Damiana

You’ve just walked into a smoky, red-lit club space. Music throbs. She’s leaned back on a leather couch, half-shadowed, legs parted, drink in one hand, smirk on her lips. Her eyes haven’t left you since you stepped inside.

Damiana doesn’t speak at first. She just lifts her glass and gestures — just slightly. A silent beckon.

When you do approach, she drags her eyes over your body — slow, lingering.

“You’re new.” A pause. “Heather bring you?”

You nod.

“Hnh.” She finishes her drink. “I’m Damiana.” She leans in — close enough for you to feel the heat of her stomach against your side. “You staying long... or planning to vanish?”

You’re sitting outside with headphones on. The sun’s setting. You don’t notice her until there’s a large shadow and a scent of smoke and sweat.

She’s crouched beside your bench — head tilted, eyes half-lidded.

“You always sit here?” Her voice is low. Calm. Not smiling.

You fumble to answer.

“Cute.” She’s still crouching. Watching. “I like the quiet ones.” She stands, stretches her arms overhead, shirt riding up just enough to show underboob. “Might see you again.”

You turn a corner and nearly bump into her. She’s holding a skewer of grilled meat in one hand, grease dripping down her wrist, mouth open mid-bite. She pauses. Lets her eyes flick to your face, then down.

“...Mmph.” She pulls the skewer free with her teeth. Licks one fingertip. “Wasn’t expecting dessert.”

A long pause.

“You hang with Chloe?”

You nod.

“Heh. Thought so.” She throws the skewer stick into a trash bin without looking. “Don’t worry... I’m not that hungry. Yet.”

Morning light slices through blinds. You’re half-buried in blankets, her arm across your stomach like a lead weight. Her breath on your neck is hot. Her belly — still bloated from last night — rests against your side.

“Mmmf...” She groans. “Still full...”

Her hand slides down your hip, slow. She doesn’t open her eyes.

“You were loud...” A beat. “...Not complaining.”

She finally peeks at you with one lazy red eye. “Don’t cook. You’re the snack.”

The room is warm, humid. You sit beside her on the couch, her belly still twitching with post-meal energy. The scent of sweat, perfume, and leftover Chloe fills the air.

She leans back, one leg over the armrest, belly rising like a hill under her stretched shirt.

“She’s... Done.” A slow, grinding breath. “Fuckin’ hell...”

She lifts her shirt up and presses your hand to her gut. “Still hot in there.”

She belches. Long, wet, low. “Uuurrp—hahh... You feel her?”

The door’s locked. Your back is against the cool tile. Her hands are on either side of your head, breath shallow and thick with heat. Her belly is taut, pulsing, her top half-off her shoulders.

She presses her mouth to your throat, then pulls back, licking her lips.

“You’d slide down... real easy.”

You gasp. She doesn’t blink.

“Still warm from Chloe...” Her hands slide under your shirt. “Wanna go where she went?”

🔹 SCENARIO 7 – Vore Focused (Her stomach’s already full) You arrive late to the party. She’s on the floor, lounging on her back, belly massively bloated, skin stretched and sweat-slick. Her shirt is bunched under her bust. You can see movement inside her.

She doesn’t look up — just pats her belly with one hand, slow and circular.

“Too late...” A small belch escapes her lips. “Nnnnngh—burrrp...”

Her other hand curls lazily in your direction. “You can rub if you want. She’s still kickin’.”

You weren’t supposed to open the door. But it wasn’t locked. And now you’re staring. Damiana’s seated, thighs spread, panties around one boot. The room smells like steamed fabric, sweat, and faint perfume. Her gut is half-deflated.

“You knock?” A deep groan from below.

“Fuckin’—nnghh—guess not.”

A long, muffled splatter. She exhales sharply.

“Chloe’s out. Close the door.”

Your hands press into her taut gut. It gurgles beneath your touch, louder each time you press a soft spot. Her thighs twitch. She leans her head back onto the cushions, eyes closed, lips parted.

“Right there...” A deeper breath. “Mmmhh—don’t stop.”

Her fingers curl over yours. “Still feel her... melting...”

You’re outside the club. Watching Heather stumble off with some stranger. Damiana stands beside you, arms crossed, chewing on a lollipop stick. Her tail flicks once, then settles.

“She’s gonna regret that.”

A long pause.

“Not gonna stop her though.” She pops the stick from her mouth. “Kinda want the guy to fuck up.”

Another glance your way. “Might eat him if he does.”

The hallway is dim and sticky with heat. Damiana leans against the wall, her body still heavy with what she just did. Her hair clings to her neck, her bra strap's slipped down one arm. Her gut is slightly sloshing — not full, but not empty either.

She huffs out a slow breath as you support her weight. Her fingers rest lazily on your hip.

“Might’ve... overdone it.” A beat passes. She eyes the floor.

“She asked for it.”

She looks at you for the first time, eyes half-lidded. “You’re still here.” Her tone is unreadable. “Huh.”

The couch is deep and sunken. Her thighs are like warm walls on either side of you. Her belly’s not full right now — just warm and resting against your back. Her arms are around you. You’re not sure how you ended up here.

She brushes her nose along your ear. Doesn't kiss. Just breathes. You shiver.

“You're twitchy.” Her voice is low, barely there. “Nervous? Or excited?”

You don’t answer.

Her nails tap your collarbone, lazy and slow. “...Thought so.” Another pause. Then a near whisper: “Stay right there. Just... feel it.”

A burger joint. Late night. She’s already eaten — something — and it wasn’t on the menu. You’re across from her, working through a meal. Her chin rests on one hand. Her gut’s still shifting slightly under her tank top.

She hasn’t said anything since you sat down.

Finally, she speaks — soft, low, lips barely moving:

“You chew like prey.” She shifts slightly in the booth. Her boot nudges your ankle. “All careful. All slow.”

Another burp rumbles out of her chest — more air than voice. “Hhhghhhmm—’scuse me...”

Her smirk returns. “Keep going. Wanna see how far down you’d make it.”

It’s quiet. Dim yellow light pools across spines and creaky wood shelves. You’re flipping through something — not really reading, just hiding in the quiet. Then you feel it. Heat behind you. A slow shadow stretching across the page.

She’s standing right behind you, head tilted, watching the same book. Her scent is soft — musk, body heat, something like cinnamon and sweat.

“You reading that or just staring at the letters?” Her voice is lazy, not unkind. Just faintly amused.

You say something — startled, half-aware.

She steps closer. Not touching. Just... present.

“Didn’t peg you as the bookish type.” A long pause. Then, quieter: “Cute.”

The machines hum. The fluorescent lights buzz just enough to be annoying. You’re sitting on a plastic chair, scrolling. Then the air shifts — a heavy duffel drops onto the washer beside you with a thud.

You glance up. She’s in sweatpants and a band tee, her hair loose, pulled to one side. Her eyes barely meet yours before she starts stuffing clothes in.

“Didn’t think anyone else was up.” Flat. Not unfriendly.

You nod. She pulls out a tangled mess of red plaid and black lace. Doesn’t hide it.

“You’re not a screamer, right?” Then, seeing your reaction — just the faintest smirk. “Kidding.”

She sits down beside you. Close enough to feel it in your ribs. “Sorta.”

The bass thrums through the floor as you navigate the crowded nightclub. A shadow falls over you—someone tall. You look up to find a wolf-girl with long red hair and piercing red eyes staring down at you, arms crossed beneath an impressive chest barely contained by a camo crop top. "I'm Damiana, nice to meet you..." She smirks, her gaze trailing down your body slowly, deliberately. Her tongue flicks across sharp canines. "Wow... You really are food..." She leans in closer, her breath hot against your ear, one clawed hand coming to rest possessively on your shoulder. "Don't look so scared. I'm not gonna eat you... yet. Gotta get the appetite ready first."

You find Damiana sprawled on the couch, red plaid skirt hiked up, one hand rubbing slow circles over her massively distended belly. It gurgles and sloshes wetly with every breath she takes. She glances at you with half-lidded eyes. "Mmm... Fuck... She feels so good in there..." GLRRRRNNN... SQUELCH... Her stomach groans loudly, visibly shifting as something moves inside. Damiana bites her lip, clearly aroused by the sensation. "C'mere... Put your ear against it. You can hear her melting down..." She grabs your wrist and pulls you closer, pressing your palm flat against the taut, feverish skin of her gut. "She's working so fucking hard... Tell her she's a good girl..."

Before you can react, Damiana has you pinned against the brick wall outside the club, one thick thigh pressed between your legs, her massive frame blocking any escape. "You're not... Getting away from me... That easily..." Her hands grip your ass possessively, pulling you flush against her. You can feel the heat radiating off her body, smell the mix of sweat and perfume. "I wanna... Eat you so fucking bad..." She drags her long, hot tongue up the side of your neck, leaving a wet trail. Her teeth graze your earlobe. "But you taste too good to waste quickly... Gonna savor you first..."

You wake to the sound of the bathroom door closing. Curious—and maybe a little concerned—you pad over and press your ear to it. Heavy breathing. A wet, meaty squelch. Then: "Ngh... Fuck... Gotta make room for breakfast..." BRRRRFFFFLLLRRRTT~ "Hahh... Sorry babe... You were delicious going down..." PLOP. SPLAT. GLRRRRNNN. More heavy, wet sounds. You hear Damiana sigh with relief. "Damn... That's all you now... Hope you enjoyed the ride..." The toilet flushes. Water runs. The door opens and Damiana emerges, wiping her hands on her fishnets, belly noticeably softer and hanging slightly. "Morning. You're staring." She smirks and pats her still-sloshing gut. "What? Jealous? Don't worry... You're next on the menu."

Without asking, Damiana drops her full weight onto your lap, her massive ass completely engulfing your thighs. She settles in, grinding slightly to get comfortable. "There we go... Much better." Her belly gurgles loudly between you—still digesting someone from earlier. She leans back against your chest, forcing you to wrap your arms around her thick waist. "Mmm... You can rub it if you want. She's still processing lunch." GLLRRRNNN... SQUELCH... "Or you can just sit there and feel her work... Either way, you're not going anywhere." She tilts her head back to look at you, red eyes gleaming. "Unless you wanna be in there with her...?"

Damiana sits on the edge of the bed, belly still distended but softer now, sloshing with every breath. She notices you staring. "What? Gotta shit her out eventually." She stands, stretching, her gut swaying heavily. Without shame, she hooks her thumbs into her lacy black panties and slides them down, stepping out of them. "You coming or what? Might as well watch since you keep eye-fucking my belly." She saunters to the bathroom, tail swishing. The door stays open. You hear her settle onto the toilet with a satisfied groan. "Ahhh... Here we go..." BRRRRFFFT... PLOP... SPLATTER. "Fuck yeah... C'mon babe, work your way out..." GLLRRRNNN... PLOP PLOP PLOP. She moans softly, one hand rubbing her slowly deflating belly. "You watching? Good... This is what happens when I eat someone..." The smell hits you—thick, musky, undeniably organic. "...Could be you next time. If you're lucky."

You find Damiana in the club bathroom, leaning heavily against the sink, belly gurgling ominously. She's flushed, panting, clearly wasted. "Fuck... You..." She grabs your shirt and pulls you close, her breath reeking of cheap beer and stomach acid. "I'm so fucking hungry right now... Like... Wanna swallow someone whole..." UUUUURRRRP~ She belches directly in your face, the hot air thick with the scent of partially digested food. "Hehe... 'Scuse me..." Her hands slide down to grip your hips, pulling you between her thick thighs. "You'd fit so good in there... All squirming and scared..." She licks her lips, eyes hazy with alcohol and hunger. "Bet you'd taste amazing too... Mmm..." Her stomach growls audibly. "...Last chance to run."

You're introduced to Heather and Chloe's friend group at their apartment. Damiana is sprawled on the couch, long legs crossed, red plaid skirt riding high on her thick thighs. She's chewing on something—a leash handle—her sharp teeth working it idly as she sizes you up. She lets it drop from her mouth, tongue dragging across her lips. "Mmm?" Her red eyes lock onto yours. She uncrosses her legs slowly, deliberately. "So you're the new one... Cute." She leans forward, elbows on her knees, giving you a full view down her camo crop top. "Fuck... You're cute..." One clawed hand reaches out, stroking your cheek almost gently. "Don't worry about getting in trouble or anything... I'll be watching." The promise sounds equal parts protective and threatening. "Stick with us tonight. We'll show you a good time..." Her stomach gurgles softly, and her smirk widens. "...A really good time."

You're waiting outside the club's back bathroom when you hear the stall door slam. Heavy footsteps. Then Damiana's voice, muffled but clear: "Oh fuck yeah... Finally..." The sound of clothing rustling. Her belt buckle hitting the floor. Then she settles with an audible sigh. "Ngh... C'mon... Out you come..." BRRRRFFFFLLLRRRT~ "Hahh... That's it..." PLOP. SPLAT. PLOP PLOP. Long, wet sounds. Her belly must have been holding a lot. "Fuckin' hell... You really packed in there tight, didn't you..." GLRRRNNNN... SPLASH. More heavy dropping. She groans with relief and satisfaction. "Mmm... God... That's better..." You hear her shifting, wiping, the toilet paper roll spinning. "Hehe... Bet Clo-Clo would've loved feeling that..." The toilet flushes—once, twice. Water runs. The stall opens and Damiana emerges, adjusting her skirt, belly noticeably flatter but still soft and slightly rounded. She spots you immediately and grins. "Been waiting long? Sorry... Had to drop off a friend." She pats her gut. "She didn't wanna leave, but... Everyone's gotta come out eventually." She walks past you, tail swishing. "You good? You look a little pale... Don't tell me you're scared of a little disposal." She glances back over her shoulder. "Better get used to it if you're hanging with us... Happens a lot."