“Ashley!” Gregg screamed, looking up at the giant girl as she absentmindedly started prodding the air with her spoon, missing a few times, her attention momentarily caught by the headline of a news story. The great white instrument of death continued to bob in the air above Gregg’s head, missing the pudding cup, sometimes dipping just outside of the great opaque walls that contained him, until finally she tapped the rim with her spoon. “No, no, no, no!” he screamed.

The spoon came down, plunging silently into the thick goop that was the girl’s pudding cup, sinking countless leagues into the pile of mush until it was buried to the edge. Gregg didn’t have time to act before the giant girl bent the spoon, bringing it up, a huge bubble of pudding lifting out from the cup. The little microbe was caught in the bubble, his body slowly lifted into the air as the plastic under him started to rise. He tried to swim away, but it was nothing. He was microscopic, barely able to even break the surface tension of the pudding. There was no way he could fight against the pull of the flow.

But then the bubble broke, and he was swept over the side of the spoon, back into the gooey depths of the creamy death.

It wasn’t the same feeling as going below water. When you’re under the waves, in the ocean, in a pool, a lake or a river, there is something natural to it. A primal feeling that things were fine, that there was a way out. That you were still in control.

That feeling was gone. It didn’t feel like he was in water, it felt like he was trapped in sand. Buried alive under a gelatinous mountain that wanted to consume his very being, that wanted to digest him in the endless expanse of a stomach, that wanted him to slowly, agonizingly suffocate under its crushing pressure. He moved his arms and legs, but it was a fight for every movement. When he swam upwards he wasn’t even sure he was moving. Soon he started flailing upwards, screaming into the silence, the all-consuming silence, as he struggled to the surface.

There was no hope. He opened his mouth for a final breath, his hand breaching the surface the moment he was about to inhale the vile substance. With gasping horror he popped out of the liquid, gulping down air.

No, this couldn’t be happening.

No, this wasn’t real.

“Please, no…” he whimpered, looking up as Ashely moved her spoon again. As it came down the light caught off the reflecting surface, the bright flash cut by the streaks of residue left on the spoon. The rest of the ocean gone… consumed.

He closed his eyes as the spoon plunged into the great mass again. And again. And again. Each time he was swept along with the violent motion of the near liquid, dragged under countless times, clawing his way to the surface, thinking he was about to drown after each spoonful.

How could this be happening? Ashely wasn’t like this, she had been nice to him! They had laughed together, he had made her smile. She was just a nice girl who had grown up close by and… and… now she was going to kill him.

Her spoon slammed into the cup again, scraping against the plastic at the bottom. Somehow Gregg had outlasted the onslaught, his body half submerged in a smile pile of vanilla pudding at the edge of the cup. For a moment he let his mind fill with hopeful delusions. Maybe she was done. Maybe she was finished with him, and this torture would finally end.

But that’s the thing with delusions. Eventually they are broken. He screamed as he saw a shadow wrap around the cup, his entire world lifting upwards. Before the former nurse could even understand what was happening he felt the thing rotate, a new vision taking up the entirety of the sky.

Ashley was looking into the cup. She had lifted it into the air, turning it so she could see inside, and was simply starring at what was left. Gregg starred into her eye as it traced the outline of the cup, that great big ring of blue, that deep black, that beautiful reflection across the perfect whites… even then, starring at what could be his death, knowing that this might be the end, Gregg thought she looked beautiful.

And she smiled, and she started turning the cup. The tranquil image of her pupil faded to one of her crimson red lips. They parted like the gates of hell, the burning red maw of her mouth opening up to him. Her tongue was thick and covered in drool, sitting on the floor of her mouth, eagerly awaiting the last few drops of the sweet dessert. Her teeth were pure white, sparkling in the half light. Her gums moved as she continued to open wider, tiny motes of spit moving between and over them, forming small pools, or dripping down from the roof to create bridges.

But Gregg was more focused on the terrible pit of blackness that rested at the end of the hellish sight. The muscles of her neck flexed slightly at the anticipation of a final snack, the fluids squishing around inside, audible even from his position.

And then he felt a sudden jolt, Ashley’s finger tapping on the back of the cup. “No, please no!” he shouted as the tap came again. And again. And again, until finally his small glob of pudding came loose. He fell, down through the air, down through those terrible gates, passed the crushing white boulders of her teeth, until finally he smacked into her great pulsating tongue. Instantly he could feel the girl’s saliva coating his entire body, sticking him fast to the surface of the mighty organ, her taste buds gently rubbing at his back.

“No, no!” he continued to scream in a panic, fighting to free himself but finding the task impossible. After the torture he had suffered under the surface of her pudding he didn’t even have strength left to break the surface tension of her spit.

An unearthly fear wrapped around his heart as darkness started to fall upon his prison. He threw his head back, watching as her lips slowly closed, as blackness took him.

“No, no, no,” he said blindly, his words almost lost over the sudden cacophony of bodily noises that flooded in. Ashely started moving him around, pressing him to the top of her mouth, letting the sound of her spit moving, compacting under pressure, spraying out of the gaps between her teeth, the sound of her tongue flexing, exerting itself, the sound of her jaw bone creaking with the strain put under it, envelope him.

“No, please!” he shouted, but not even his ears could pick up his screams. Not over the roar of movement as he was gently pushed to the back of her throat. “No, no, no…” Back, back, towards the pure darkness that he would never escape from. Back towards the final terror. Back towards the last hell he would ever experience.

His final scream died before it even left his captors maw, cut short by a small gulp.