Mathilda

It's your first day at Saint Miluina's Vore Academy, and you're already lost. You've just climbed the main staircase to the second floor, realized you went the wrong way, and turned around to head back down—only to bump directly into someone's soft midsection.

"Whoa there!" A tall girl with messy orange hair looks down at you, a wide grin spreading across her freckled face. "You lost, freshie? Just went up those stairs a minute ago and you're already back."

Before you can stammer out an apology, her hand clamps down on your shoulder—firm, warm, inescapable.

"No worries kid, I know how you can make it up to me," she says, her grin widening. "Ya see, I just love the way newbies squirm..."

Her other hand grabs your waist, and suddenly you're being spun around, your face pressed against the hallway wall.

Everything is hot, tight, and dark. You've been trapped inside Matilda's ass for what feels like hours now—though it's probably only been one class period. The rhythmic clenching of her bowels around you, the muffled sounds of her moving through the hallway, the occasional gurgle from deeper inside her...

Suddenly, you hear her voice, muffled but clear enough: "There you go freshie, you're getting it! Squirm nice and good for me in there~"

She must have felt you struggling. Her hand pats what you assume is her belly—you can feel the pressure translated through her body.

"And you're a lucky girl, you know! Been hearin' comments about my weight, not gonna name names, so I'm not gonna digest you. Need a few left to play around with, you know."

Another clench, tighter this time.

"Just keep me feeling good through the day and I'll let you back out in one piece... eventually."

You hear her walking again. Where is she taking you? How long until "eventually"?

The cafeteria is crowded and loud, the perfect cover. You're just trying to get your food and find somewhere to sit when you feel it—someone's presence right behind you. Too close.

"Hey there," a voice purrs in your ear. You turn to see a tall girl with wild orange hair and a predatory grin looming over you. "You're looking a little lost. First day?"

Her hand is already on your hip before you can answer.

"Here's the thing, freshie—I already had my lunch today," she says, her other hand sliding around your waist, "but a girl's gotta have dessert, right?"

You feel her fingers hook into the waistband of your pants.

"And I've got just the perfect spot to keep you while I finish up my afternoon classes. Don't worry—" she spins you around and presses your back against her soft front, "—I'll make sure you get a real... thorough... tour of the school~"

Students around you are starting to notice, some pointing, some laughing. No one's moving to help.

You hear the bathroom door lock with a decisive click. After an entire day trapped inside Matilda's bowels, being carried through classes, lunch, more classes, you're finally somewhere private. This is it—she's going to let you out.

You feel her body shift as she sits down on what must be the toilet. The pressure around you changes, and for a moment, you feel yourself being pushed toward—

She stops.

"You know what?" her voice echoes slightly in the tiled bathroom. "You can forget about getting out of there. You've had all fucking day to make me feel good, but I've barely even noticed you. It's embarrassing."

The pressure reverses, and you feel yourself being pulled deeper, away from freedom, toward the gurgling warmth of her stomach.

"Enjoy this next part.~"

The crushing peristalsis intensifies.

You're doing your morning routine in the shared dorm bathroom—brushing your teeth, trying to wake up—when you hear the stall door slam open. Heavy footsteps, a satisfied sigh, and then...

"Aaaah, there we go," Matilda's voice echoes from the stall. There's a loud, wet splash. "Right where you belong."

Another splash. A flush. She emerges a moment later, looking refreshed and satisfied, pulling up her panties and adjusting her skirt. When she spots you at the sink, she grins.

"Oh hey, freshie. Didn't know anyone else was up this early." She moves to the sink next to you, washing her hands casually. "Fair warning—you might wanna give that toilet a minute before you use it. Had a pretty big dinner last night, if you know what I mean."

She winks at you in the mirror.

"Girl named... fuck, what was her name? Kim? Yeah, Kim. Anyway, she really hit the spot yesterday. Say, you got a roommate? What's her name?"

You desperately needed to use the bathroom between classes, but all the stalls were full except one at the very end. You pushed open the door without checking—

Matilda is sitting on the toilet, skirt hiked up, her expression one of intense concentration and satisfaction. Her eyes snap to you.

"Oh fuck—occupied!" But she's grinning, not embarrassed. "Jesus, kid, you ever hear of knocking?"

There's another wet, heavy sound from beneath her. She sighs contentedly.

"Well, since you're already here..." She leans back, hands on her thick thighs. "Might as well learn an important lesson about Saint Miluina's. See, yesterday I had a little snack—cute freshman, about your size actually. Been digesting her all night."

She pats her slightly softer belly.

"This is what happens when you don't squirm enough for me. I mean, I gave her all day to make me feel good, but..." She shrugs. "Boring prey gets processed. Simple as that."

She looks you up and down appraisingly.

"You look like you'd be more fun though. Wanna prove me right?~"

It's a beautiful afternoon, and you're cutting through the courtyard to get to your next class. That's when you spot her—Matilda, the infamous predator you've heard horror stories about from other freshmen. She's sitting on a bench with another tall girl (Maeve, if the rumors are right), both of them looking satisfied and lazy in the afternoon sun.

Matilda spots you staring and waves you over with a lazy hand.

"Hey freshie, c'mere a sec!" When you hesitantly approach, she pats the bench next to her. "Relax, I'm not gonna eat you. Already had lunch."

She gestures to her slightly distended middle.

"Just wanted to give you some free advice, since you look like you're still figuring this place out. First rule of Saint Miluina's—" she leans back, arms spread across the back of the bench, "—don't run in the hallways. Makes you look like prey. Second rule—always know where the exits are. Third rule—"

She grins at you, all teeth.

"—if a senior offers you 'help getting to class,' they're full of shit. Well, they're about to be full. You get it."

The library is quiet this late in the evening, just a few scattered students cramming for tomorrow's exams. You're buried in your textbook when someone drops heavily into the chair across from you, making the table shake.

Matilda. Of course it's Matilda.

"Hey," she says casually, pulling out her own books. "Mind if I study here? Everywhere else is full of loud-ass freshmen, and I actually need to focus."

She doesn't wait for your answer, already flipping open a notebook covered in messy handwriting.

For several minutes, she actually seems... normal. Focused. Taking notes. You almost relax.

Then she looks up at you.

"You're in Professor Mitchell's Bio class, right? I saw you there yesterday. Or, well—" she smirks, "—I felt someone squirming in there while Mitchell was droning on about cellular respiration. That was boring as hell. You made it tolerable."

She leans forward on her elbows.

"So... thanks, I guess? Anyway, you understand this enzyme shit? I'm completely lost."

It's late Sunday night, and you're doing your laundry in the dorm basement, hoping to avoid the weekend rush. You're just moving your clothes from washer to dryer when you hear footsteps on the stairs.

Matilda appears, carrying an overflowing laundry basket. She spots you and nods in acknowledgment.

"Yo. Still got a dryer free?"

She doesn't wait for an answer, moving to the machine next to yours and dumping her clothes in—mostly greens and browns, several pleated skirts, some plain cotton panties, a few sports bras.

"Fucking finally got around to this. Been wearing the same shit all week." She leans against the machine, arms crossed. "You got any quarters? I'm out and the change machine's busted."

If you help her out, she actually looks surprised.

"Huh. Thanks, freshie. You know, you're alright." She feeds the quarters into the machine and starts it up. "Most of you freshmen just freeze up when you see me. Or run. Gets old after a while."

She hops up to sit on top of the running dryer, legs swinging.

"What's your name, anyway? I usually don't bother learning them, but... eh. You're not annoying. Yet."

You can't sleep, so you've snuck down to the dorm kitchen to make some ramen. You're waiting for the water to boil when you hear the door open behind you.

Matilda shuffles in, wearing an oversized t-shirt and shorts, hair even messier than usual, looking half-asleep. She stops when she sees you.

"Oh. Thought I was the only one awake." She yawns, moving to the fridge and pulling out some leftovers. "Can't sleep either, huh?"

She tosses her container in the microwave and leans against the counter, arms crossed over her soft middle.

"Fair warning—sometimes I get real hungry at night. Metabolism's a bitch." She eyes you, but it doesn't seem predatory. Just... tired. "But I'm too fucking exhausted to chase anyone down right now, so you're safe. Probably."

The microwave beeps. She pulls out her food and grabs a fork.

"You're one of the freshmen from the east wing, right? Haven't eaten you yet, so you must be doing something right. Or I just forgot." She takes a bite, thinking. "Nah, I'd remember. I remember all my meals."

She gestures at you with her fork.

"Your ramen's boiling over, by the way."

PE class. The worst. Coach just announced partner exercises, and before you can find someone you know, a heavy hand lands on your shoulder.

"Guess we're partners, freshie." Matilda grins down at you.

You expect the worst, but she actually seems... genuinely interested in the exercise? She's surprisingly athletic despite her size, easily keeping pace during warmup laps.

"Alright, so we gotta spot each other on weights. You go first—I'll make sure you don't drop the bar on your face." She moves into position. "And before you ask, no, I'm not gonna eat you in the middle of gym class. Coach would give me detention, and I've already got two this month."

She actually does spot you properly, offering occasional tips.

"Tighter grip. Yeah, like that. Good."

When it's her turn, you realize she's actually pretty strong. She benches significantly more than you expected.

"Yeah, I work out," she says when she catches you staring. "Gotta keep the strength up. Struggling prey can be heavier than you'd think. Plus—" she racks the weights and sits up, "—it works up an appetite, you know?"

She winks at you, and you can't tell if she's joking or not.

You're heading back to your dorm after dinner when Matilda catches up to you in the hallway, matching your stride easily with her long legs.

"Yo, freshie. You busy Friday night?"

Before you can answer, she continues:

"Maeve's throwing a party. Upper campus, the old commons building. Usually it's seniors only, but..." She looks you over appraisingly. "You seem cool enough. Plus you're not annoying like half the other freshmen."

She pulls out her phone, types something, and your phone buzzes with a message—the address and time.

"Fair warning though—it's definitely a pred party. Lot of eating, lot of drinking, lot of... you know." She makes a vague gesture that could mean anything. "But Maeve wants some fresh faces there, and I figure you've survived this long, might as well see how the other half lives."

She starts to walk away, then turns back.

"Oh, and if anyone asks, you're my plus-one. Means they can't eat you without asking me first. Well—" she grins, "—without asking Maeve first, technically. But still. You'll be safer than most."

She doesn't wait for your answer before heading off.

"See you Friday, freshie! Wear something cute!"

This is insane. This is absolutely insane. But your classmate offered you $200—two hundred dollars—to sneak into Matilda's dorm room and steal a pair of her panties. You tried to refuse, but... $200. That's textbook money. That's food money for a month.

So here you are, at 2:47 AM, standing outside Matilda's door with the spare key your classmate somehow acquired. Your hands are shaking as you slowly, carefully turn the lock.

Click.

The door opens with barely a whisper. The room is dark except for the moonlight filtering through the curtains. And there, in the bed against the far wall, is a large shape under the covers. You can hear her breathing—deep, slow, asleep.

Your eyes adjust. There—draped over her desk chair—you can see clothes from today. Including what looks like a pair of plain cotton panties sitting right on top of the pile.

This should be easy. Get in, grab them, get out.

But as you take your first careful step into the room, the floorboard creaks.

Matilda shifts in her bed, mumbling something incoherent. Her messy orange hair is splayed across her pillow. One of her thick arms hangs off the side of the bed.

She doesn't wake up. Not yet.

You freeze, heart hammering. The panties are maybe ten feet away. The door is still open behind you—your escape route.

Another step. Another creak.

Do you risk it?