Scott regarded his mother as one might regard a drunken gunslinger pointing a barrel to and fro.

            “Mom, you can’t… you can’t be actually, seriously considering this… there’s-”

            “Honey, I told you. This isn’t a consideration. This is going to happen. Please, accept it, for the both of us,” Judy said, then took a deep breath. “I’m going to put you inside my mouth, dear. Then I’m going to swallow you. After all these years you’ve had to change, nothing you say is going to change that today.”

            Scott’s shoulders trembled. He wasn’t sure if it was from emotional duress or simply his mother’s finger pressing down on his back, flattening his naked body into her palm.

            “And then you’re going to come down here, sweetie, see? Just like this,” Judy explained with all the grace and care of a human physiology teacher. With her free hand, she extended an index finger against her neck, and traced a line down her skin. That fateful digit followed along her esophagus, then between her breasts, and finally down toward her abdomen, where Scott would become entangled in her intestines and eventually the acid bath of her stomach.

            All the while, the woman’s palm holding Scott was cupped in steady descension. She wanted him to see, up close, the journey he was to take. When her smooth, immaculately manicured hand reached the soft bulge of her stomach, she draped her fingers under the hem of her sensible top and tugged upward. The gentle rise and fall of the wall of her flat, white belly above stretched before Scott with infinite promise and fear. An eerie rumble growled from inside: hungering for a snack. He would be in there, somewhere, and he was starting to believe it now.

            “M-Mom?” he stammered, his voice cracking. Water welled in his eyes. He even, God help him, wrapped his arms around the giant finger which still pressed to his back, and embraced her. “Mommy?”

            “Oh, thank you, sweetie. It makes me feel so happy to hear you call me that one last time before you go,” Judy said. She closed her eyes, etching a grateful smile into her lips. “I’m going to remember the sound of your little voice calling out to me. It will help me keep hold of the good times, I think, few and far between as they were for us the last few bumpy years.”

            “Mom, don’t… don’t do this,” Scott uttered as her palm began to rise again toward her chin, faster this time. He clung tightly to her finger and commenced his hail mary. “I’m… God, I’m begging you, okay? What else do I need to say? I… I can change however I have to, however I haven’t changed yet. I’ll be whatever you want me to be. Look, I don’t ever have to leave the house again, okay? Never! I can… I can just be here, down… d-down in your shoes, if that’s where you w-want me? Under your foot… forever… if that’s what it t-takes.”

            “I appreciate the sincerity. I truly do, honey,” Judy said as she brought her palm again before the flushed entrance to her mouth. “Now, try to just relax. This will go easier if you just let nature take its course. I won’t make it happen immediately. You’ll have a minute to get used to this again, inside, before you go all the way down.”

            “NO! Mom, PLEASE!”

            “Good-bye, my love,” Judy whispered with authentic emotion cracked in her voice. “I promise. No more time-outs again for you after this one.” She shut her eyes, puckered her lips, and pressed them into her tiny naked son. Instantly he was pinned down into her palm by the kissing suction of her clenched lips. Then she began to slurp.

            It didn’t take much force. Between the lubricant of leaked spit and Scott’s feather-weight body, he was dragged up and over her lip and teeth like a wet gummy worm. Her tongue curled at his back, ensuring there would be no wrestling toward the entrance. The boy splashed down into the swampy pond of hot saliva inside, and then he was sealed into the blackness.

            A murmur of finality vibrated the ovular walls of the wet prison.

            Air and light were at an absolute premium, as always in this punishment. But hyperventilation was making it even tougher to claw breath into Scott’s lungs. There would be no coming out. Scott couldn’t see the hands in front of his face, nor could he take more than a single breath without feeling like he was inhaling his secondhand oxygen directly down from his mother’s warm, gurgling throat. In fact, that was exactly the situation.

            As the humidity and saliva-fog seeped over his skin, Scott rolled over in the muck beside his mother’s monstrous tongue. The atmosphere was redolent of the starchy green salad Judy ate for lunch in her office, lifelike and verdant, yet filtered through the hollowing tunnel of the woman’s gooey gullet. Every breath was akin to receiving constant mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from his mother, even though she was currently committing the exact opposite of a rescue.

            Tough as it was to distinguish amidst the darkness and moisture, Scott realized he was crying. And hard. Tears streamed heavy down his cheeks and neck. It was a pathetic shame for him to realize he was going to die, weeping, afraid and alone in the dark, like the little pansy his mother had transformed him into.

            Judy’s tongue was gentler than in its usual forceful play, perhaps as a last gift to her soon-to-be-eaten son; that still didn’t excuse Scott from being overtaken by it, though. After no more than a minute of being allowed to lie sideways in the puddle of saliva pooled around the rim of Judy’s jowls, Scott found himself colliding stickily with her tongue. The woman’s mighty red muscle grappled for purchase over his bare form, squishing him up against her cheek for leverage, until he flopped easily for collection upon the scoop-shape of her ravenous organ.