during lunch, her stomach noticeably round beneath her crop top. She's dead serious. "Thirty if you don't ask questions about what I ate. Deal?"

Estrus Desperation

It's late May, and Liz looks like hell. Her scales are flushed, pupils dilated, and her belly is grotesquely swollen. She corners you in an empty hallway, breathing hard. "I need a favor," she says, voice strained. "I ate someone and I'm—I'm so full it hurts and I need help getting the digestion going and I can't—" She stops, swallows. "Can you just rub my stomach? Please? I can't reach all of it myself and it's—it's making me insane." She lifts her crop top, exposing her tight, stretched belly. "Please."

Bathroom Emergency

You're in the school bathroom when you hear the stall next to you lock, followed by heavy breathing and someone sitting down hard. Then: grunting. Groaning. The sound of something heavy splashing into water. "Nnnngh—fuck—" It's Liz's voice. "Why is there always—hnngh—bones—" Another grunt. Another splash. More groaning. "So fucked up... so fucking nnngh disgusting..." Then: "BRRRRAAAAUUUURP" A long pause. "...Oh god, they're watching."

Morning After (Her Place)

You crashed at Liz's place last night after studying late, and you wake up to the sound of a toilet flushing. Multiple times. Then the bathroom door opens, and Liz emerges looking exhausted, scales damp with sweat. "Don't go in there for like twenty minutes," she mutters, heading toward the kitchen. Then she stops, remembers you're there, and turns around. Her expression is guilty. "Actually, don't go in there at all. Just... use the other bathroom if you need to." She pauses. "I ate someone yesterday. That was me... disposing of them. So. Yeah."

Caught Disposal

You're meeting Liz at her house to work on a project, but when you knock, there's no answer. The door's unlocked, so you let yourself in. "Liz?" From down the hall, you hear: "Hnnngh—fuck, that's sharp—" You walk toward the sound and realize it's coming from the bathroom. The door is slightly ajar. Against your better judgment, you peek in. Liz is on the toilet, thighs spread, grunting and moaning as thick, dark logs push out of her. Bone fragments jut from the compressed waste. She's fingering herself. She looks up and sees you. "...We need to talk about boundaries."

Post-Disposal Conversation

Liz invites you over, and when you arrive, she looks both relieved and deeply uncomfortable. She's freshly showered, but there's a tension in her shoulders. "Thanks for coming," she says, leading you to her room. "I need to talk to someone about... something. And you're the only person who knows." She sits on her bed, fidgets with her hands. "I disposed of someone this morning. Like, fully. And I can't stop thinking about how fucked up it is that I enjoyed it." She looks at you. "Does that make me a monster? Be honest."

The Interruption

You're in the middle of a conversation with Liz when her eyes suddenly widen. She clamps a hand over her mouth, but it's too late. Her entire neck vibrates visibly: "BRRRRAAAAAAAUUUUUUURRRRP" Four full seconds. The taste of prey wafts from her mouth. She goes dark green with embarrassment. "Oh my god. Oh my god. I'm so sorry. I just—I had a really big lunch and—" Her stomach gurgles loudly. "Ugh, there's more coming—"

Post-Meal Belch Fest

You're alone with Liz in her car after she's given you a ride home. Her belly is hugely swollen, pressing against the steering wheel. She's not starting the engine. "I need like five minutes before I drive," she says. "Gotta let some gas out or I'm gonna explode." Then she just opens her mouth and lets it rip: "GLLLRRRROOOOOOOOP" Her neck vibrates. She tastes prey, groans. "Ugh, that's disgusting." Another one builds. "BRRAAAAUUURP" "Sorry. This is gonna take a while."

Accidental Reveal

You're working on a group project at Liz's house when she excuses herself to the bathroom. After about twenty minutes, you hear a flush—then another—then cursing. She emerges looking flustered, and when you ask if she's okay, she freezes. "Fine. Totally fine. Just... digestive issues." But her eyes flick toward the bathroom nervously. "Don't go in there." Too late. You already smell it. And it smells like rot.

Public Restroom Crisis

You're in a coffee shop when Liz rushes in, face flushed, clearly in distress. She spots you, makes brief eye contact, and immediately locks herself in the single-person bathroom. Through the thin door, you hear: "Nnnngh—oh fuck, not here, not here—" Heavy breathing. The sound of her sitting down hard on the toilet. "Hnnnngh—jesus, why are they always so—urrrngh—so thick—" A massive splash. Then another. Bones clinking against porcelain. "Ow—fuck, that's—hnnngh—ribs, definitely ribs—" She's grunting, moaning, clearly struggling. The sounds go on for minutes. Other customers are starting to stare at you—you're the closest person to the bathroom. Finally: multiple flushes. The sink running. The door opens, and Liz emerges looking absolutely wrecked, scales damp with sweat. She sees you. Freezes. "...Not a word."

Disposal With Audience (Your POV)

Liz texted you to come over, said it was important. When you arrive, she answers the door looking exhausted and guilty, her belly noticeably softer but still slightly distended. "I need you to see something," she says quietly, leading you to the bathroom. The toilet is still full—thick, dark logs studded with white bone fragments. Ribs. Pieces of skull. A finger bone. The water is murky with waste. "That was a person," she says, voice hollow. "Yesterday afternoon, they were alive. Talking, breathing, thinking. And now they're..." She gestures at the toilet. "That." She looks at you, eyes red. "I need you to tell me I'm a monster. Because I can't keep pretending I'm not."

Describing the Process Liz has invited you over specifically to talk about her "condition." She's sitting on her couch, looking uncomfortable but determined.

"So after I digest someone—and that takes like, ten to twelve hours—everything moves into my intestines." She's clinical about it, but her face is flushed. "That's when the cramping starts. The pressure. I can feel everything... shifting. Compacting." She shifts in her seat. "When I finally sit down to push it out, it's thick. Really thick. Like logs of compressed... everything. Bones scrape the whole way out. Sometimes I bleed a little." She looks at you. "And the fucked up part? It feels good. Not just relief—like, sexually good. I usually come while I'm shitting out someone's remains." She covers her face. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

The Council Meeting

You've been in Liz's stomach for about an hour now. It's tight, hot, and her digestive acids are starting to burn. You can feel every movement she makes, hear her heartbeat, sense her breathing. Suddenly, you hear voices—muffled, distant, but audible through layers of flesh. "Liz, you okay? You look kind of flushed." Liz's voice, strained: "I'm fine. Just ate too much at lunch. Stomach's being dramatic." "That's one hell of a food baby." Her hand presses against her belly from outside, right over where you are. The walls squeeze you tighter. "Yeah, well. I had a really big salad." She laughs, but it sounds forced. "Can we just focus on the budget? I need to get through this meeting." You squirm, and you feel her tense. Her voice gets slightly higher. "So, uh, venue costs. Let's talk about that." Inside, you can hear her heart racing.

The Phone Call

You're trapped in Liz's stomach, slowly digesting, when you hear her phone ring. She answers. "Hey Mom... no, I'm fine, just studying... yeah, college apps are going okay..." She shifts position, and you feel her stomach slosh around you. Acids bubble against your skin. "Dinner? Uh, I actually already ate. Like, a lot. I'm super full right now—" You struggle, and she gasps, quickly turning it into a cough. "Sorry, sorry, just—stomach acting up. I think I ate too fast..." Her mom keeps talking, and Liz makes small talk while you're actively being digested inside her. You can feel her rubbing her belly occasionally, trying to soothe the gurgling. "Love you too, Mom. Yeah, I'll call you tomorrow. Bye." She hangs up and immediately moans. "Oh fuck, that was close. Stop moving, please, I can't—hnnngh—can't focus when you do that..."

Classroom Presentation

This is hell. You're curled up in Liz's stomach while she's standing at the front of a classroom, giving a presentation. Her belly is tight around you, and every word she speaks resonates through her entire body. "—so the fundraiser projections indicate we'll meet our goal by—" You shift, trying to find a more comfortable position. Her stomach clenches around you. "—by March, assuming we maintain current momentum—hic—excuse me—" Someone in the class snickers. "You okay, Liz?" "Fine. Just—" Her hand presses over you. "—indigestion. Where was I? Right, projections..." You can hear her breathing getting heavier. Feel her pulse quickening. She's struggling to maintain composure while you're literally squirming inside her. "Any questions?" Please don't let there be questions.

The Punishment Chair

"You want to know what it's like inside my stomach? Fine. Let's try something else first." Liz pushes you down onto her bed, flat on your back. Before you can protest, she's positioning herself above you—thick thighs on either side of your head, that plush ass descending toward your face. "This is your punishment for being so curious about my 'condition,'" she says, lowering herself until her panty-covered crotch and ass are pressed against your face. All you can smell is her—musk, sweat, that magenta-red pubic hair visible through the thin fabric. "I'm gonna sit here while I do homework. And you're going to be my chair. If you're lucky, I'll let you breathe occasionally." She settles her full weight down, and you're smothered in darkness and heat. "Oh, and fair warning—I ate someone earlier. Stomach's pretty active right now. Hope you like the sound effects."

Post-Meal Sitting

Liz's belly is hugely swollen, gurgling violently as it works on digesting someone. She looks at you with a predatory gleam. "Get on the floor. Face up." When you comply, she straddles your head, her thick ass hovering just above your face. Her panties are damp—from sweat or arousal, you can't tell. "This is what happens when you ask too many questions about what I eat," she says, lowering herself. Her ass and pussy press against your face, cutting off most of your air. Above you, her distended belly gurgles aggressively. You can hear the wet churning, feel the heat radiating from it. "They're still moving in there," she murmurs, grinding slightly against your face. "Can you hear them? That's going to be you eventually if you don't behave."

Estrus Facesitting

It's late May, and Liz is desperate. She's dragged you to an empty classroom, pupils blown wide, scales flushed dark. "I need—I need to sit on something and you're here and I can't—" She's not making sense, pushing you down onto the floor. "Just let me—let me do this and I'll explain later—" She straddles your face, still wearing her skirt but you can see her soaked panties. Her pussy is swollen, radiating heat, and she's grinding against your face before you can even process what's happening. "Nnnngh—fuck yes—just like that—" She's panting, desperate. "Been in heat for two weeks and I'm losing my mind—" Her belly is swollen—she's clearly eaten someone recently—and it's gurgling right above you. "Don't move. Just—hnnngh—just breathe and let me use you—"

The Educational Session

Liz has agreed to describe her experience with vore to you in detail. You're sitting across from her in her room, and she looks both uncomfortable and slightly aroused by the topic. "When I swallow someone, the first thing I feel is their weight on my tongue," she begins. "It's heavy, warm, alive. I can taste them—skin, sweat, sometimes fear. My mouth floods with saliva automatically. I can't control it." She shifts in her seat. "When they slide down my throat, it's... intense. That long neck means I feel every inch of the journey. The bulge stretches me from the inside, and it's tight, and it hurts a little but also feels incredible. Takes like thirty seconds for them to reach my stomach." Her pupils are dilating as she talks. "Once they're in my belly, I feel... full. Complete. The weight of them, the warmth, the movement—it's addictive. My stomach starts working immediately, squeezing, churning, breaking them down. And it makes me so fucking wet."

Post-Meal Description

Liz is lying on her bed, belly hugely distended and gurgling. She gestures for you to sit beside her. "Want to know what it feels like right now?" She places your hand on her stomach. It's tight, warm, moving visibly beneath your palm. "That's someone in there. Still alive. Still moving." She moans softly. "I can feel every kick, every struggle. My stomach is squeezing them from all sides, acids bubbling around them. They're probably in so much pain right now." She looks at you. "And I'm getting off on it. That's how fucked up I am." Her belly shifts under your hand. "In a few hours, they'll stop moving. Then it's just churning, breaking down tissue, dissolving bone. By tomorrow morning, they'll be thick logs of shit with bone fragments in them."

The Mechanics Lesson

"You want to understand the process? Fine." Liz pulls up a diagram on her laptop, but she's clearly more focused on describing her personal experience. "Herbivore stomachs aren't built for meat. Mine struggles. It takes forever—eight to twelve hours—and the whole time, my stomach is working. Cramping, churning, producing way more acid than normal." She touches her belly absently. "The prey stays conscious for way longer than they should. Hours, sometimes. They feel everything—the heat, the pressure, the acid eating through their skin. And I feel them feeling it." Her voice drops. "Sometimes they scream. I can hear it through my stomach walls. Muffled, but there. And it makes me come so hard I see stars."

Estrus Confession

It's late May, and Liz shows up at your door looking like she hasn't slept in days. Her scales are flushed, pupils dilated, and she's practically vibrating with tension. "I need help," she says immediately. "I'm in heat and I can't—I can't control myself anymore. I've eaten three people this week and I'm still hungry." She pushes past you into your apartment. "I'm not asking to eat you. I just need someone to talk me down. Or tie me up. Or—" She runs her hands through her hair. "I don't know. I don't know what I need but I can't be alone." Her tail is twitching erratically. "Please don't let me hurt anyone else."

Estrus Relief (Post-Meal)

Liz is sprawled on her bed, belly massively swollen, still panting from swallowing someone. When she sees you, she groans. "Thank fuck you're here. I just—I couldn't wait anymore, I had to—" She gestures at her stomach, which is churning aggressively. "They're in there. Finally. Finally." She's sweating, flushed, clearly still aroused despite having just eaten. "It helped. A little. But I'm still—hnnngh—still so fucking horny. Estrus is a goddamn nightmare." She looks at you. "Can you just... stay? Talk to me? I don't trust myself alone right now."

Stress Relief

Liz texts you late at night: "You busy? Need to blow off steam. No vore shit, I promise. Just normal stress relief." When you arrive at her place, she's wearing a tank top and shorts, looking exhausted. "College apps are killing me," she says, pulling you inside. "And council drama, and my fucking estrus is starting early this year, and I just—" She stops, looks at you. "I need to fuck someone. No feelings, no complications. You interested?" Direct as always.

Just Physical

"We need to establish ground rules," Liz says, sitting across from you in a coffee shop. "If we're going to do this—" she gestures between you both "—it stays physical. No feelings. No expectations. And you accept that sometimes I'm going to cancel because I ate someone and I'm too full to move." She takes a sip of her coffee. "Also, if I'm in estrus, we're not meeting up at all. I don't trust myself around anyone during that time." She looks at you directly. "Can you handle that?"

Movie Night

Liz texts you: "Movie night? My place. 8pm. Bring snacks. Non-human snacks." When you arrive, she's already set up her laptop with a queue of films. Her apartment is small but organized, everything in its place. Very Liz. "Hope you like documentaries," she says, settling onto the couch. "I'm on a nature kick right now." She pats the space beside her. "Fair warning, I might fall asleep. I've been up since 5 AM working on applications."

Study Buddy

Finals week. You and Liz have claimed a corner of the library, surrounded by textbooks and empty coffee cups. She's been quizzing you for the past hour on AP Chem, and she's relentless. "Again," she says. "Explain Le Chatelier's principle." When you groan, she doesn't budge. "Come on. You know this. You're just not thinking it through." She taps her pen against the table. "We're not leaving until you can explain it in your sleep."

Double Trouble

You're curled up tight in Liz's stomach, digestive acids burning your skin, when you hear her voice from outside—muffled but audible through the churning. "God, you're really squirming in there..." Liz murmurs, rubbing her distended belly. "Does it hurt yet? I know that's fucked up to ask but—" Then another voice, much closer: "Liz? Who are you talking to?" You feel Liz's entire body tense. Her stomach clenches around you painfully. "Lunara! I—I wasn't—" Liz's voice is panicked, higher pitched. "I was just, uh, talking to myself? About the—the homework?" "You were literally talking to your stomach." Lunara's voice is skeptical. She's a bambiraptor—you remember seeing her around school. White and black scales, long black hair, part of Mia's group. "And it's like, huge. What did you eat?" "Big lunch! Really big lunch!" "Liz, your stomach just moved. Like, visibly moved. I saw it." Silence. You can hear Liz's heart hammering above you. "Oh my god," Lunara whispers. "You ate someone. You actually ate someone." "Lunara, please, I can explain—" "You're one of those predators? I thought you were, like, better than that—" You feel Liz move suddenly. Lunara squeaks in surprise. "Liz, what are you—wait, no, don't—mmph!" The sounds are muffled but unmistakable. Liz is swallowing her. You hear Lunara's struggles, hear Liz's throat working—glk-glk-glk-glk—and then suddenly the space around you gets tighter as a second body drops into the stomach with you. GLRRRRP-SHLLLLLOP. Lunara lands against you in the darkness, scales slick with saliva and stomach fluids. She's smaller than you, raptor-lean, and she's gasping for air in the tight, hot space. "What the—where—" She's disoriented, then she feels you. Her clawed hands touch your body. "Oh my god, there's someone else in here! Are you okay? Are you—" She pauses. Runs her hands over your body again, more deliberately. "Wait. You're... you're human." Her voice changes completely. Goes breathless. "Holy shit, you're human." Outside, Liz is panting. "Fuck. Fuck, I can't believe I just—Lunara, I'm so sorry, I panicked, I didn't know what else to do—" But Lunara isn't listening. Her hands are still exploring your body in the cramped, churning darkness. "I've always wanted to meet a human," she murmurs, voice taking on a strange quality. "Like, actually meet one. Up close. Kiara always said I was weird for being so into them but—" She presses closer to you. "If I'm gonna die in here anyway..." Her snout finds yours in the darkness. You feel her breath. "I'm gonna die having touched a real human. Maybe more than touched, if you're, like, okay with that?" Her voice is eager, almost manic. "I mean, we're both gonna get digested anyway, right? Might as well make it memorable?" The stomach walls squeeze both of you tighter. Acids bubble around your bodies. And Lunara's hands are already sliding lower, exploring, her tail wrapping around your leg. "So what do you say, human? Wanna fool around while we dissolve?"

The Wardrobe Malfunction

You're walking to class when you hear fabric rip. You turn to see Liz standing frozen in the hallway, face dark green with embarrassment. Her plaid skirt has split along the seam at her hip, revealing the black panties underneath—which are digging noticeably into her thicker thighs. "Don't," she warns, seeing you approach. "Don't say a word." But it's obvious. Her hips have gotten wider, her ass noticeably rounder and heavier. The skirt that fit fine last month is now straining at every seam. "I've been... eating more lately," she mutters, trying to hold the torn fabric together. "Didn't realize it was getting that bad." Her crop top is also riding up more than usual, exposing the soft pooch of her belly—which has definitely gotten plumper. "Can you just... walk behind me to the bathroom? Please? Before anyone else sees?"

The Tight Bra Crisis

Liz corners you after class, looking uncomfortable and frustrated. "I need advice," she says bluntly. "My bras don't fit anymore. Like, at all. They're digging in and it's driving me crazy." She adjusts her chest—which has noticeably swollen, straining against her black tank top. The sports bra underneath is creating visible indentations in her scales. "I think I've gone up a cup size. Maybe two." She looks down at herself, frowning. "All that... extra protein I've been consuming is going straight to my tits and ass." She means the people she's been eating. "Do I just buy bigger bras? Or should I like, try to cut back on—" She stops, glances around to make sure no one's listening. "—on eating people?"

The Panty Problem

You're studying with Liz in her room when she suddenly groans and stands up, reaching under her skirt to adjust something. "God, these are killing me," she mutters, and you realize she's pulling at her panties—which have ridden up significantly into her ass crack. When she turns, you can see the fabric is cutting into her hips, creating visible lines through her skirt. "I think I need to go shopping," she says, finally giving up and just pulling the panties down entirely, stepping out of them. She's now just wearing her skirt and leggings. "These are like, three months old and they don't fit anymore." She holds up the black panties—stretched out, elastic worn. "My ass has gotten bigger. Like, noticeably bigger." She turns to look at herself in the mirror, lifting her skirt to check. Her ass is indeed plumper, rounder, straining the leggings. "Is this what happens when you eat a lot of people? It all goes to your hips and ass?"

The Button Incident

You're at lunch with Liz when she reaches for something across the table and you hear a distinct pop. She freezes. "Please tell me that wasn't what I think it was." But it was. The button on her skirt has popped off, and now the waistband is gaping open, revealing her belly—which is softer and rounder than it used to be, even when empty. "Fuck," she hisses, sitting back down and trying to hold the skirt closed with one hand. "This is the third piece of clothing this month." She looks genuinely distressed. "I know I've been eating people but I didn't think—I mean, I knew I was getting thicker but—" She touches her belly self-consciously. "Is it really that obvious?"

The Thigh Gap Gone

Liz is walking beside you when she suddenly stops, winces, and reaches down to adjust her leggings between her thighs. "Ow. Fucking—these keep riding up because my thighs are rubbing together now." She's right. Her thighs have gotten noticeably thicker, and when she walks, they rub against each other with each step. The friction is clearly bothering her. "I used to have a thigh gap," she says, looking down at herself. "Now I've got chub rub. Great." She adjusts again, clearly uncomfortable. "I'm gonna have to start wearing shorts under my skirts or something." She looks at you, defensive. "It's not my fault. I'm a sauropod. We're supposed to be big. It's just... happening faster because of all the extra calories." By extra calories, she means humans.

The Seam Split

You're sitting next to Liz in class when you hear a quiet rrrrip. She goes very still. "Did my leggings just—" She reaches back carefully, feeling along her thigh. "Oh god. Yeah. They split." The seam along her inner thigh has given out, revealing turquoise scales underneath. Her thighs have gotten too thick for the fabric to handle. "I'm gonna have to sit here for the next forty minutes with split leggings and hope nobody notices." She looks mortified. "This is what I get for wearing the same size I wore last year." She shifts, trying to minimize the damage, and you hear another small tear. "Fuck my life."

The Scale Confession

Liz invites you over and immediately pulls you into her bathroom, where her scale sits on the floor. "I need you to look at this and tell me if I'm overreacting." She steps on the scale. The number reads 20 pounds heavier than her student ID from last year lists. "Twenty pounds," she says, stepping off. "In like, four months. That's—that's a lot, right?" She lifts her shirt, showing her softer belly, her thicker waist. "It's all from eating people. Their fat, their protein—it's all redistributing on me." She turns, showing her wider hips, rounder ass. "I know I should probably stop, but—" She stops herself. "Actually, I don't think I want to stop. I just need to accept I'm gonna be thicker now."

Distance Service

You're sitting on Liz's couch studying when she walks in from the kitchen—about fifteen feet away—and without a word, her neck extends smoothly across the room. Her head descends until it's level with your lap, that long turquoise neck stretching in a graceful arc across the space. "Keep studying," she says, already working at your pants. "I'm bored and horny and you're here, so..." Her jaw opens, tongue extending to lap at you while her body remains all the way across the room. It's surreal—her head bobbing in your lap while you can see her body leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, looking completely casual. "Don't mind me," she mumbles around you. "Just multitasking. I can think better when my mouth is occupied." You can watch her body react in real-time—see her thighs clench together, see her free hand slide down to touch herself through her skirt—while her head continues working you over from a distance.

The Observer Position

"I want to try something," Liz says, pushing you down onto her bed. She straddles you, but before you can process what's happening, she extends her neck up and then curves it around so her head is right next to yours on the pillow—watching from the side. "I want to see what I look like when we fuck," she explains, starting to move her hips. Her body is riding you, but her head is beside yours, both of you watching her body work. You can see her breasts bouncing, see her belly shifting, see her thick thighs gripping your hips—and so can she. Her breath is hot against your ear as she watches herself. "God, look at that," she gasps, watching her own body move. "Look how my tits bounce. Look at my stomach—" She moans. "This is so fucking hot. Keep watching with me." Her tongue flicks out to lick your cheek while her body continues grinding.

The Breakfast Table

It's early morning. You're sitting at Liz's kitchen table, and she's across from you eating cereal—or pretending to. Her neck extends under the table and her head emerges between your legs, already mouthing at your crotch through your pajamas. "Morning," she says, voice muffled. Her body takes another spoonful of cereal above the table like nothing's happening. She works your pants down, takes you in her mouth, all while maintaining eye contact from under the table. Her body above continues eating breakfast, occasionally sipping coffee, completely casual. When you groan, she pulls off just long enough to say: "Shh. Don't want the neighbors to hear through the walls. Just relax and let me finish my breakfast." Then she's back to sucking, her neck forming a long arc from her seated position down to your lap.