The crosshairs of Ana's rifle began to steady over the image of Widowmaker, who was also taking in someone with her own rifle. The one-eyed Egyptian sniper's snarl of detest turned into one of joy as she thought of the revenge she was about to take out on the woman who took her eye. While the saying was “an eye for an eye,” and it was never more apt in that moment, Ana was going to take much more than that. Ana squeezed the trigger, sending out the customized syringe bullet filled with a special mixture.

As the bullet flew, the French assassin was obscured by a swirl of black and red smoke. Before the sniper's purple skin could be pierced, the bullet landed itself in the now appearing Reaper. The sudden scream drew Widowmaker's attention, but when she turned toward its source, all she saw was a pile of Reaper's clothing. That on its own was strange enough to prompt her to escape from her position.

Ana cursed in her native language but took solace in the fact that her customized bullet seemed to work. She'd have to investigate to make sure, and she'd have to be quick about it. Luckily for her, her unwilling test subject found it too difficult to escape his bizarre predicament. Reaper’s clothing was heavy and multilayered, so Ana’s concern wasn’t that he’d escape before she got to him – it was that he’d be crushed under the weight of it all. When she arrived, she began to move the clothes around, searching for her new target. There, in the middle of the pile of black was a naked, 3-inch, Reaper.

The soldier in her told her it was best to dispose of him right now; reduce him to a red paste under her boot. However, the wounded, revenge-minded, justice-seeker in her had other ideas.

"I have much in store for you, Gabriel, but my mission is not yet over. You'll have to wait," she said to Reaper after picking him up by his ankle, holding him upside down in front of her face.

He was far too disoriented to know exactly what she was saying. Going by her tone, though, he knew he didn’t like it.

Ana reached for one of her pouches, to store the shrunken Talon member in, but paused when she came up with a less practical, but more fun, idea. With her free hand, she pulled down the zipper of her coat, revealing the deep, brown, cleavage Reaper was being carried toward. Reaper watched the larger-than-life tits squeeze together, more than they already where in the tight tank top, as Ana took in a deep breath of anticipation. Ana shivered at the familiar yet foreign feeling when the bare skinned edgelord was deposited atop her breasts. The skin to skin contact was nothing new, but in this new form it felt like the first time she ever had someone else caress her breasts. Needless to say, she liked it.

Reaper could already feel himself slipping down between her tits, despite his frantic efforts to pull himself up, finding no way to grip onto her smooth chest. Ana pressed him further down into her cleavage with her finger, keeping him snug and secure between her breasts. He began to yell something at her, something she couldn't quite make out, both from his size, and the sound of her zipper being pulled back up.

He was sealed in darkness, and the pressure around him was intense, even though the texture was soft. It was also very humid, and her skin was already lightly glazed with sweat. His hell was only just beginning, as soon Ana began to take off in a sprint. The result was her chest bouncing up and down violently, or as much as it could within the confines of her top and jacket. Still, it was very violent for Reaper, who lost all sense of direction during her jog.

Suddenly she stopped, and he was allowed a moment of respite. It was short lived, for after the sound of a deafening gunshot was heard, she took off running again. Like a good sniper, she never stayed in the same spot after taking a shot. This continued for a time that Reaper could no longer keep track of, his world spinning and the heat getting to him. Her skin was becoming more coated in sweat and threatened to slide him free of his confines. He did his best to use that opportunity, wriggling between her tits to try and free himself of their suffocating embrace. Reaper found himself under even more pressure when Ana threw herself to the ground.

Ana went prone, laying on her stomach, staying low as she took another Talon member in her sights. Sadly, still not the one she wanted most. Her weight was now pressing down onto her chest, which flattened against the ground and squeezed Reaper between them even more. He thought he was going to be shot out from between her tits from the pressure and sweat. It seemed more likely he’d suffocate before that could happen. Ana's heartbeat was a constant distraction, the thundering pumping keeping him from being able to have a single thought to himself. Much to his joy, Ana sounded off another shot (though he didn’t enjoy that part), and stood up immediately after. The damage was already done, though, and the jostling, heat, and pressure took its toll and Reaper finally blacked out.

He awoke upon making a harsh landing from a tremendous height. The soft surface kept him from taking lasting damage, but the air still shot from his lungs. Reaper, after managing to recover from the dizziness and catching his breath, realized he had been deposited onto the middle of a large bed. The Talon assassin looked up at Ana, who was in the process of removing her hood and jacket. He had to admit, despite her age, her body was as fit and firm as the day she joined Overwatch. After she pulled off her belt and let it drop to the ground, she finally addressed him.

"Let me make one thing clear, Reaper, you are going to die today. For too long you've been allowed to roam free, and I for one am not interested in seeing you go to a trial you will likely escape from. So, I'm going to deal with you myself." There were countless ways she could accomplish this, and Reaper could think of none that he could defend against. His only hope was a pre-execution escape or a quick death.

Through instinct, he began to run toward the edge of the bed, in some vain hope of leaping to freedom and finding a means of hiding from her. Ana laughed at the attempt, and easily grabbed him before he reached the edge.

"I didn't think I could trust you to accept your death like a man." Ana looked for a place to put him while she finished undressing, but every scenario ended with him running off the edge or finding a way to hide.

So, she was left with the best, and most delicious, solution. Gripping him by his arms, Ana raised Reaper up high and tilted her head back before opening her mouth wide, letting Reaper, and herself, have a taste of things to come.

As he was overcome with a level of fear he didn't think possible, he began to panic and flail, hoping to at the very least fall to a quick death. He would have no such luck, and soon he found his feet, then his legs, lower into the wet and humid confines of her mouth. By the time her lips closed, only his shoulders and up were still outside of her mouth. Reaper kicked and squirmed, but could do nothing to free himself, and only succeeded in making Ana giggle. He put all the strength he had into pushing himself free by pressing down on her lips. But they were too thick, too soft, too slick to let him find purchase.

The sniper resumed her strip, pulling off her sweaty top and tossing it aside. Due to her standing in front of a mirror, Reaper was allowed to see Ana disrobe, and his mind focused less on escape, and more on her. Her nipples looked like two chocolate kisses resting in the center of two caramel colored teardrops. Her stomach was not only flat, it was fit. Clearly defined muscles underneath her pulled-taut skin. He was around her same age and he was finding it difficult to maintain his level of ideal fitness. So how the hell was she doing it, he wondered. The light sheen of sweat that covered her skin gave her an otherworldly glow. Her breasts jostled and moved while she shimmied out of her pants and kicked off her boots. During the stronger tugs she gave to her outfit, her tits even clapped together a few times. When she finished, she could feel something poking at her tongue. When she realized what it was, she spat Reaper out back toward the bed, this time landing near the pillows at the head.

"An erection?! Oh, Gabriel, you are pathetic." He scrambled backwards as Ana began to approach. She crawled along the bed on all fours, her breasts swinging with her movements, and her firm ass visible in the mirror behind her.

"I can't say I'm surprised, though. You always did want me, didn't you, Gabriel? Back at Overwatch.” Her voice was deeper than most women’s, from years of whiskey and smoking. It added a seductive quality to everything she said. And to the actually seductive things she said, well, it made them unbearable for Reaper to hear. “In truth, I found you quite attractive back then as well,” she said, stroking his ego. “I was always hoping you’d make the first move, Gabriel. I am a sniper, after all, so I don’t exactly leap into things,” she admitted with a giggle. “The years, and tragedies, of my life have taught me, however, that if you want something, you need to take it.” Reaper shuddered at the pointed aggressiveness she exhibited. “In any case, today is both the luckiest, and unluckiest, day of your life, Gabriel.” Ana rose up, staying on her knees and towering over Reaper with intimidating beauty. He was mesmerized by the sight of her pussy, barely obscured by her trimmed hair, but soon panicked again.

Ana sat back on her heels, and with one hand held Reaper between her legs, and the other started to spread her moistening lips. He was witness to her fingers playing with her clit and listened to her moans as they grew louder and louder. Reaper peered up her body, along her flat, defined, stomach, between her heavy breasts, and at her face while she chewed on her lower lip. He had dreamed of being the reason she’d make that face for years. He just didn’t think this was how he’d do it. As she grew more aroused, her grip on him tightened, her fingers squeezing tight around him and threatening to breaks his bones, and at the very least were bruising him.

Satisfied with how wet and ready she was, Ana, without warning or ceremony, plunged Reaper headfirst into her snatch. She laughed with sadistic glee as she saw his legs kick wildly while he was half-buried inside her still tight pussy. Ana wanted those legs to kick around inside of her, though, so with one hand keeping her lips loose and willing, she used the other to start to push Gabriel deeper and deeper inside, until she only had to press on his feet with her finger to completely hide him from the world.

He thought the heat, pressure, and darkness of her cleavage was intense. However, compared to the inside of her pussy it seemed like a heavenly dream. He could barely move, only struggle. Yet, his struggles caused her to moan louder, and her walls to close tighter around him. But he had no choice, he didn't want to get destroyed by this madwoman.

Ana, meanwhile, enjoyed his struggles, palming her breast and playing with her clit. She thought of the old friends she could now pursue romantically, once she had dealt with Talon. And she was off to a great start.

Just as he was about to pass out again, he heard Ana let out the clearest sounding scream yet, as fluids surged around him. From the pan and into the fire, Reaper was pulled free by his ankles, coughing and gasping for air. Ana deposited him on her stomach while the two of them caught their breaths. Reaper certainly heard it, but didn’t register the growling below him as a threat. If he had been able to look past her breasts and see her face, as she licked her lips and moaned, her eye focused with hunger, maybe he would have. A few droplets of cum fell off the defeated man as he was carried across her relaxed body. The fluid that coated him stung at his eyes, and he found it difficult to see what was happening, but he saw enough to know it wasn't good.

Signaling his coming doom with a hungry moan, Ana gave her lips another coating of saliva before opening them again to him. Part of Reaper thought she was just going to hold him in her mouth again, possibly clean him off, before she would likely crush him under foot or in hand. If he was being honest, if he had to choose how’d he go in that moment, he’d prefer to be crushed under her ass. He always admired how firm and soft it looked in her form fitting pants. But part of him also knew what was really about to happen, he just didn't want to admit it.

Slower than before he was lowered toward the maw, and as the realization began to take over, he started to struggle, with what little strength he had left. Her breath hit him in the face once he passed her lips. Gently he was laid out on her tongue, as if he was some sacrifice upon the wriggling altar. She was sat up enough that he didn't immediately slide down toward her throat. Before he could reach out past her lips once he turned around, they closed.

In the darkness of her mouth the pressure began to build. Air was being sucked back toward her throat and he was squeezed between her tongue and palette. She was sucking all of her juices off of him, it seemed, and based on the sounds coming from her throat, she enjoyed the flavor. Next he found himself being tossed around in the pitch-black cave, knocking into her teeth before being pushed against her cheek, where he was coated in more saliva.

Back on the tongue, he was given a moment of rest, and then the lips opened again. Wiping the spit from his face, he looked out past her lips and saw himself in the mirror. He could see himself lying, pathetically, on her tongue, and Ana smiling with her mouth and eye at his grave misfortune. In a final act of true cruelty and justice, Ana decided to leave her mouth open as she swallowed. It’d be more difficult, certainly. However, she wanted him to see the look on his face as he fell. She wanted him to see the same look on his face that he’d likely seen on hundreds, if not thousands, of others who had died at his hand.

Unable to contain herself any longer, Ana expertly maneuvered her tongue to flip Reaper off of it and back toward her throat. Gabriel, pathetic though she saw him, was agile and had quick reflexes. He grabbed at the bumps along her tongue, trying to find a way to prevent the inevitable. However, everything, himself included, was too wet to find any kind of solid and lasting grip. He felt his feet press against the entrance of her throat, and almost immediately he was being pulled down by her powerful throat muscles.

Outside, Ana was finding some difficulty in swallowing him. She even had to abandon her added cruelty and close her mouth, shutting Reaper off from seeing his overdue demise. Yet still she struggled. She had hoped three inches was small enough to finish the job easily. By her own admittance, she’d taken more than that into her mouth and throat in the past. However, she hadn't accounted for prey that could move about in her throat, fighting against the powerful but struggling throat muscles. Ana gripped the edge of her dresser as she continued to struggle to pull him down, using her other hand to stroke her neck to help edge him down her esophagus.

Reaper found some hope in how well he was resisting the pull of her throat muscles. With any luck, her body would naturally reject the meal and he'd be spat up against her will. As he looked up, he could see light enter her mouth, illuminating the red inside. Just as he planned to scramble toward it, the light dimmed, and a wave of liquid flowed past her lips, along her tongue, and came crashed into his face.

Ana continued to drink from the bottle of whiskey, using the aid of the liquid to wash Reaper down into the pit of her growling stomach. The liquor burned his eyes more than her sweat or cum did. Instinctively he raised a hand to cover his face, which only lead to him losing what grip he had and slip further into her throat. The rushing drink helped to push him, lubricate him, and ultimately wash him down the rest of the way, until finally Ana felt the small treat hit her stomach.

She ran a hand over her breast, pausing at her nipple for a moment, before tracing circles around Reaper's soon to be grave. Ana hadn’t even considered that she’d be able to feel Reaper inside of her belly. In response, she gave a surprised coo, followed by delighted chuckles. She also hadn’t considered how much the whole process would turn her on. More so than just having him struggle inside of her tight inner walls. As Ana returned to the bed to address the surge of arousal, she wondered if Widowmaker would taste differently. Perhaps like blueberries, she thought.

I used to enjoy my lunch, until Satya "Symmetra" Vaswani started to join me; her and her many guests.

Few employees at the Vishkar Corporation are social enough to eat outside of their office. In the rare event of one of the even rarer extroverted employees inviting them to lunch, they’d use the excuse of needing to work through their break. Because of this, I often had the courtyard to myself to eat, which I preferred. Perhaps I have no place to judge my co-workers for their social skills. So, it was strange that Ms. Vaswani decided to start eating her lunch outside whenever I did.

Despite being a face for Vishkar, she is no more social than anyone else, probably less so. She was often seen as cold and aloof; despite many employees wishing they could get one “one on one time” with her. Yet with each day, she would find a seat closer and closer to me. It had even progressed to the point that one day she sat shoulder to shoulder with me. At first, I thought she was being shy, gradually working her way up to talk to me, the thought of which put butterflies in my stomach. Now I think she does it to gauge my reaction to her lunch.

The first few days I had no idea what she was eating, but soon it became clear: people. Tiny, squirming, completely alive people. Any thought being mistaken left when she was close enough that I could hear them screaming for help. She didn't even say hello when she sat down next to me. This Indian goddess, blasphemous as it may be to say, just sat down next to me without a word, like I was expecting her. Maybe I was.

I never got a good look into the box of tiny people she brought to lunch, only at the contents - one at a time. She began almost immediately after crossing those long legs, 3/4 wrapped up in black stockings with gold hems. If it weren't for the casual cannibalism, my eyes would be drifting toward the expanse of exposed thigh, reaching all the way up to her hip bone, rather than her mouth.

I had asked around, trying to see if anyone know about her doing anything strange, trying to be coy so as to not arouse suspicion. To not arouse her. I mean, not like that, but- anyway. Apparently, she had pitched an idea for an efficiency project that would address both the growing population and dwindling resources. She was all about efficiency, so the idea of her consuming those she found to serve little purpose in society wasn't farfetched. Yet, sitting there, watching her out of the corner of my eye, this initiative she had taken on was not about efficiency, it was about her own sick pleasure.

As grim as it was to think about, there were more efficient methods if one had to eat people. Convert them into a nutrient-rich paste, for one. There was no reason to consume them one at a time, plucking them from the box and depositing them into her mouth. Sometimes they would be pressed against her plump lower lip, gently slid halfway between her lips before her tongue would unceremoniously drag the victim the rest of the way in. Later into the meal she would occasionally tilt her head back and open her mouth slowly, dangling her 'food' above before dropping them in. Every so often she would press them directly onto her outstretched tongue, pulling the muscle back with the human pinned by her finger, her dark lips closing around the digit. The finger would then pop out seconds later, damp and occasionally connected to her lips by a thin rope of saliva.

There was no reason she had to swallow them whole, sending them to suffocate and burn in the pit of her stomach. It had to have been easier to just chew them up first. Less resistance going in, down, and inside. Less cruel, even though the act itself was cruel. But no. They went in alive. They were swallowed alive. The only explanation for so many inefficient methods was that she wasn't doing this for efficiency.

She was doing this for pleasure.

Now that she was sitting next to me, I could make out the subtlest, quietest, moans from her throat, assuming the tiny person wasn't screaming too much on their way down the slender, tight, passage. Gods, why did I have to hear them? Hearing them plead, beg, and curse just added a layer of reality to the situation I wasn’t ready for. Despite being too curious for my own good, watching as each person went in, I always tried to look away once she swallowed. In the rare moments I was brave enough to let my gaze linger, I could see the smallest upward pull on the corner of her lips after each swallow. Though perhaps a coincidence, I noticed she would only ever pick them up with her real hand, not the prosthetic she wore on the left side. My theory was this was so she could feel them squirm and fight in her grip before they did the same in her mouth, throat, and stomach. No doubt they had been screaming for my help the first time they saw me, however many days ago this nightmare started. It was until that day that I could hear them.

They weren't always clear, being so small, but when you know what words to listen for, it becomes crystal. “Help” is the most common, of course. Their cries only made me stare at my own lunch harder, not wanting to face the cruel reality any more than I had to. Then, I heard my name. I, like a fool, instinctively looked over at her. There, pushing his way out from between her lips, was a colleague of mine.

He wasn't the brightest, and was more lazy than hardworking, but he was a good man; funny and kind. Not attributes one needs for working at Vishkar, but quality qualities, nonetheless. Now he was doing what he could to push against the weight of her plump lips, trying to worm his way free and escape to an unknown fate. After my mouth opened, in slight preparation, but before a single sound could come out, her tongue washed over him like a wave, and pulled him into the darkness of her mouth. No more than two seconds later did she swallow with a gulp that I swear was exaggerated for my benefit.

"Would you like one?" she asked me.

"What?" I stumbled and muttered, unclear of how words were formed in a reality that I was becoming increasingly less trustful of.

"Would you like one?" she repeated, never taking her eyes off the holo-screen she had been projecting from the palm of her robotic hand since she started. She hadn’t even the lives she was taken the courtesy of looking at them in their last moments. A courtesy she also wasn’t extending to me.

She held up a randomly selected prisoner, dangling her near her own, pronounced, chest. This one I did not recognize, and I began to think not all of the members of her lunch were former workers of the corporation.

Even though I didn't know her, I knew she was still human. I thought about accepting, perhaps pretending to eat her but truly stowing her away until I could get back to my office and come up with a plan to fix her status, and that of the others. However, my concern for this woman did not exceed the concern for my own safety, no matter how much she pleaded.

I was always afraid of, though still attracted to, Satya Vaswani, and I did not want to upset her. Now more than ever.

She did not hold a position higher than mine, but her influence far exceeded that than most of the board members. She was held in such high esteem among the higher ups that upon her request, anyone could be hired, fired, or transferred (and now, worse) at her behest. I started to realize they, her superiors, in Vishkar position only, feared her too.

"No...no thank you..." I shamefully said, yanking my eyes away from the woman who had been so close to freedom, but because her fate was in the hands of a coward, she would not see another day.

"Very well," was all she said before casually bringing the kicking human to her mouth.

I swear she took longer to eat this one than the others. She held her longer in the hair, her mouth slowly opening, tendrils of spit breaking between those plump, dark, lips. Her tongue moved more slowly to wet them, but more importantly to signal the tiny woman’s demise. The victim was lowered slower than usual, giving her plenty of time to kick, to beg Symmetra for her life. To beg me for her life. She took extra time to place her gently on her tongue, pressing the woman down against the muscle. Her lips came together gently, but tightly. She demonstrated their lush fullness, how deathly alluring they were. I don’t know what was going on inside her mouth; perhaps she was savoring, perhaps she was just letting the woman sit there, moving on her tongue trying to find a way out, perhaps she was massaging her against her pallet as one would with a piece of hard candy. Whatever the process was for her, she, of course, took her time with this one. Was she doing this just to tease me, or was she trying to give me ample time to change my mind and accept her offer? Before I could answer that question, she swallowed.

Symmetra couldn’t slow down her gulp, I don’t think, but she certainly made it louder, more exaggerated, than before. She satisfied moan she gave post swallow was definitely louder than the other ones. More distinctly sexual. Her hand rested on her chest as she seemed to enjoy that one in particular. I shudder to think it was because I was watching her. Because I had essentially doomed that poor woman with my cowardice. It was in moments like that I cursed my overactive imagination; and my unscrupulous libido. Because as soon as I heard that clearly pleasured utterance that came past those deadly, but still oh so kissable, lips, blood rushed from my overworked brain to my underappreciated crotch.

I sat there, staring at my own lunch which I hadn't touched, when she stood up. My terrified trance was broken when I heard her saying my name, asking if I was indeed the person she thought I was.

All I could do was nod.

"You have a performance review coming up," she reminded me, even though she shouldn't have that information.

My eyes scanned up her statuesque body, stopping on those enchanting eyes behind the glasses she wore for work.

"Good luck," she mouthed with a smile before she walked off, the clicking of her high heels being the only sound in the courtyard as she left.

“Hey y’all! It’s ya girl, Hanna Song, aka D.Va, aka GTStreamer, aka The Mass Mistress! So, chat, what are we going to do tonight? Why, the same thing we do every night: play games, eat ‘ritos, drink Dew, and…well, you know,” she paused to giggle bashfully, a small blush rising against the pink marks on her cheeks. “Now, let’s get started!”

Her introduction was the same as it was every night. It had become so commonplace that both she and her viewers could recite it, verbatim, in their sleep. That’s not to say the viewers had grown tired of it. Nothing she did brought them any boredom. It’s likely why she was Glitch’s most popular streamer. Well, that plus the fact that she was very good at the games she played, and she was incredibly hot, while not sacrificing an ounce of cute. Sexy and cute was a hard balance to pull off. One could argue, however, that her main draw was how she handled subscription and donation goals being met. Not many streamers had the resources to do what she did. Those that did couldn’t pull off what she did nearly as well. Suffice to say, she was the best at what she did.

Most knew her look from her official posters and TV appearances, both on the news and in ads. A skintight blue, white, and pink jumpsuit she wore when piloting her MEKA. However, her stream was meant to be a more casual affair, so she wore clothes to match. Though her clothes were more casual, they were no less tight. Body-hugging t-shirt and gym shorts along with knee-high stockings. A different set every night, though always branded. D.Va was nothing less than an alluring siren. Though her looks are what drew people into her stream, it was what she did on stream that kept them there and kept them coming back.

D.Va’s stream worked like most popular streams did. She would play games, often with expert skill, snack on sponsoring foods, and thank whomever donated and/or subscribed to her channel. As those subscription and donation numbers climbed, people got more and more excited. It was like foreplay to them. Some even argued that it was like foreplay for her, too. As she drew nearer to each goal, she would get slightly more flushed. Though some would counter and say that’s just because she was playing hard. Whatever the case, she never missed a chance to fulfill her goal prizes.

The first goal of the night to be met was one for subscribers. “Woo!” she boasted as soon as her eyes flicked off one monitor and onto the next. “We met a goal everyone,” she announced in a sing-song manner, complete with a shuffling dance in her seat. “Let’s see…oh? Subscribers, huh? Usually it’s donations first. You all do keep things fresh, don’t you? Well, welcome to the fandom, subby newbies! Now of course, when a goal is met, you lovely viewers get a treat,” she explained. Then added, mischievously, “and so do I.”

With the game paused, D.Va reaches somewhere off-screen, to the right. When she comes back, her hands are clasped together. “Alright, let’s switch over to the Stool Cam! Brought to us by Hanneman Stools,” she was sure to plug. The first of many that night. With a press of a key, the feed switched over from a paused game to that of a lone stool. Albeit a nice-looking stool. After all, that’s Hanneman Stools quality. Shortly after switching, D.Va came back into frame.

“Miss me? Ha! Just kidding! Now, let’s get to it!” she cheered, emphatically emphasizing each word to get everyone excited. As if they needed help in that regard. Her well-manicured hands hovered over the stool momentarily before they separated, dropping the item she had grabbed. Well, not an item. A person. A shrunken down man. As he got his bearings after the disorienting trip, D.Va went through the usual introductions.

“Our first Volunteer of the night is Dvalicious69. Love the screen name, cutie,” she noted down at volunteer. The viewers didn’t recognize his face, but they certainly recognized his name. He had been a prominent chat presence for months. He was impossible to ignore when D.Va was conducting the segment she was in the middle of in that moment. When he gained mod status, he was able to bypass the spam filter and talk at length about how wonderful D.Va was. When chat learned he was the first volunteer, it erupted into excited memes and emotes.

“Dvalicious had only one preference. I’m sure anyone who’s seen him in chat knows what it is. My feet! Far be it for me to leave him disappointed.” While the chat spammed various emotes involving a foot of some kind, D.Va unrolled her stocking of the night. That night it had been a knee-high stocking made to look like a white tube sock. To satiate her fans, she did this, of course, in front of the camera. The fabric was slowly pulled down her long, smooth, stem, bunching up on the way down. As soon as she was barefoot, she wiggled her five little piggies for the camera, each with pink nail polish. Then, it was back to Dvalicious.

Her foot plopped down onto the stool suddenly, especially for Dvalicious. The impact rocked the ground and knocked him onto his ass. “Whoops!” D.Va exclaimed. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. Don’t worry, I got ya,” she reassured as her foot approached. Before he could even get up, he was gripped between D.Va’s toes. “Gotcha,” she boasted while stretching her leg out for everyone to see. With agility and grace gained from years of military training, and doing that bit every stream, D.Va kept one leg up while hopping over to the stool to sit down.

Next, the stocking she had previously removed was gently placed back onto her foot and leg. Once chat heard the stocking’s hem snap into place, eliciting a delighted coo from the streamer, Dvalicious was officially in place. Every viewer always enjoyed how she kept running her hands up her thigh, even after the stocking was in place. The slight shiver she made drove them wild. “Say hi, Dvalicious!” D.Va turned on her stool and held her covered sole up to the camera. He was moving, certainly, now against her sole, but it was hard to tell if he was waving. Nonetheless, people were excited and/or jealous.

Once the goal prize was given, D.Va hopped back to her chair and switched the feed back to the game (and a picture-in-picture of her face, of course). In fact, many had asked her to make her webcam box bigger, but D.Va said the game, “like women,” had to come first. Then she’d wink. From there, the stream continued as it had before. Snacks, games, and thanks. Then, the next goal was met. This time, it was a donation one.

D.Va cooed in excitement. “Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding! We met another goal! Thank you so much to all my viewers. Y’all are the best, I mean it.” Chat exploded with heart emotes. “Ah ha, there’s that donation goal. You all know what that means! And if you don’t, well you’re about to find out,” she promised. “Just how I reward my fans, I gotta punish the haters. Bring out…” she started, strumming her fingers in her desk trying to create a drum roll. “…the condemned!” She even made sure to deepen her voice, for dramatic effect.

The donation goal “prize” was a bit controversial. When she started doing them, she lost a good chunk of her viewers. Once word got out as to why people left, more than twice as many took their place. Even if the hit hadn’t been recovered, D.Va went on record she would have kept doing it anyway. “It’s important to show that actions, even on the Internet, have consequences,” she explained. Chat didn’t really care about all that, they mostly just thought it was hot.

“My stream has volunteers,” she began to explain to those unfamiliar with the stream. “Isn’t that right, Dvalicious?” D.Va wiggled her toes while keeping her foot on her lap for everyone to see. “However, my stream also has victims. Anyone who breaks one of my very clearly stated rules gets banned. And anyone who gets banned must be punished. Oh sure, my critics have said that being banned from watching my channel is punishment enough. Well, what’s to stop those trolls from harassing another streamer? Or making another account and harassing me? I think my solution is best.” Chat unanimously agreed.

Though it isn’t explicitly stated in her rules how rule breakers are punished, outside of being banned, anyone who watches the stream once will learn. No one knew how she did it. Specifically, no one knew how she tracked them down. Most didn’t really care. As Glitch’s top streamer, she would certainly have the resources to pull it off, however she does it.

Just like she had with her first volunteer, D.Va reached off screen; this time, to the left. She made sure to keep the two groups separate. Just like before, she came back with a little shrunken man in her grip. “Unlike with the wonderful Dvalicious69, who, B-T-Dubs, is great at tickling my foot,” she pauses again to giggle the giggle that stole many hearts, “victims don’t get a shout out. No reason to reward bad behavior, right? Although, I guess their punishment is my reward.” Another giggle. The man in her grip squirmed harder as the reality became more real.

D.Va stood up from her gaming chair, while keeping the first victim center frame. Above him, out of frame, D.Va began to “sing” the Jaws theme. It certainly worked on him, as he squirmed harder the further along in the song she got. Then, at its climax, she came down upon him. Her mouth engulfed him easily, taking the tips of her fingers along with him. Her fingers came out with a pop. He didn’t.

The Korean streamer got up close to the camera and made a show of sloshing him around and tasting him. They always tasted good, so she always gave a satisfied moan that drove the chat wild. The light trickle of drool at the corner of her lips was especially craze-inducing. With a gulp, D.Va finalized her punishment for the rule-breaker. To remove all doubt that it was a trick. D.Va opened her mouth wide in front of the camera and rolled out her tongue. Her humid breath fogged up the camera.

“Whoopsie!” she laughed before wiping it clean with her screen-cleaning cloth. When she stood back up, she gave her bare tummy a quick few pats before sitting back down in her chair. “Can’t say he tasted better than Doritos, but he felt great going down!” she announced, making another plug. “And he feels great inside, too,” she added looking down at her flat stomach. She then poked at her belly. “Boop!”

As usual, with each goal met, the next were met sooner and sooner. People wanted more of what they’ve seen. They wanted to see more of what she could do. D.Va barely got through the next couple of levels before the goal notice went off. “Ooooone second,” she said, keeping her eyes on the game. “I’ve almost…beaten…this…boss! Ha! Take that, scrub-a-dub-dub!” D.Va celebrated. After giving herself a couple spins in her chair, cheering out, she stopped and looked at the notices.

“Let’s see here…Another sub goal met? My favorite! Welcome, new D.Lites!” Her name for subscribers. “I’m gonna switch you all over back to the Stool Cam, brought to you by Hanneman Stools, and I’ll meet you there.” Just as before, the feed switched from the game and D.Va to just the stool. D.Va, as promised, would come into frame shortly. Though, given the height of the camera, she’s not entirely within frame when she does.

Another volunteer has been gently placed center on the stool. Knowing how to work a crowd, D.Va makes sure to bend over at the waist as she does so. She always acts surprised when she notices chat losing their minds over seeing her butt, front and center. Acting with a faux embarrassment at the “innocent mistake.” It only serves to drive chat wilder. With the next volunteer set, D.Va turns to the camera, bending over and giving only the volunteer a look at her perfectly sculpted ass.

“Now, we’ve already done feet – how you are doing down there, Dvalicious?” D.Va calls down to her foot and coming back with an aroused, and arousing, smile. “Thus, tradition dictates that we move onto…drum roll please…” This time, without a desk, D.Va just makes the noise with her mouth. “The booty!” Chat erupts into emotes faintly resembling asses, like peaches, or just ones labeled as “ass,” like the donkey. All while D.Va excitedly shakes her hips.

D.Va repositions herself, so the stool stands between her and the camera. With her back to everyone, she pulls up on either side of her gym shorts, giving herself a comfortable wedgie, and turning them into a thong, essentially. She’s smart enough to know how much she can and cannot show on stream. She’s a pro, after all. Anything more revealing than a wide thong would get her in trouble. Though, any action Glitch would take against her would likely be less severe than if she were a smaller streamer. Now, killing shrunken fools via vore? There’s no law protecting their rights, so she’s free to do as she pleases there. Just no nudity.

“Are you ready, chat?”

An explosion of YES.

“Are you ready- oh! Almost forgot to introduce him. I’m so rude!” Chat has already forgiven her. “Everyone, this is TheMoonAndStars. Cute name! He opted in for butt, with a write in for vore. Sorry, cutie, but that’s reserved for troublemakers. You wouldn’t want to get sent to your untimely death, would you? I’d feel awful about that,” D.Va pouted. “Plus, you would miss out on all the fun after-stream activities me and my volunteers get up to,” she noted with a sultry voice and wink.

“Okay, okay, enough messing around. Chat, again, are you ready?”

The chat is indecipherable.

“Volunteer, are you ready?”

The volunteer is inaudible.

“Sounds good! Here’s hoping my moon doesn’t make you see stars.” D.Va chuckled at her own joke. “Oh, D.Va. Now then. Here. We. GO!” Despite what the hype and build up would lead one to believe, she didn’t drop down quickly. In the past she had said that she didn’t want to hurt her volunteers, adding “that’s reserved for victims.” So, her heart-shaped ass was lowered slowly onto TheMoonAndStars. As she got closer, he reached up to touch that shapely booty. As she got closer still, he fell back, still trying to caress it. All before he disappeared under the perfectly smooth, perfectly round, butt.

Round and round her hips swiveled. Her butt was given little shakes as she softly ground her volunteer against her ass. Soft moans could be heard from up above. She used to have a camera trained on her face for the butt portion of her stream. However, Glitch determined that the faces she made were too lewd. A massive letter writing campaign did nothing to change their minds. So, instead, D.Va removed the camera, but made sure to be vocal about how much she was enjoying the volunteer under her ass. Hands gripped her thighs as her legs spread wide. One hand then slipped back in front of herself. Judging by her increased moaning, and the movement of her arm, people guessed what she was up to. Before she could get carried away and in trouble, she stopped herself.

D.Va stood back up, her legs a little wobbly. She peers over her shoulder to see him on the stool, but he’s nowhere to be found. Thus, she knows exactly where he is. Her hand doesn’t have to feel around long before it runs over TheMoonAndStars – stuck to her left cheek.

“Why hello there,” she greets, giggling as she peels him free. He’s still moving, but he’s clearly exhausted. “Hope you got some energy left, because the ride’s not over,” she promises. After her shorts are smoothed back down, conforming to her shape, D.Va pulls back the hem at the back. The volunteer is unceremoniously dropped in, and the hem is released, snapping back. “It’s a good thing my shorts, and my booty, are so tight or you’d slip right out,” D.Va noted while showing off the volunteer-shaped bump on her butt. With a playful spank, she returns to her chair.

“Lucky for him, this Katana X96 Gamer Chair is super soft and comfortable, so he’s in no danger of getting squished!” Another plug. “Plus, tinies are surprisingly durable,” she added, reassuring those who weren’t already aware. Peering at the chat, D.Va sees some of the usual comments that follow any of her subscription goal prizes.

“Hehe, sorry everyone, I can’t put a tiny down the front of my pants. I tried that once, and Glitch really let me have it.” Those who had asked were obviously disappointed, but she threw them a bone for their bones. “However, all my volunteers know that after the stream, I’m more than willing to do what Glitch won’t let me do on camera.” That revelation, plus the lip bite, and her flushed face, sends chat into a thunderstorm of excited thoughts.

D.Va’s stream wasn’t even halfway finished, and already it had been fun, engaging, and, above all, hot. However, it would only get hotter from there. For D.Va, for her viewers, for her volunteers, even for her victims.

And for you.

D.Va barely had time to really put her game face on before the next goal was met. As if by a pattern, following the subscription goal, the next donation goal was hit. Upon seeing this, her cute Korean face lit up. Maybe it was because it was the money she had gained in one night, or maybe it was because she was going to have another chance to show what happens to those who disrespect her. Either way, she was happy. And so were her viewers. Victims, not so much.

“You all are so generous!” she beamed, taking a moment to look directly into the webcam. Though she was addressing everyone, each person felt like she was talking to them directly. She knew how to melt hearts. “The least I can do to pay you back, is to get a little pay back – emphasis on ‘little,’” she joked, despite the grim nature of her plan. Grim or not, she was giving her fans what they wanted. Of course, she was getting something too: a full wallet and a full belly.

The streamer reached her hand over off screen, toward the collection of volunteers. Half the chat was clamoring to tell her the mistake she was making; they were afraid she was about to wrongfully swallow and digest one of her biggest fans. The other half were more excited than usual by the prospect. D.Va saw this and laughed.

“Relax, guys, I’m just getting a stick of gum,” she reassured, showing off the flat stick in a silver wrapper. “And no, I didn’t forget about our next victim, either.” She liked to refer to the soon-to-be snacks as our victims. She said it was because she wanted her fans to feel as involved with the process as she was. To those on the outside that might have seemed like a condemnation of the viewers’ complicity in watching the deadly damsel take a human life, albeit a shrunken one. Her fans knew she meant this as a good thing.

After reaching off to the other side, D.Va brought back the promised, furiously wriggling, victim. “Now sit tight while I get ready,” she instructed her victim before setting him down in the middle of her black mechanical keyboard. Almost immediately he began to scramble away, but he wouldn’t get far. Not through any intervention by D.Va, but instead because the keyboard itself. The thick, raised, keys were slick and difficult to move along. The gaps between each key were even harder to deal with. More than once he slipped and had to pry himself loose. All the while, rainbow LED lights swam across just under the keys, illuminating him in a cycle of changing colors.

Meanwhile, D.Va got ‘ready.’ The gum came unwrapped, and to no one’s surprise it was pink. Likely strawberry, her favorite flavor. Maybe even her own brand: D.Va’s K-POP! Bubblegum. Since she didn’t bother to plug it, maybe not. D.Va spent a good minute chewing the gum, making sure to keep her mouth open. Normally a rude behavior, but the chat ate it up. Watching her teeth pummel the gum and reshape it from the dry stick into the wet wad made them wild with anticipation. She had been asked in the past to do the same to her victims. However, she said it was “too mean” and “painful” for them. As if being subjected to die slowly and painfully in her digestive acids was a sweet kindness. Besides, Glitch would likely disapprove of open gore.

Following a few blown bubbles being popped, D.Va was almost ready. She reached into her mouth and pulled out the pink wad. Very slightly she stretched it, just enough for her purposes. The tiny man had gotten surprisingly far in that time. All the way to the command keys, though that was hardly far enough. He was almost over the F6 key when he felt himself being picked up again. No matter how much he kicked and punched, he couldn’t stop her from pressing one end of the gum to his back. With her hand raised, the show began.

High above her head, the second victim of the night hung above D.Va’s face. A face of excited expectations and aroused anticipation. As he started to lower on his own, he realized her game. By stretching the gum out, putting him on one end, and pinching the other, she was letting even his minor weight stretch the gum out further. Her eye lids hung low in a seductive manner. The closer he got, though, the wider her eyes got, betraying her attempts to hide her excited arousal.

Bubblegum pink lips were licked several times by her eager tongue. Even a little bit of drool was starting to leak from the corner of her mouth. When he had stretched the gum halfway, her maw opened. Her breath was hot and humid, smelling of the strawberry gum he was stuck to. Most of that was overpowered by the smell of the consumed Doritos and Dew in her stomach waiting for him. An eager tongue rolled out over her pink, plump, bottom lip. Like a red (pink actually) carpet just for him.

Naturally he struggled as much as he could to free himself from the gum. He didn’t seem to realize that doing so only caused the gum to stretch faster and faster. Hell, even if he wasn’t struggling, the longer the gum became, the weaker it was, so the faster it stretched. Even if he could manage to dislodge himself, there was only one place he had to go from that fall.

Finally, as he thrashed the most all evening, up to that point at least, he disappeared past D.Va’s lips. As soon as he did, D.Va closed her lips against the gum. Moving her head back upright, she started to twirl the string of gum, wrapping it around her finger. Lips curled back and bared her perfect white teeth. In an instant, they parted and then bit back down, severing what little length was left between the victim and her finger. It was a short-lived separation, because soon after she placed her finger into her mouth and sucked the gum right off it.

D.Va was spending more time savoring that victim than usual. The chat was quick to deduce that she was doing something more than just savoring. Her eyes looked more focused. Her tongue was pressing against her cheeks more. As dutiful as she looked, she still looked to be enjoying herself. Her smile never faded, even as she gave a loud and exaggerated gulp. Then, she started chewing. Seconds later, she blew a big, pink, bubble, with no victim in sight.

The chat was besides themselves with excitement at having seen D.Va manage to remove the victim from the gum, swallow him, and leave her gum behind. D.Va soaked up the praise, smiling and giggling as best she could while chewing her gum.

“I know it’s a bad idea to do so, but…” She trailed off before giving yet another strong swallow, this time sending the gum down to her stomach. “That gum might spend 7 years in my stomach, but that troll sure won’t!” Not her best joke, but chat was acting like it was the best joke ever. To put a period on the whole thing, D.Va opened her mouth wide and stuck out her tongue to show there was nothing left inside. Then, she went back to the game.

The last sub goal was always the hardest to hit, obviously. It required the most subscriptions gained during one stream, and the amount increased exponentially from the first. Some nights she didn’t even hit that goal, disappointing everyone involved.

But that night, she would hit it.

The notification for every tier of subs and donations hit was unique, but the one for the final tier was extra special. There was no mistaking it when D.Va and chat heard it. D.Va had said it was her favorite of the goals, and was even more special because it wasn’t guaranteed.

“Aww!” D.Va cooed, holding her hands to her chest and looking at the webcam like it was a darling puppy trying to fit into a tennis shoe. “Thank you all sooooo much! You are…Oh-Em-Gee, you’re just too much, I swear.” Her viewers always appreciated her genuine and humble appreciation for their support. Mostly they appreciated her body and the way she used it to please and punish shrunken people. The sweet humility was nice too, though.

“Of course, I do have to wonder, do you sub just for me, or are you doing it to hit these goals? Especially this last one?” D.Va playfully asked, wiggling her eyebrows and smirking mischievously. There was no denying the goal itself was a huge motivator. After breaking into some sweet laughter, she continued. “Either way, we all win! You, me, and especially our super lucky volunteer. So, let’s get to the reward we all enjoy!”

Once again, she reached off screen, though she paused for longer than usual. The surprised coo the chat heard her make only piqued their interest more. D.Va came back with her fingers wrapped around the next volunteer. “She’s a cutie,” she noted as chat saw that the volunteer was undeniably female. It was rare that there were female volunteers, and even rarer were female victims. Whether she didn’t have as many female fans as she did male, or females just weren’t as likely to volunteer and/or break the rules, no one could say for certain. Both D.Va and her viewers always enjoyed when one showed up though.

“Gosh, I wish I could show her off,” D.Va lamented, looking over the nude volunteer in her hand, but keeping her obscured from the camera, “but it’s not like she has on any clothes, Ay-Tee-Em. I promise to buy her some nice tiny clothes after the stream!” Despite her description of the naked fan, chat begged to see the volunteer anyway. “Uh, uh, uh, guys,” she playfully scolded. “An itty-bitty titty is still a titty. Glitch likes me, but not enough to overlook nudity.”

While the volunteer sat in her hand, kept obscured still so chat didn’t get a nip slip, D.Va read the card that had the volunteer’s information. “The final volunteer of the night is Miss_Anne_Thrope. Punny. Hopefully she’s not antisocial enough to shy away from the upcoming sub goal prize, right?” D.Va rhetorically asked the chat with a smile. “Says here she signed up for…oh wow, everything! I’m flattered, m’dear,” she said to the volunteer while bowing her head. “However, you’ll only be able to experience one thing tonight – at least on stream, wink wink – and fans of the stream will know exactly what that is.” Chat responds with words, numbers, ASCII art, but it all means the same thing.

Boobs.

“Which means I need to go put on my Thot Tee!” D.Va announced excitedly. Swiftly she got up and took Anne with her as she quickly left the room. Chat barely had time to appreciate the shape of the last volunteer on her ass cheek. She had to move fast as Glitch didn’t like it when streamers let their stream go on without the streamer present. Also, neither she, nor the chat, could wait for the sub prize.

After a few minutes, D.Va bounced back into the room, wearing her aforementioned ‘Thot Tee.’ On its own it didn’t look like much, but on D.Va it was amazing. Her last shirt was somewhat loose, but still obviously a feminine cut. Her ‘Thot Tee’ however was very tight. It was form-fitting and very flattering. The shirt was also considerably smaller than her last shirt. Not only did it show off more of that perfectly trim and flat belly of hers, but it also had a much deeper neckline than she had before. Though D.Va didn’t have the kind of massive jugs some other female streamers had, she also wasn’t lacking for size, either. The t-shirt made sure to show off that fact. What’s more, the shirt was an officially licensed Glitch t-shirt, given out to their top streamers. Glitch knew exactly how to advertise themselves.

D.Va skipped back over to her webcam and stopped abruptly, causing her chest to bounce. When she plopped back down onto her chair, her chest bounced again. A good bit of foreplay before the main event.

“I’m back! Didja miss me?” Chat’s answer is obvious; D.Va’s reaction is adorable. “Now, I’m sure you know the rules, Miss Thrope – may I call you Anne? For those who don’t, a quick reminder. If Anne here can keep her head ‘above water’ for the rest of the stream, I’ll donate a portion of my earnings tonight to a charity that’s close to my heart: Nu Korea. Nu Korea is a charity that offers aid to the efforts to rebuild South Korea following Omnic attacks.” D.Va’s explanation brings a somber mood to the room. After a beat, she’s back to her chipper self. “Good luck, Anne!”

Anne is then dropped, from a relatively small and safe height, onto D.Va’s cleavage. She bounces a few times before almost immediately finding her right leg had slipped between D.Va’s breasts. For the rest of the stream, the female volunteer would attempt to pull herself free from the streamer’s cleavage. However, even the slightest movements from the comparatively giant woman jostled her jiggly chest, forcing the volunteer deeper between her tits. Undoubtedly, the noticeable sheen of sweat D.Va had been building up made things more difficult for Anne. Toward the end of the stream, when D.Va got more serious with the video game, she slumped forward. This not only gave the chat a great peek down at her girls, but it also caused the girl between her girls to have an even harder time. In that position, D.Va’s breasts were pressed more tightly together, making escape almost impossible.

All good things must come to an end, even D.Va’s stream. After returning to the main menu, D.Va slumped back in her chair, exhausted, wiping the sweat from her brow. D.Va looked down toward her chest and could see no sign of the lucky contestant. “Oh dang!” D.Va exclaimed, sitting up straight. “Looks like our volunteer didn’t make it. Well…” she paused in faux thought, “…you know what? I’ll donate some of my earnings anyway!” In truth, any time someone lost the challenge, D.Va would donate anyway. Classy.

“Let’s of course thank Miss_Anne_Thrope for playing. Anne, come on up here!” D.Va doesn’t have to spend long reaching between her tits to find the volunteer, but she does. Just for the benefit of her infinitely horny fans. Eventually D.Va brings Anne back out, alive and kicking. “Anne, thanks so much for giving it your all. Although you didn’t win, you won’t be leaving empty handed. D.Va, show her what she’s won! Sure thing D.Va!” she said to herself as if she were having a conversation with herself.

With her other hand, D.Va pulled back the left cup of her bra. Then, gently, knowing how exhausted Anne must have been, she places the volunteer inside of it. Chat always kept a keen eye out during that segment, hoping for a surprise nipple. Thus far, they had turned up nothing. Regardless, seeing a shrunken woman being dropped into the bra of one of the hottest streamers ever, to be pressed against her perfect breast? No member of chat would be disappointed with those results. Unsurprisingly, most volunteers select ‘breasts’ as a preference.

“All right, everyone, that’s it for tonight,” D.Va says, some exhaustion in her voice, signing off for the night. “I want to thank all of you for watching at home. I want to thank all the subscribers and donators who help make this stream, and all its fun prizes, possible. Of course, I want to thank our volunteers.” Chat unanimously thanks them all, with some thanking specific volunteers from their favorite segments. “Finally, while they weren’t the nicest folks, after all that’s how they got here, our victims also helped to make for one hell of a show, too!” D.Va stood up in that moment and showed off her pale tummy again, drumming her hands against it, no doubt upsetting anyone who was still alive inside. “Good night, everyone!”

And then another alert came in.

“What’s this? Oh, another donation goal? Eh, I dunno, I was literally just about to sign off for the night…”

Chat wouldn’t accept that answer, no way. Not only did they beg her to stay, some even demanded it, as if it were her solemn duty to fulfill ever goal’s prize. Though she probably didn’t see it that way, D.Va hadn’t let them down yet, and she wasn’t about to start.

“Oh, okay,” she relents with a smile. “For you, I’ll do it.” Once again seated, she reaches over to the group of victims who no doubt were very upset that they came so close to living another night. D.Va examines the third victim of the night and begins to consider how to eat him. Certainly, she could just, well, eat him. Pop him in, slosh him about, and smile. However, D.Va knew her fans expected a little showmanship from their favorite Korean, or otherwise, streamer. As she browsed her desk, her eyes fell on the half-empty Mountain Dew bottle. “Ah ha!” she exclaimed.

Needing both hands to work, D.Va set the victim somewhere ‘safe’: her mouth. Well, halfway into her mouth. His naked legs were still sticking out, kicking at her glossy pink lips. D.Va began to remove the label from the soda bottle, humming a K-pop tune as she worked. The work quickly finished, the tiny is spat back into her palm before he had a chance to let the fear truly set in.

“Sorry for defacing your label, Mountain Dew,” she said at the webcam, addressing one of her biggest sponsors. “However, I promise you’ll appreciate what I’m about to do with your product.” A promise and wink made, D.Va turns her attention back to the bottle, kept center frame of the webcam. Carefully aiming him, D.Va drops the victim straight down into the bottle. Plop! Fizz! The shrunken man is submerged in the green (well it’s actually yellow, but the bottle makes it look green) soda briefly before swimming back up and floating half-submerged. With the label torn off, everyone could see him bobbing about in the fizzing soda.

“Okay, you gotta tell me,” she calls down to the victim, her eye above the mouth of the bottle, “how does it feel to swim around in a pool of delicious, refreshing, Mountain Dew?” She was laying on the plug a little thick, but chat didn’t seem to care. The people who drew art of her sucking off a Doritos bag with a dick shaped like a Mountain Dew bottle? Those people seemed to care a little.

With the question posed, she held her ear above the mouth and listened. “Hmm, he’s just saying what they always say: Help help! Don’t eat me! Expletive expletive,” she mocked. “Well you should have thought of that before you were a dick in chat!” She yelled that last bit directly into the bottle, the echo clearly upsetting the victim. He’d have other things to worry about as her hand came down to hold the bottle.

“Bottoms up!” D.Va then began to chug what was left of the bottle. Bit by bit the soda flowed into her mouth, splashing against her tongue for only a moment before being gulped down, where it would rain down upon her stomach full of Doritos, gum, and people. Gulp, gulp, gulp. The victim swam valiantly, everyone had to admit. D.Va made sure she was positioned so her hand didn’t obscure the show for chat. They were all witness to the little man being pulled closer and closer to her mouth. Had the bottle been full she likely would have had to stop for a break and a burp. As it was, the man wasn’t given a moment to rest before he disappeared with the last of the Dew into her gullet.

Gulp!

D.Va slammed the empty bottle down onto the desk and lets out a satisfied “ahh!” followed by an unintended burp. Half amused and half embarrassed, D.Va daintily covers her mouth, her smile peeking around her fingers, and apologizes. Then her eyes go wide with a realization. “Oh! That reminds me!” Without further explanation, D.Va just stands up, putting her fit, but not too muscular, stomach on display. Then she reaches over and grabs her ball-shaped microphone.

“This is the new Eight Ball Microphone that Eight Ball sent me. I wanted to try something out.” Without further ado, D.Va holds the mic up against her stomach. “Hehe, it’s a little cold,” the chat barely hears her say. The sounds of her gurgling stomach are being picked up loud and clear. “Can you hear them?” she asks.

Most of the chat agreed that they couldn’t really hear anything over the glorps and blurks of her well fed stomach. However, the rest were adamant they could hear the sounds of her victims thrashing about in the sea of soda and sugar. The sound clips would be stripped and cleaned and dissected to be used as proof they could hear them, but it remained up for debate.

“Alright, now it’s good night for real, people. And remember: if you want to be a volunteer, just make the proper donation along with the message #volunteer and a list of your preferred ‘parts of me.’” After giggling at the last bit, she continued. “Do that, and you too can be a part of my stream! Now, as always, I must warn you: any shrinking done is permanent. Once you’re shipped to me, it’s for good, okay?” The warning was serious, but she almost had a tone of warning a child. “So be extra, extra, extra, extra, extra sure that it’s something you want. I can assure you, though, and my volunteers will agree, that living with me is suuuuuper fun. I always take care of my fans,” D.Va added with no subtle amount of sexual implications. “Okay, goodnight and GG! Bye!”

I can’t help it, I have to do it, you decide. You’ve watched all her streams, either live or recorded, and as soon as you heard about her volunteer system it’s something you’ve wanted. You’ve labored over the decision for months now, but hesitation always got the better of you. The money you’d need to donate to become a volunteer was steep, but what use would money be to you once you were with her? Living with her, under her roof, under her care. What really gave you pause was the idea of leaving your current life.

You weren’t living in some squalor hellhole, wishing for death. If that were the case, you could just break one of her rules on stream, get banned, and get eaten. However, you also weren’t living the best life you could. You definitely weren’t living the dream life. A life with D.Va. A carefree existence filled with fun and, as she seemed to imply, sex. The sex may not match your fantasies, but any way you could make her climax, you’d be happy.

Before you could talk yourself out of it for the 100th time, you made the donation, entered the hashtag, and included your preferences. Then, you waited. You weren’t sure what was supposed to happen next. In truth, no one was. A flash of light from your screen, perhaps? But there was nothing. Figuring that was stupid, and concluding what was likely was she would e-mail you instructions on where to go to get the procedure done, you decided to get some rest.

You weren’t sure how you were going to sleep, though. You were too excited! So, instead, you thought about D.Va, about the life you were going to live with her. About her nubile, firm, young, unsullied body. About exploring it. About making her happy. About being happy yourself. A couple orgasms later, and you were out like a light.

When you awoke, you were not in your bed. In fact, you weren’t even in your room. You weren’t sure where you were, but it appeared to have high, clear, walls. A bright blue ceiling sat overhead, with holes punched into it. Air holes? You thought. As you looked through the walls to the outside, taking in the sights of the furniture, you realized what happened. You had been shrunken down. Recognizing the furniture itself, however, you realized where you were. In D.Va’s living room. In fact, there she was, in her chair, conducting a stream.

“It’s D.Va!” you cheered. Excitedly, you looked back at all the other people who you saw sitting inside the container with you. However, no one seemed to care. “Come on, it’s D.Va,” you said again, wondering if they just hadn’t heard you. Maybe they were still waking up; foggy, like you were.

“Who the fuck is D.Va?” one of the container-mates barked back at you. As you looked around, your smile started to fade. It looked like you might be the only one who knew who she was. But then why are they here? You wondered. Then D.Va said something in her heavenly voice, something about cheap shots and OP weapons, and you looked back at her with renewed excitement.

Damn, sounds like it’s the end of her stream, you thought. She was doing her usual sign off shortly after you began watching her. You were hoping you’d get to watch more. Always next time, you reassured yourself, regaining your smile. Then, as soon as the stream was turned off, D.Va slumped back into her chair with a heavy, exhausted, annoyed, groan.

When she stood up, D.Va began scratching her ass in a vulgar and uncaring manner. To cap off the shattered vision you had of her, she let out a bellowing belch. Not a cute little burp, one she could bashfully apologize for. But a belch, and certainly not one she even bothered apologizing for. “God, I gotta get sponsors of healthier foods,” she said, rubbing her stomach, grimacing. She leaned back, pressing her hand against the small of her back, forcing her spine to crack. “A better chair would be nice too.”

Done complaining about her amenities, D.Va reached into her bra and pulled out what had been the third and final volunteer of the night. Without even a second though, she placed him halfway into her mouth and slurped the rest in, swallowing soon after. She hadn’t even bothered to look him in the eye when she did. A casual act of vore and betrayal. But…but that’s a volunteer, you thought, your confusion growing, and slowly evolving into fear. Maybe it had been a victim she put into her bra my mistake. You weren’t sure. Still, you had more hope than despair. More hope than sense. Especially as you saw your goddess in tight clothing approach your container.

Naturally, you couldn’t help but watch her tits bounce in her tight little Thot Tee. As she got closer, it got harder to focus on her chest, as her footsteps grew louder. She was like an approaching thunderstorm. The stream did not prepare you for the sense of vertigo you got when she stood over you. The lid came off with a pop and her eyes, beautiful but dismissive, gazed down upon you.

“Alright, show of hands, which of you are volunteers?” she asked. No one moved, not even you. You weren’t afraid, you didn’t think. It was just when you were faced with her, the size of her, the power of her, you froze up. “Come on, it’s late,” she groaned. “Which of you volunteered to be shrunk down and sent to me?” Having repeated herself, you and two others raised your hands. The other occupants looked at you three like you were insane.

“Right, okay, stay still,” D.Va instructed. One by one she picked up the volunteers, you included, and dropped you into a separate, empty box. “Alright, you lot,” she said down to the remaining occupants in the first container, “just stay put and I’ll get to you tomorrow. Maybe.” Then her eyes were cast back at the box you’d be segregated into. “The rest of you, don’t get too comfortable. I’m selling you off first thing in the morning.” With no other information given, despite the gravity of what was said, she turned to leave.

“Wait! D.Va! I don’t understand!” you cried out for her. Her shoulders seemed to droop in annoyance before she turned back around.

“What’s not to understand? Tomorrow you’ll be sold off. I thought I was pretty clear.”

“But…we’re your volunteers,” you said, gesturing to everyone in the box with you.

“Oh, I know,” she nodded. “That’s why you’re being sold off.”

Your face contorted in confusion. “But…we came here…for you.” Nothing was making sense, and more and more you got an uneasy feeling in your stomach. Although she looked annoyed having to explain herself before, now she looked just irritated enough to really let you have it.

“You think I want you pests here? Hell no!” She had begun to turn around and leave when she stopped, feeling eager to get something off her chest.

“You know, I used to enjoy playing video games?” She started to rant, not even talking about your current situation, but you were a convenient sounding board. “Now, it’s my job! This isn’t fun anymore, it’s work! I can’t even play the games I like because they’re not ‘current’ or ‘relevant’ or ‘popular with viewers aged 12 to 18,’” she went on to explain, pulling quotes from other annoying people in her life. “I also didn’t used to eat so much junk food. But, because some assholes on Twitter drew some fanart of me as some kind of ‘gaming gremlin,’ whatever that is, that became my brand. Now I have to work out three times as much as I used to. All to keep this figure you’re all so gaga over.” D.Va ran her hands over her body, drawing your eyes up along those curves you wouldn’t deny you were gaga over. Hell, you still were. “You’d think that if you all really watched to see me play well, it wouldn’t matter if I was a whale. But, come on – let’s be honest.

“But you know what the worst part about it is? You.” She removed any doubt you could have had by pointing directly at you. “The viewers.” At least you weren’t alone. “You Freak. Me. Out. You worship me, and for what? For…for saving the day, time and time again, in my MEKA? Nope! For playing god damn video games and being hot! Although, I’ll admit, I do both of those quite well,” she broke her rant, smirking. “Now, I don’t mind if you want to watch me play games. I don’t even mind if you jerk off to me. Hell, I think it’s flattering at worst and hot at best. But you all? You take it to another level! You think I don’t see what chat says about me, because it goes by so fast, but I do. I wish I didn’t, but I do.” Every new thing she said diminished you a little more. You just wished it physically diminished you so you could disappear forever. “So, why, on Earth, would I want any of my fans to ‘live with me?’”

“But…the volunteers…on your stream…” Before you could even stumble your way through the rest of the question, she answered you. By letting out a sudden laugh that nearly knocked you over.

“You want to know what happens to the ‘volunteers?’” You had no answer, but she was going to show you anyway. Reaching back, D.Va began to fish her hand down inside her shorts. Seconds later, she brought her fingers back out and pressed them against the clear wall of your prison. They were soaked in blood. “This! You really think someone as shrimpy as you all can survive being sat on? Being stepped on? Seriously, the gullibility is insane!” D.Va removed her fingers from the wall, but the smear of blood remained.

As she sucked the blood left on her fingers, you defiantly asked more of her. “But…we’re the volunteers. If you’re sending us away, who are the people on stream?” Nothing was making sense, and you had to find a way to cut through the confusion. Or maybe you were just hoping to get an answer that didn’t terrify you.

Her fingers came back out with a pop. A line of spit connected her digits to her lips, broken when she spoke. “The volunteers you see on stream? These guys,” she cleared up, pointing to the box you were originally in. “I get these from a supplier. Honestly, the only part of this job I enjoy, besides the money, is stepping on, sitting on, and eating you tinies. Oh, and shoving you between my tits,” she added crudely and cruelly, shaking said tits. “But if I had to do it, knowing the tinies might be enjoying it? Well, then I wouldn’t enjoy it. Not as much, anyway.”

“And the victims?”

“Oh, they’re actually the banned viewers. That part’s true,” she answered, but of course had more to say. “But it’s also these guys,” she added, shaking the other box. “I mean, I still use two boxes, to keep up the whole victim/volunteer thing the chat loves so much. But which box they go into is random. They’re gonna die anyway, right?”

It was all starting to become too much to handle. You couldn’t tell if you were breathing too fast or breathing too little. The room was spinning, or maybe you were? You couldn’t tell. You couldn’t look up at her anymore and you just had to look down at your own naked body. Your attempts to calm down were broken when she got your attention again. All it took was her voice, cooing softly, almost compassionately. But that was a lie, of course.

“Aww, is it too hard to handle?” D.Va then picked you up and held you in her palm, lifting you up to sit in front of her pouty, pretty, face. Even after all you heard, there was still no denying her beauty. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m not selling you off to just anybody. It would be pretty cruel of me to sell you off and risk you ending up with some loser, like you.” So far, her attempt to make you feel better wasn’t successful. “I’m actually selling you off to my friends. My female friends. My hot female friends.” Your outlook was more hopeful, but not by much. “You’ll like them. Well, you’ll like the way they look, just not the things they do to you.”

“What are they going to do to me?”

“Depends on the person. Experiments, target practice, sex toys, or just plain food.” D.Va looked at the abject terror on your face, the betrayal clearly leaking from your broken heart. With a click of her tongue, she made an offer. “Okay, look, I’ll admit you’re cuter than most of the other volunteers I get. So, if you want, I could let you stay here with me.” As your face lit up, she included an addendum.

“You should know, however, it won’t be like how you pictured it. My tinies? Don’t last long. You wouldn’t last long with any of my friends either, so that point’s moot. However, what happens to you is up to me. See, maybe you’ll wind up on stream. I’ll put you in my sock, I’ll sit on you, you may even get lucky and get to go for a dip between my tits. Or maybe I’ll eat you!” D.Va couldn’t help but make the last part sound extra aggressive, biting her teeth at you and causing you to scoot back.

“Most likely, however? You’ll end up in my bedroom. I love using you tinies to tease my nipples, massage my feet, or play with my clit.” None of that sounded too bad. Not bad at all. “Some of you I’ll shove up inside of me, and you are almost guaranteed to not come out alive.” The fear was coming back up. “Still, death in service of pleasuring the woman you worship? Not too bad, right?” Just as you were considering her proposal, she gave more info.

“However, there’s a chance you’ll be used for something more. See, my boyfriend – yes, I have a boyfriend, I just don’t talk about him on stream because it would break all your hearts – and I travel a lot, so we can’t always meet up. When we do? We fuck like crazy!” You never thought you’d hear D.Va say ‘fuck.’ “And to make things extra special, I use you.” You didn’t like where this was going.

“Once I get him in the bedroom, I’ll have a container of you tinies sitting nearby. Watching. I want you to watch me suck his long, thick, cock. I want it to act as a reminder to you all of just how small you’ve become.” You felt you needed no help in that regard, after everything she’d said. “Then, once it’s at full mast, I’ll put one of you on it. Right near the head. For example, let’s say you.” Now the image she was creating was far more personal.

“I’ll say one thing and one thing only to you: run. I’m going to start sliding him into my mouth, and if you get caught up in it? Too bad. You’re going in my mouth with the rest of him. Like I said, he’s long and thick, so you’ll have plenty of runway. But, just for fun, let’s say I catch you. I usually do,” she added with ominous pride. “Like I said, you’re going in my mouth, but I won’t swallow. Not yet. Why waste the time when I’m gonna swallow later, right?” You couldn’t help but swallow, yourself, when she winked at you.

“When I do swallow, you won’t be alone. You’ll be washed down with all that thick, creamy, cum. Let it keep you nice and warm as you wait to digest in my tummy. And while you wait? Well, you’ll get to hear a play by play of my boyfriend fucking me stupid.” She seemed to love putting emphasis on all variants of the word ‘fuck.’ “We tend to go all night, so I’m not sure if you’ll hear it all. But hopefully it’ll be a nice send off as I digest you.”

You stared at her face. Her beautiful, angelic, face. Her smug, cruel, face. As you stared, you felt a stirring in you. Despite the danger it posed, you got snippy. “And what if I get away?”

“What was that?” she asked with some small amount of annoyance.

“You said I’ll be told to run, and what happens if you catch me. But what if I get away?” You were hoping just posing the possibility of the scenario would anger her. Maybe give you one point against her dozens.

“Well, if you get away, you’ll hit his stomach eventually.” Seeing you shudder, she corrected. “Not like that. I just mean, substantial as he is, you’ll run out of dick to crawl along. And, try as I might, I can’t get all of him down my throat. So, if you manage to get further along his dick than I could fit?” You hoped to hear of some stay-of-execution reward next. “If that happens, I’ll just shove you up my cunt.” Vulgarity aside, at least it was preferable to the alternative. “And then he’ll fuck me.” Well it was. “He’ll fuck me and push you deeper and deeper inside. He’ll fuck me until you’re nothing but a smear on the wall of my cervix. That answer your question?” You gave another gulp.

“So, what do you say? Do you want to stay here and roll the dice on whether you’ll die crushed against my breast as I arch my back in masturbatory pleasure, or die submerged in baby batter? Or, do you want to be shipped off to one of my sexy lady friends, hoping whatever they offer will be better? Hell, you might even get Tracer. I know, because she’s invited me to join in a few times, she likes to use you tinies as sex toys between her and her girlfriend. You might like that.”

You didn’t have an answer. There was too much to take in. You were still coming to terms with the idea that the fantasy of D.Va wasn’t even close to the reality. She waited a few beats, allowing you to think things over, but eventually she made the call.

“Actually, doesn’t matter. Whatever you choose, I get the final say, and I may feel differently in the morning. So even if you want to stay, I may end up shipping you off anyway. And even if you want to go, well, I might keep you.” D.Va leaned in a little closer to whisper the next part. “Because honestly? Talking about all that just now, and seeing your face? Gotta say: I’m fucking dripping. You might be worth keeping around just so I can keep that high going.” Then she pulled back and resumed her normal volume. “But like I said, I’ll see how I feel in the morning.”

The decision taken from you, and your future even less certain than before, D.Va slid you back into the box. From inside the volunteers box, you watched her busy herself by the drawer on the dresser the two boxes sat. From it she pulled out a clear dildo. D.Va unscrewed the head and then dropped in two of the occupants of the other box. Once the head was placed back on, she looked back over to you.

“Don’t worry, it has air holes,” she reassured you. While your initial feeling was relief that those inside wouldn’t suffocate, you also had a thought. One that predicted she wanted them alive so they would suffer longer inside her. Maybe even so her juices could seep inside through those same life-giving air holes and threaten to drown them.

For the rest of the night, at least until you passed out from exhaustion and sobbing, you listened to the sounds of D.Va’s sick pleasure. How you wished you could have heard such exquisite moans under another context. How you wished you could have been giving her those moans. You wondered what it meant that you weren’t just thinking about how those tinies she took were suffering. You were also imagining a naked D.Va writhing on her bed in passion, covered in sweat, getting her sheets all sticky and warm. Despite all she said, despite all she claimed she could do, you couldn’t deny the attraction. The power.

The next morning, D.Va sauntered into the room, stretching herself out in the light of day. You had to admit, even knowing what you knew, seeing D.Va fully naked, being able to fulfill that dream, did feel good. Then she approached your container and smiled. It seemed she had made her decision. And you knew that it didn’t matter if you stayed with her, as you intended, and as you now feared. It didn’t matter if she pawned you off on one of her supposedly sexy friends to be used in some unknowable way. It didn’t matter what she had chosen.

Because you knew that either way, it wouldn’t be good.

They had spent all morning watching her, waiting for some clue as to what would come next. The tinies in her container were constantly in a state of panicked anticipation. Their owner, D.Va, was unpredictable. The only thing they could say for certain was whatever she would do, it would be cruel to them, and sexually thrilling to her. The shrunken men and women watched her lie on her bed, dressed only in flip flops, a blue string bikini with her pink logo on the right breast and crotch, and a thin white t-shirt whose wide neck hole hung loosely around one shoulder. The only thing that could steal away their captive viewing of her browsing her phone was a sudden sound. The sound of knocking.

Both the tinies and D.Va shot up in alarm when the strong three thuds were heard down the hall. Only D.Va was able to get out and leave her room to investigate. Happily. The tinies watched her squeezable buns bounce with every step. Though she had left, she wasn’t gone long. When she returned, she was not alone.

Stepping heavily into her bedroom was the fabled boyfriend. That much was obvious by how she had her legs wrapped around his waist, his hands on her ass, and her lips against his. She assaulted his face with a flurry of passionate, wet smacking, kisses while he tried to step steadily into her room. So far, he was living up to the hype. He looked no less attractive than D.Va herself. Tall and strong. Strong enough to hold her ass up with one big hand and slap at her cheek with the other.

With an elated squeal, she let herself back down onto the floor. “O-M-G I am so happy you’re here, baby! After your last text, I wasn’t sure you’d make it,” she cooed, resting her hands on his chest that fought against the tightness of his t-shirt.

“As if anything in this world could keep me from coming to see you, songbird,” he said, ditching her more popular moniker for one special to them.

“Plus, my ass is like a magnet for your dick!” she crudely boasted, eliciting rolled eyes and begrudging smirks from him. “Come on, we only have 48 hours before I have to leave, so let’s get started.” Though the tinies couldn’t see with D.Va’s body blocking their view, they could hear her fiddling with his belt.

“Whoa,” he chuckled, “slow down, jack rabbit. What’s the rush?” His striking eyes caught sight of the clear plastic container full of shrunken, startled, people. Despite having a hot young body against him as her hands fiddled with his pants, he had a displeased look on his face. He knew exactly why those tinies were there. “Uh, any chance we could put the peanut gallery away?”

D.Va looked up at him while sliding his belt out swiftly. “Why? I like the attention,” she admitted. “Besides, they won’t be just observers for long,” D.Va foretold, biting her lip.

“Seriously?” he groaned, pushing her back a little before she could finish undoing his fly. “They creep me out. Let’s not use them,” he asked, with a hint of a command. However, D.Va could not be commanded. She slid back up against him and looked up at him with her big, alluring eyes.

“Please, baby?” D.Va pouted. “I promised them,” she said. Indeed, she had. All morning, she would find time between activities to taunt the shrunken people. To ominously declare that her boyfriend was coming, and they’d all, one way or another, end up inside her – along with her boyfriend. They shivered at the implications. Especially the tiny who had heard her entire plan detailed to him days prior. He just hoped she’d forgotten.

Her boyfriend looked down at her, and there was no way he could say no to that face. Plus, she was swaying her hips left and right, letting him see her booty move as he looked down her shoulder. “Fine, fine. I’m not eating any this time, though,” he conditioned. “In fact, they’re not going inside me in any way,” he amended.

“Fine by me,” she agreed. “I already got a game plan for today. You don’t have to do anything except fuck my brains out!” D.Va giggled at his reaction to her crude language. She delighted in how much it bugged him. “No more killing time, it’s time to kill tinies!” she declared to the room. Outright talking about murder also made him uncomfortable, but he’d do anything for his girlfriend.

Down came the pants, which he kicked off easily as his shoes had already been taken off at the door. He began to reach into his boxers when she stopped him. “Hold on, babe. Over here.” D.Va led him over to the make-up table where the box of tinies were stationed. After positioning him, D.Va reached into his boxers’ barn door and fished out his cock. It landed on the counter, in front of the box, with a thud.

“See this?” D.Va addressed the tinies, kneeling on the floor so she could look them in the eyes. “This is a cock worthy of a woman like me. Just like I’m a woman worthy of a cock like this.” As she described worthiness, she gently ran her fingertips along the length of the mentioned cock. Even half hard it was intimidating. Especially to the shrunken men and women. Certainly, bigger than them at their height, but they knew that even in relation to his size it was impressive. And it wasn’t done growing.

D.Va easily removed the ill-fitted tank top, leaving her in nothing but her bikini (the flip flops had dropped mid-make out). She lifted the fabled dick with one hand, demonstrating its heft, and set to work getting it hard. Rather than just give him a hand job, she rested it against her cheek and cooed. “I love how warm it is,” she praised. “I can feel your veins throbbing against me. It knows it has work to do,” she described. “This fuck stick is going into every one of my holes, because I’m its fuck meat. By the time we’re done, you will have filled me to burst with all that cum you’ve been saving for me,” she said, cupping his heavy balls.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, half laughing. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”

“The Internet,” she cheerfully replied. “Now hush, I’m performing for my fans.” He knew that when she got like that, there was no stopping her. So, instead, he just crossed his arms, rolled his eyes, and enjoyed the ride.

Occupants of the box watched as the cock grew inch by inch. When finally it was at full mast, D.Va gave the head a sweet kiss. A send-off kiss before it got to work. While D.Va squeezed it, barely able to fit her fingers all the way around, she looked at the container. Her eyes were searching. There was no time to figure out her thoughts before she zeroed in on her target.

Without a word, and disregarding all others, she picked out one of her volunteers. A particularly mouthy one who dared to question her authority over his life. She held him aloft in front of her sweet face. Pink lips kissed at the air toward him before parting. Inside was a wet and humid cave he felt doomed to enter. To emphasize the danger, D.Va ran her squishy tongue over her perfectly white teeth. Though she knew he had no reason to fear being chewed up, it was fun to make him squirm. The squirmier the better, she felt.

Dangling in front of her, he grimaced as she ran her tongue against his body. The force alone caused him to swing in her pinching grasp. A brief discomfort before the real torture began. He was slowly lowered into her mouth, feet first. He kicked, of course. Fought against an impossible foe. A droplet of saliva fell on him as he was gingerly placed on her saliva-covered tongue. Then her mouth shut.

Sight was taken from him. All he could do was feel, hear, and smell. Her mouth felt wet, obviously, and soft. It was less yielding than he thought it would be. Perhaps it was his size, he thought. Still, there was no easy purchase to be found on her twitching tongue. The smell wasn’t as bad as he thought it might be. Another expectation proven wrong. It was probably due to her eating mints all day, likely for the benefit of her boyfriend. Either way, it gave her breath a bittersweet scent. What he heard was the worst of all. The popping gurgles of her throat flexing; begging eagerly for his arrival. Then there was light.

He had to know what was happening behind him, so he turned on the tongue. There he saw, resting against her bottom lip, was the head of her lover’s ‘fuck stick.’ He didn’t know if it was saliva or pre-cum on the slit, but he wanted nothing to do with it. D.Va, as always, made those decisions for him. With a practiced flick and thrust of her tongue, the tiny was thrown up a short distance and landed on the bulbous head. As he felt her humid breath pull away, he knew she had closed her mouth.

Turning around, he saw her. He saw those eyes he had fallen in love with. Just one of the many aspects of her that he fell in love with. One of the many aspects of her that now terrified him. Her nostrils flared with anticipation, sending a focused expulsion of air onto him. Then, just as she said she would the night he met her, she said one and only one word to him. “Run.”

As if it were a starting pistol, the word spoken put her into action. Her salivating mouth opened and lunged for her boyfriend and her prey. He made a foolish dive down the cock but was surprisingly successful. With another foolish move, he looked over his shoulder to see her progress. She was gaining fast. More and more of the giant dick was disappearing between her lips. Were it not for the time she took to appreciate every generous inch, swirling her tongue around it, sucking her cheeks inward, she would have caught him in no time at all.

Further he crawled, scooting his naked body against the veiny penis. The throbbing made it harder to move. Again, he looked back, unable to stop his own curiosity. D.Va had pulled back some, deciding to treat the head a bit more. Her mouth was wide open, showing off her tongue as it swirled expertly around the head. When she saw him looking at her, she winked. With renewed terror, he started back down the dick.

Once he got used to it, got his bearings, he made good progress. So was D.Va, however. The further he moved along, the further she did, too. The sound of her gags directly behind him caused him to move faster. He almost made it to the base of the dick when he felt his leg slip under her lip. She had caught him.

He started to fight harder than ever, much to her delight. The danger more real than ever, he started giving 200% effort. But it was too late. He was trapped by her. The more cock she took down her throat, the more he disappeared under her upper lip. Until finally, he was gone. D.Va squeezed her eyes shut, forcing down her boyfriend’s pride as far as she could. Almost far enough for her nose to press against his belly, but she wasn’t quite practiced enough. However, she won her prize, so she was happy.

The tiny was moved aside to let the cock slide back out without him. Now that he was safely in her mouth, she started bobbing her head in earnest. All the tiny could do was try not to get knocked back into the throat. He may well have, had D.Va not also had the same goal. She didn’t want him to be swallowed. Not yet. Most often, the tiny was pressed against her tongue, pinned underneath the giant prick that threatened to slide him backwards to his doom. In and out, in and out. He wasn’t even able to appreciate the moans coming up her throat. With a warning he was not privy to, it happened.

D.Va’s boyfriend came hard, shooting several long, copious, bursts into his girlfriend’s mouth. The boyfriend wouldn’t want to admit it but having that shrunken human beat against the power of just his cock made it hotter for him. She did all she could to keep all of the load entirely within her mouth. Successfully. The prick fell out, half limp and dripping. D.Va looked up at her boyfriend and opened wide, showing off the sea of spunk he fed her. In the middle of it all, like a cherry on top of a half-melted serving of whipped cream, was the tiny. She had a mind to swallow in front of her boyfriend, but D.Va was never one to be less wicked than she could.

Turning to the container, D.Va showed off the man none of them knew, but could sympathize with, desperately trying to navigate the thick, sticky, seed. The moment he was able to turn around and look at all the terrified faces, her mouth shut, and she swallowed. She couldn’t have timed it better if she tried. It took several deep, loud, gulps to get everything down, but she was no quitter. Every ounce of cum and every inch of man was squeezed down her throat and spilled into her welcoming cauldron. It felt warm in her stomach. Better yet, she felt movement.

“Satisfied?” her boyfriend asked, breaking her attention from her tinies and her stomach caressing.

“Hm? Oh. Yea.” She halfheartedly replied.

“What’s wrong? You love being cruel to these poor bastards, and that was pretty damn cruel.”

“I know, it was,” she sighed. “It’s just…Well I told him that if he got away, I would then…’shove him up my cunt and let you fuck him into a smear on the wall of my cervix,’” D.Va sheepishly said, knowing the reaction she’d get from her boyfriend.

“Good lord,” was all he could say. “That from the Internet, too?”

“Nope,” she admitted, swaying left and right as she looked down, acting playfully shy. “Just my own twisted imagination, I guess.”

The boyfriend looked inquisitively at the world famous D.Va, hero to many, and secret sex-crazed devil woman. Then he looked down at the container of shrunken people. Fuck it, he thought. “Well, you got more, right?” he said, gesturing to the container. “Let’s…shove one up your cunt and fuck him into a smear on the wall of your cervix,” he struggled through saying.

“Really?!” she beamed.

“Sure,” he shrugged. “Why not. In your hands they’re not going to last long anyway. Might as well send ‘em off with a bang,” he joked.

From there, the afternoon proceeded with dark and pleasing designs. As planned, D.Va took one of the unwilling participants and slid him up inside of her. She pushed him in as deep as he could go. Satisfied, D.Va climbed on top of her boyfriend, lying on the bed. Completely nude, D.Va began to slowly slide onto his mast. She was tight, and he was thick. She hadn’t made the fit any easier with the shrunken person shoved inside of herself. Neither of them was a quitter, though the tiny wished they were.

Those left in the container watched as D.Va bounced for 10 to 15 minutes on her boyfriend. Though some tried to focus on her bouncing, bountiful, breasts, or her happily moaning, flushed, face, none could ignore the truth for long. The truth that one of them was inside her, at that moment, being slammed against her inner walls. They could even see the outline of her boyfriend’s deadly dick against her abdomen. There was no denying he was deep inside, and there was a good chance the tiny was nothing but a smear.

“Fuck me!” she would cry once if she would cry it a hundred times that day. “Fucking fill me up, god dammit! Inject my womb with your dominant seed and impregnate me! Fucking breed me! BREED ME!” D.Va yelled.

Hearing that, her boyfriend slowed his thrusting considerably. “What did you say? Breed you?”

“It’s just dirty talk! Don’t stop,” D.Va begged.

“But you’re on the pill, right?” he wanted to confirm.

“Yes! Now shut up and fuck me! Fuck me raw! Fuck me stupid! Fuck me to death!” the all-too lust-focused D.Va commanded of her love slave. There was no doubt he found it strange, but there was also no denying that she was an amazing lay.

“God, I wish I could film this,” she mused aloud. “I wish I could record as every inch of your mastodon mast violated my tight, pink, pussy! I want to put it online, so everyone can see that I’m not only taken by a man, I’m taken by a god!” She boasted about her sweaty boyfriend. Her hands ran up her soaked body and disappeared into her long, dark hair.

“Do you hear me, in there?” D.Va called down to her stomach, tapping on her abdomen to get his attention. “I promised you a show, didn’t I? Well here ya go! This is how you precious D.Va fucks! How’s that superior cum taste, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to bounce extra hard so you get an even coating,” D.Va promised and laughed. All her boyfriend could think was, Shit, she must really hate that guy. Still, he couldn’t deny his ego was being well stroked.

By the end, no one knew if the poor tiny had been turned into a “bloody smear against the wall of her cervix.” None of them really wanted to know, anyway. Only D.Va could know if he survived, judging by if he was still moving after she slid off her boyfriend’s lap. Considering she was dripping with another heaping helping of jizz, the tiny likely drowned if he survived the pistoning. Then things got somehow worse.

Possessed with lust, D.Va walked over to the container on shaky legs. She bent over the container, her sweaty face hanging above them. “Fuck me. Now,” she called over to her boyfriend. There was no way he could do that, not right away. He had to recharge. So instead he opted to kneel behind her and eat out her asshole. Given the state of her pussy, he figured that was the cleanest option. D.Va had no complaints.

After several minutes of that, D.Va shooed him back so she could grab another tiny and press him into her asshole. He went in at an awkward ankle, painfully so. She was giving no thought to their initial comfort. She just wanted him in her. She wanted more in her. D.Va grabbed another and pushed her in, too. Then another. She would have kept going if her boyfriend didn’t stop her.

“Hang on, I think that’s enough,” he cautioned. She looked back at him over her shoulder with firm disagreement. “I just mean, if you put too many in…how am I going to fit inside?” D.Va smiled at his suggestion. “Besides, if you put them all up your butt, you’re not going to have an audience.” His girlfriend shivered at how naughty and wicked he was becoming. Thus, satisfied with three tinies inside her ass, D.Va commanded him to pack them in by slapping her left ass cheek.

Those inside were in a cramped, uncomfortable position. They would be in an even worse one as soon as that sweaty, wet, sticky monster of a penis started fucking D.Va’s tightest hole. Immediately they were knocked together and shoved deeper inside of her. Unlike with her pussy, that had the benefit of a stopping point, the cock would push them deeper into her colon, but never slammed into them enough to crush anyone against anything. That job would be left to D.Va’s clenching muscles. Two of them died to that method. The last was drowned in yet another raging river of sloppy, malleable, cum.

During the twisted fuck, D.Va kept herself hanging over the top of the container. Her wet breasts dropped drop after drop of sweat onto the unwilling audience below. Just as she predicted, D.Va ended the day cuddled up to her boyfriend, his seed leaking out of her ass and pussy, with some more in her churning stomach. None had survived save for the giantess and giant.

Their new life began in darkness. Most likely, their new life, their entire life, would end in darkness, too. Then again, miracles do happen. In a world in which someone can be shrunken down to a few inches tall, anything was possible. Usually bad things, but one should never give up hope, right? Though, if anyone would be allowed to give up hope, it would be the collection of shrunken people being transported in a box.

Their entire journey was an oppressive one. Put into a box of near complete darkness. The only light they had were the thin beams that filtered in through the air holes at the top of the box. The people also had no means of exploration; though it would be a short and dull exploration. Each one was bound in place. A linked chain of air-filled bags had been fitted inside the box. A shrunken person was squeezed into each gap between bags, securing them in place. Though the bondage was soft, and oddly comfortable, it was still bondage. Bondage none of them wanted.

They knew people were out there. Outside the box. People who could help. Despite their pleas, they either went unheard or ignored. Most likely the former, since the woman transporting them was singing loudly along to pop music in her car. However, given that was the same woman who put them in the box, their pleas would have gone ignored, too.

Finally, they arrived. After being handed over, the trapped people heard a string of appreciative words with a British accent. More importantly, it was a new voice. With renewed hope, they began their pleas again, in earnest. They accomplished nothing. Some believed she just didn’t hear them and gained hope. Others believed she must have, but didn’t care, and gained despair. The end result would likely, but not assuredly, be the same for all, regardless. It just changed how accepting each would be of the end. Given how most would end up, acceptance would be unlikely.

The box was torn open excitedly. Going from trickles of light to a flood forced all the box mates to shut their eyes and look away. When her voice sounded, what other choice did they have but to look? It was so chipper, so hopeful, so excited. Not necessarily the tones a potential rescuer would have upon seeing their condition. However, a happy giantess would be more agreeable and reasonable than an angry one. They hoped.

Eyes once adjusted looked up at the visage of their new owner. She was cute. That was their first thought. Well, their first thought was actually, Holy fuck she’s big! She could crush us all! She might crush us all! Dear god help me! But by now that’s expected, so why mention it? …Oops. Anyway, she was cute. Adorable, even. Auburn hair that had a noticeable shine to it. Hair was in a style that could be described as “organized mess.” It looked chaotic, but it ironically had an order to it. A thick pixie cut that displayed and hid all the right features of her face. Enticing and mysterious. Fun and cute.

Big, curious, chestnut colored eyes. A cute button nose at center stage. A smattering of freckles sprinkled across the bridge and fading against her cheeks. Surprisingly plump limps for someone so seemingly slight. Finally, a voice that seemed so inviting, so caring, that they all forgot the situation they were in. “Ello, loves!”

Each one spoke up with their own distinct pleas for help. Some were panicked. Some were angry. Some were begging. All in different stages of grief (except acceptance). The woman just smiled a warm, comforting smile. Why is she smiling? Is she amused? they all thought. “You’re all so adorable!” she complimented.

The British woman made little work of the bubble chain inside the box that bond them. Each fell back onto the cardboard bottom. The link thrown away, she grabbed the box and walked it to another room. She kept the box at level with her stomach as she walked, lightly rumbling the occupants. Amazed eyes scanned up along her white tank top, stretched out across her perky C-cup breasts. Those who managed to peel their eyes away from her chest, hopping with each step, saw the logo for a flight school between her braless breasts. One of those who saw the logo recognized it. Recognized her.

“Oh…oh my god. That’s Tracer! That’s Tracer!” a single person yelled. Some were dismissive of his claim. Others were still coming to terms with the situation. Lacking support, he still called out to her. “Tracer! Tracer please help us! Tracer, please!” He was, in fact, right. It was the one and only British cherry bomb: Tracer.

As the box was placed on the counter, Tracer began to recognize her name being called out. “Well ‘ello there, cutie!” Tracer chipperly greeted. His waving arms singled him out, making it easy for Tracer to target him, gently pick him up, and place him on her warm palm. “What’s all the ruckus about?”

“Tracer! Is it really you?” Tracer nodded. “Oh, thank God! You’ve got to help us, please! We were shrunk down or something, I don’t know how. Either way, you gotta help us! Please, Tracer, please!”

“Oh. My. God.” Tracer reacted, giving each word a moment to impact fully. “I absolutely love when you recognize me!” the British babe beamed. “I don’t know how they do it, but it’s just…” Tracer paused to squeal with delight. “Ah it’s so cute! It makes you seem so realistic.”

He was flabbergasted. Taken aback by her reaction, but not without hope, he pressed again. “Tracer…please! You have to help us. We’re just innocent people. You’re a hero!”

Tracer felt no small amount of pride rush to her heart. She also felt no small amount of arousal surge to her loins. “Of course, I’m a ‘ero, love. I love ‘elpin’ people! But you’re not people, are ya?”

Once again stunned by her allegations, but not defeated, he countered with shaky words. “We’re not…people? No, we are people! Real people. Living people. People who need your help!”

She shivered again at his pleas. “Well, ‘ate to say it, love, but you aren’t. You’re clones, or constructs, or something. Lab grown. That’s all I really know. I ‘eard it from a friend, and she didn’t seem very clear on the science of it.” Because the ‘science of it’ was a lie. They were real people. They knew that. It’s just that she didn’t. “I mean, if you were actually real people? No way could I do what I’m planning to do with you.”

“What…” his mind raced, pausing his reaction as he tried to parse it all. “What are you going to do with us?”

Tracer’s eyebrows went high and her hand covered her mouth. “Oops! Said too much, already. I prefer it if I keep you guessing. Keeps things lively, and today has to be perfect.” With that ominous and vague statement, Tracer sent the inquisitive man back into the box. She had much to do and little time to do it. She knew she couldn’t keep fraternizing with them, as fun as it was.

The occupants found themselves tumbling out of the box as Tracer tilted it toward a large, glass mixing bowl. The surface was slick and smooth. The tinies bumped into one another, piling up in the center before they could get their bearings. As they stood, they peered out through the glass, watching Tracer busy herself in the kitchen. From their new position, they could see that, in addition to the tank top, she wore a pair of jean cut-off shorts. Not one person in the bowl didn’t take a moment to admire Tracer’s plump peach being constrained in the form fitting shorts. As she reached up to a higher cabinet, kicking one bare foot up as she reached for something on the top shelf, one of the occupants spoke up. Though it wasn’t anything useful.

“Good God would you look at that perfect little dumpster,” he said in a thick accent. “What I wouldn’t give to sink my teeth into those rosy cheeks.”

They were all shocked by his statements, but more so by the casualness he seemed to be applying to the situation. “What the fuck are you talking about?” one of the victims spoke up. “We need to figure out a way out of here!”

“Nah, there’s no way out,” he said with a confidence. “Even if we did, where we gonna go, eh? Live like a bunch of rats inside the walls, nibbling on crumbs? Fuck that. We’re checking out, mate. Might as well do it with a smile,” he said, stroking the glass as he imagined all the things he wanted to do to Tracer’s bum.

“We can’t give up hope,” came a feminine, unsure, voice from behind him. “We just have to get out, get help, and someone can turn us back.”

“Aint no way we’re turning back, lass,” he grumbled, annoyed his fantasy, about Tracer sitting down on a glass table while he laid underneath, was interrupted.

“What makes you so sure, asshole?” an equally annoyed man grimaced. As they continued to argue, Tracer continued to get ready. She grabbed numerous supplies and ingredients, though no one but her knew her recipe.

“Cause I was a bloke who worked on this shrinking tech, you twit!” the lewd man barked, finally turning away from watching Tracer bend over.

Everyone in the bowl but him was stunned. Had they heard right? Was he actually to blame for their situation? They couldn’t believe it. They wouldn’t believe it. But curiosity is a key human trait, even when that human is shrunken down.

“Shrinking tech?” someone parroted. “You mean you knew about this? You did this to us?” she continued with increasing anger.

“Fuck off with that noise, lass, I didn’t do shite to you,” he dismissed. “I just worked with the person who developed it.” He looked around at everyone’s confused, and angry, faces. He felt it best to maybe diminish his role in the invention. “Well, under the person who developed it. I didn’t actually develop it; I just brought her subjects.”

“Who? Who did this?!” a particularly angry man yelled, throwing himself against the source of anger and pinning him to the glass wall.

“Fuck off of me, you cunt!” he barked, using his large build and strength to knock the man away. “Comin’ at me with butt naked, getting’ your bits against mine. Fuck off.” His homophobic moment gone, he continued. “And what does it matter who made it? You gonna pull a cellphone out your arse and call her up? You ‘opin’ to go on a mission of revenge, John Wick?”

“Just tell us who it is,” a woman said with more calmness in her voice than was actually in her heart.

“Moira. Moira O’Deorain. Y’happy?” He answered. “Anyone of you know ‘er, then?” No one spoke up. “Didn’t think so. Fuckin’ wouldn’t matter if ye did. If she stole my mass, y’think she’d give two shits and a piss ‘bout any of you lot?” There was hurt in his voice. It was clear he felt betrayed by her.

“But you know how it works,” a hopeful man spoke up. “You know how to turn us back?”

“I fuckin’ do not, lad,” he gravely answered. He turned his attention back to Tracer once he noticed her bending over again. “No one does. Not even Moira ‘erself. Takin’ mass is easy. Givin’ mass is impossible.” For now, he thought. “So, I suggest you lot just shut the fuck up and try to enjoy yourselves. Meet the Reaper with a smile.”

Everyone shook their heads in disgust at his behavior, at his outlook, at his supposed culpability in their situation. While most were ready to just ignore him and focus on a way out, one man had had enough. Screaming, he leaped on his back and slammed his head against the glass. The fight had commenced. Surprisingly, the angry man had pinned the dismissive one, the one everyone hated. Punch after punch was thrown until finally the fight was broken up. By Tracer.

“Whoa there!” she said from across the kitchen, seeing the tinies brawling in the middle of the bowl. Before another punch could be thrown, she grabbed the man on top and pulled him off the bigger chap. “I can’t ‘ave you fighting! You’re going in time out, mister,” she said to the man pinched between her fingers. Reaching back, Tracer pulled open the tight pocket on her left cheek and slid the offender inside. The pocket closed back easily, pinning the man against her butt. She felt every wiggle and squirm. A shiver ran up her spine and came out through her throat as a moan.

“Ah come on!” the bloody man left in the bowl yelled. “Put me in time out! I deserve it!” he yelled through his bloody, smiling, mouth. Tracer ignored him and resumed her preparations, which didn’t take much longer. “Lucky bastard,” he said, smiled faded, watching the distinct bulge in her pocket struggle against her plump cheek.

Everything set, Tracer gave a determined nod and got to work. Reaching into her pocket, Tracer grabbed the man who had unwittingly volunteered himself to go first. Tracer easily pinned him to a sheet of wax paper. He squirmed and struggled but made no headway. He watched, intrigued, as she dipped what looked like a thin paintbrush into a container. A thick, warm, pink coating was then applied to his body. It smelled like strawberries.

Tracer delicately moved her hand down as she applied the coating, doing her best to keep him pinned but also keep his body as straight as possible. Arms at his side, legs together. It wasn’t easy, but she knew he wouldn’t cooperate, an she was determined to do it right. His front covered, Tracer swiftly pinched him at his shoulders and applied the coating to the back. The man was now covered from his toes to just below his collar bone. He had been coated in a thick, strawberry candy coating.

Naturally he struggled against it. While he did manage to move a bit, it wasn’t nearly enough to make a difference. The liquid coating was so thick it didn’t even drip as he was held aloft. What’s more, it quickly dried in the open, cooling air. That wouldn’t be the end of it, though.

Next, Tracer carried him over to the fondue pot. Her hand carried him like a crane. She at least knew not to hold him by his head. They were durable, but no reason to risk it. The sweetened man looked down at the fondue pot below. It looked to him as a pot of bubbling brown substance. Is that…chocolate? He thought. Confirmation would come soon enough.

Down into the hot pot he was dipped. The chocolate was hot. Very hot. Hot enough to have been melted quickly. Luckily for him, most of that was offset by the candy coating around him. Nevertheless, he could feel a lot of the heat even through the candy. He could feel it coming up off the surface his head was just above, too. It promised a far more damaging temperature if his coating failed. He started to scream, but Tracer kept him inside. “Just a few more seconds, love,” she promised.

Out he came, just as she promised. The twice-coated man hovered over the bowl briefly; long enough for a droplet of melted chocolate to fall into the bowl. It landed with a searing splat. Thankfully all the occupants had the wits to move back from it before it fell. They could feel the heat of it. They could hear the heat of it.

Meanwhile, Tracer helped with the cooling process by gently blowing onto candy-bound man. Gentle little streams of air all over him. She was delicate enough to not disturb the chocolate as it quickly dried. She gave just enough air to cool it faster.

“Oy!” the half-beaten man yelled up. “I got something you can blow, lass!” His proposition was aided with a sincere grab at his crotch. Tracer’s eyes cut down at him as he boasted. Normally it was a behavior she wouldn’t allow, but at his size he was no threat. So rather than tell him off, she gave him a wink that forced him to blush. “Fuckin’ ‘ell I lucked out with this one,” he said to himself.

“Lookin’ good, lookin’ good,” she said to her candy creation. The candy had all cooled and hardened around the man. It wasn’t completely even, but that was to be expected. The important thing was he was entirely covered in a coating of chocolate and strawberry. Entirely covered except for his head, of course. She didn’t want him to suffocate. Not like that. “Only one way to know for sure it worked, though…” she began, licking her lips.

The process had taken a lot out of him. He was ready to collapse into a deep sleep. That was, until he saw her mouth open. Ropes of saliva connected the bottom to the top. As the maw widened, the ropes became thinner and thinner. They were all broken when her tongue came gliding across the top row of ivory incisors. A breathy moan soared out of her throat. It was hot and sudden, like the heat when opening the door to a sauna. The candy had dried enough to allow her to pinch him at his waist, though he couldn’t feel it.

When you’re as small as he was, the actions of larger creatures, like Tracer, seemed to move in slow motion. You’re able to pick up on finer details and subtle twitches you wouldn’t normally see. He saw it all. He saw her tongue twitch with anticipation. He saw her lips quiver with desire. He saw her nostrils flair with excitement. He even saw her cheeks flush as she thought about how naughty she was being. He just wished he could move, to struggle. He wanted to press back against her wettened lips, to kick at her squirming tongue as it dragged itself across his face for that initial taste. It wouldn’t have mattered, but at least he would have gone out swinging.

He felt her breath quicken as he was placed on her tongue. The scent coming from her throat smelled like half-digested chips and fresh cider. The salty tart odor surrounded him when her mouth closed. He wasn’t all the way in, he could tell. He couldn’t feel her lips smushed around his hips, but he could tell. Bit by bit he was being suckled further into her mouth. All the while her tongue, with its soft but not bumpy surface, stroked at his body and face. When her mouth opened again to invite more of him in, he could see the center of her tongue had a chocolate streak across it. Tracer’s hungry mouth made quick work of the chocolate coating.

The people below watched and bellowed. A chorus of cries came up begging her to stop. Begging anyone to stop her. It seemed liked Tracer couldn’t hear them. Nothing could be further from the truth, however. Tracer heard them loud and clear and delighted in their pleas.

Tracer enjoyed being a hero. It was her passion, her calling. Helping people is what she did, and she loved doing it. However, nothing got her hotter than being a little bad. She had encountered several villains in her tenure, and those that weren’t nameless drones made an impression on her. Tracer enjoyed doing good, but she could tell that they loved being bad. The delight on their faces promised a sexual thrill running through their body. Tracer wanted that. Tracer got that. She was able to live out those naughty, evil, fantasies with the miniature people. People whom she assumed were just synthetic creations. Creations with just enough intelligence to beg for their lives, to have small personalities. It made the experience that much better for her. Ignorance was bliss.

All the chocolate had been sucked off, easily, but the strawberry candy coating took longer. It was thicker, more resilient to her suctions and licks. That didn’t mean she’d give up. Certainly, she was tempted to roll the man over to her teeth and bite down, hoping to crack the shell and swallow him sooner rather than later. However, she didn’t want to risk hurting him. She wanted him in top shape when he went below.

The saliva was building up the more she enjoyed him. Her salivations flooded him and washed against his face. It was never present enough to drown him, though. As soon as it splashed against him, it was sucked down into her throat. He listened to every gulp she made as the strawberry flavored spit was swallowed into her guts.

A ray of hope came to him. He could move! Not well, but he could. The candy coating was thin enough for him to break free. Maybe I can get out of here! He thought. What he assumed was a beacon of hope, was anything but. Because when Tracer felt him squirming, fighting, against her tongue, punching against the palette, she knew he was ready. The tongue lifted and tilted back, and the man began to slide down.

He felt around for salvation but couldn’t see anything. What’s more, everything he did grab was wet and soft. And her suction was stronger than him anyway. First his feet hit her throat. The muscles were strong and eager. They squeezed him so hard he thought his legs would burst as they slid inside. He wouldn’t be so lucky as to die in her throat, though, no matter how gruesome. The throat began pulling him down, each gulp signaling to the survivors below that her muscles were giving it their all to force the man down.

Those same survivors, for however long they would hold that title, watched as the lump uneasily made its way down her neck. Tracer held her delicate fingers to her throat. As she felt the squirming bump move down, she got wet. Very wet. She had to give several good gulps in order to get him down. Tracer was used to smaller sized tinies, as they were cheaper. However, D.Va had given her the bigger, but not biggest, kind as a present. She couldn’t have been happier as she felt just how good it was to have a tiny of his size inside her. Size did matter.

The inside of her stomach was tight, but it would accommodate. He pushed back against the snug confines. This delighted Tracer to no end. The scent inside was powerful. No longer did he just smell chips, cider, and candy. He smelled the digestive acids that were trying to get rid of them. The same acids that would try to get rid of him. He didn’t know if being able to see would have made things easier. He did know that the dark made him panic more, though. To be inside her stomach, and to have no idea where anything was, to have no means of seeing what was coming next, terrified him. His screams vibrated throughout Tracer.

Her delicate, murderous, hand ran along her stomach, bunching up her shirt and exposing her pale, twitching, belly. Tracer’s fingertips shivered against the feeling of the man kicking and punching in her gut. Her eyes fluttered at the thought of her body completely dominating a total stranger. He was ‘dying,’ and all for her pleasure. An entire life, his whole future, taken away just so she could get off. Her fantasy was removing any sense of modesty she had. With all those tiny eyes upon her, she kept one hand on her stomach and one hand popped the top button on her shorts. The zipper fell just enough for her to fit her slender fingers into the tight confines of her shorts and orange panties.

“Oh, fcuk yes,” the gruff man said. He held one hand against the glass while the other began to vigorously stroke his shameless growth. He watched Tracer rhythmically massage her labia and clit, while rubbing her stomach and thinking about the life she claimed, as he pleasured himself to her.

“Jesus Christ,” a woman said, completely ignoring the lewd and crude acts of shameless masturbation before her. “She just…she ate him!”

“Well what the fuck did you think was gonna happen?” the masturbating man said, not slowing down his pumps for a second. “We’re in a fuckin’ kitchen, you stupid twat.”

“Shut the fuck up before I kick your ass!” a man said while trying to console the inconsolable woman.

“Do whatever you wa-ah-ah-ahhhh-nt,” he replied, shooting his seed against the glass mid-sentence. “I’m all done,” he proudly said, as if his speed and disregard for horror in the face of arousal was something to be proud of.

“I can’t believe it,” another person said, sitting on the glass and watching as Tracer moaned and shuddered, masturbating in front of the people she refused to rescue. Pleasuring herself after consuming a human life, brazenly in front of others. Even believing that they were just creations that looked and sounded human, to get off on that shocked the troubled woman. “She…she ate him…and now she’s…getting off?”

“Eh, not too surprising,” the satisfied man said, continuing to watch Tracer and rubbing himself, hoping to get hard again and get another shot off before she finished. “They’re all like that.”

“The hell are you talking about?” someone asked, confused and angry. “Who?”

“Women,” he simply replied. His eyes never left the sight of Tracer cupping her breast and pinching her nipple through her shirt. Upon seeing the outline of a piercing through it, he got hard enough to start stroking. “Dunno why. As soon as a woman gets ‘er mitts on a tiny, she gets really fuckin’ ‘orney. Moira thought it was some residual substance from the shrinking process, acting as an aphrodisiac. But if you want my opinion?” He was interrupted by someone answering, “We don’t,” but he continued anyway. “I just think they get off on the power. That’s all sex is, after all. Power.” Any gravitas in his explanation was undercut by the shuddering in his voice caused by jerking off.

Diligent as he was, he didn’t finish by the time Tracer did. Despite her brazen display, she was surprisingly shy as she came. Her knees buckled as if to try and hide her privates. Her lips curled inward to muffle her moans. And her eyes slammed shut to avoid seeing a world that might judge her. “Fuckin’ beaut’, she is,” the man said after stopping his own self-pleasure. He was in awe of her beauty, while everyone else was just terrified.

Tracer ran her clean hand through her hair, getting it out of her eyes, and cleared her throat. “Woo, that was…sorry about that,” she apologized. The man below shouted, “No problems ‘ere, lass!” but her head was still throbbing, and her focus was elsewhere, so she didn’t hear him. “Now then, back to work.” With sticky, wet, fingers, Tracer took each shrunken person and applied the same coating process to them as she did to the first one. They all thought they would be eaten right away, but instead Tracer just put them aside into a shallow box.

When she was finished, Tracer admired her work. Each tiny’s coating looked smoother than the last. Practice made perfect. Upon looking at the time, Tracer went from proud to panicked. “Bullocks! I gotta get dressed!” she said to herself. Against the protests of her candy-coated victims, Tracer placed the lid onto the opaque box.

There were no airholes inside the box, but it wasn’t sealed shut, so air did get in. They felt the box move; bounce around. They were being carried. It was a short trip, at least. Tracer’s footsteps were becoming distant. She had left them there.

“We need to get out of here!” a determined man said while struggling against the candy.

“Give it a fuckin’ rest, why don’t ya? There is no getting out, you daft cunt,” said you-know-who.

“Some of us don’t want to be here, asshole!”

“You think I do?” he shouted back honestly. “I didn’t want this anymore than you lot. But it’s what I’ve been given, and there’s no way out, so I’m just going to make the best of a bad situation.”

“Yea,” a woman said sarcastically. “I could tell by the stain you left on the bowl.”

The man chuckled. “You could ‘ave asked nicely and I’d ‘ave given you a final ‘oorah. In fact, I think…yea, I think if I can move my hips enough…I can give Tracer some salted chocolate!”

“Pig!” she said. Before anyone else could chime in, they heard a door unlock, along with a fresh set of footsteps.

“Lena?” they heard a feminine, unfamiliar, voice call out.

“I’ll be right there!” Lena ‘Tracer’ Oxton yelled back. True to her word, Tracer came sprinting back into the room where her guest waited, along with the box.

“Lena? You look gorgeous!” the tinies heard the woman say.

“This old thing?” Tracer giggled. “Come, sit, I got you something.”

The two women went to sit down on the couch, facing the box sitting on the coffee table. Without warning, the lid was pulled off, and once again the people inside had to have their eyes adjust. When they looked up, they saw a second woman, with red hair and wide, amazed eyes to match her excited smile.

“Ta da!” Tracer declared. “Chocolate covered strawberries,” she revealed. “Your favorite, Emily.”

“Oh, Lena,” Emily cooed. “They’re perfect.”

“Happy anniversary,” Tracer softly said, pressing her nose against Emily’s and giving her an Eskimo kiss.

“Happy anniversary.”

“Wait, ‘chocolate covered strawberries?’” Emily repeated, a mark of apprehension on her freckled, pale, face. If Tracer was referring to them as food, that could mean only one thing.

“Uh huh!” Tracer nodded proudly, shaking her messy chestnut strands about.

“Lena…” Emily said, drawing out the last vowel as her face went long. Emily’s face was already ‘longer’ than Tracer’s; her features more angular and sharper, where Tracer’s were bubbly and cute. So, when Emily’s thin, pink, lips frowned – Tracer noticed. The tone of her voice helped, too.

“I know, I know. You don’t like the taste of tinies. But that’s why I coated them in candy and chocolate! You favorite,” Tracer cooed, inching closer and walking her fingers along Emily’s long leg.

“It’s more that I don’t like how they feel in my mouth. It’s weird!” Emily shivered. She used to be put off by them in general, especially their pleas for salvation, which she was hearing even now. Yet after Tracer explained they weren’t actually real people, and she felt how good it was to have them under her power, she fell under her girlfriend’s sway.

“Pleeeeeease?” Tracer lowered her head and looked up at Emily with her big, milk chocolate colored, eyes. On their own, cute enough, but when she batted her thick eyelashes and pouted her already pouty lips, Emily’s resolve weakened.

“I don’t know…” Emily trailed off. She looked down at the box of sugar-coated tiny people, struggling fruitlessly, but eagerly, against their candy bounds.

Tracer followed her eyes and saw her looking over the shrunken people she prepared for dessert. With all their negative shouting, she decided to put the lid back on the box so she could have a private conversation with her girlfriend.

“Look, I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do,” Tracer said, holding Emily’s hands and staring into her violet eyes. Gosh I love those eyes, she thought. “It’s just that it feels wonderful to eat them. And I want you to experience that too. Because you’re wonderful. And a wonderful person doing something wonderful, and feeling wonderful? That’s…that’s some math I can’t even do in my head, but it’s-“

“Wonderful?” Emily smirked.

“I was going to say awesome, but that too.” Tracer smiled that smile that had made her a British treasure.

Emily made a noise of indecisive decision making.

“I could teach youuuuu,” Tracer promised, walking her fingers against Emily’s sweater-covered stomach. When she heard Emily giggle, she felt confident she’d won her over.

Emily laughed, pushing Tracer’s hands away. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it.” She had more to say, but she had to wait for Tracer to let up on her squealing hug. “But if I don’t like it…”

“Then we’ll stop and never speak of it again,” Tracer swore, gesturing the crossing of her heart. “I’ll just clean up the coating on the rest and we’ll do what we’ve always done with them.”

Back in the box, the desserts discussed the meaning behind the turn of events.

“What do you think’s going to happen? Do you think she’ll really eat us?” A clearly terrified woman asked.

“I don’t know,” a man said. “She didn’t sound sure, though.”

“Maybe she’ll rescue us!” came another suggestion.

“Piss off with that nonsense,” the man, who knew a lot more about their situation than they did, said. “Even if she doesn’t eat us, they’re gonna do away with us in some manner or another. Given we’re covered in fuckin’ chocolate, a betting man would say we’re getting sucked down their gullets.”

“I hope she steps on you, you insect!” an older woman snapped.

“As long as she does it in a sexy way, I don’t really mind,” he chuckled darkly. “I’ve watched plenty of birds have their way with even more tinies. Not a one didn’t look like she wasn’t aroused by it. I suggest you all make peace with your fates and just enjoy yourselves.”

Before anyone could argue with him further, their priorities drastically changed. The lid came off again. All of them peered up at the grinning faces of Tracer and Emily. “She said yes, everyone!” Tracer called down to them, clapping her hands excitedly. More reserved than her, Emily only managed a closed-mouth smile and some half-assed raise-the-roof gestures.

“So, who do you want?” Tracer asked, gesturing to the box.

“Uh…oh gosh, I don’t know. Do they each taste different?”

“Well, taste varies slightly from person to person, but I’m not enough of a connoisseur to predict which of these will taste best.”

“Are you sure?” Emily smirked. “I’ve seen you slurp down enough of our used ‘marital aids’ to infer you must have a refined palette.”

“Look, my favorite food is fish and chips,” Tracer paused to look down at the box, “and you guys of course!” Eyes swung back to Emily. “So, I’m not an expert on taste profiles. All I know is, they taste awesome, especially with candy, and they feel even better.”

“Hmmm,” Emily was being indecisive again.

“How about…” Tracer interjected, not wanting Emily to linger too long and risk backing down. “This one?” Tracer’s tan fingers closed around the first selection: a young woman. The woman was laid out on Tracer’s palm, so she could be shown off to the discerning ginger. “I figure, maybe, a woman would be a good start. Since, y’know, you have a taste for them.” Tracer nudged Emily with her elbow. It was something of a risk for Tracer to choose the woman. She noticed she was squirming the most, so she figured that one would give Emily the most tickles in her stomach. However, she was squirming the most because she was the most terrified, which may end up turning Emily off to the situation.

Emily paused. “Alright, she’ll be good.” The gamble paid off. “So, how do I do this? I’ve seen you eat them before, just not…like this,” Emily noted, referring to their romantic and delicious presentation.

“I’ll show you!” Tracer happily volunteered. Another tiny was grabbed from the box, without Tracer even bothering to look. It just so happened to be the other woman, the older one, of the collection. Perfect! Tracer thought, having inadvertently created a more 1-to-1 comparison.

“First, you want to get the chocolate off. That part’s easy,” Tracer started her instructions with. Though she couldn’t feel the tiny struggle, she could certainly see her do so from the shoulders up. Tracer tilted the dessert back, aiming her feet first toward her slowly widening mouth. The woman stopped shaking her head for a moment to peer down her body at the yawning maw ahead of her.

“No!” she shrieked. Little by little she was sent past Tracer’s lips. It was a surreal experience, seeing a human mouth like that, up close, and knowing you were going to fit inside. She could just barely make out the twitching of her tongue. Threads of saliva between the top and bottom of her mouth stretched and thinned until they broke. Droplets of spit became the short-lived stalactites of the cave. “Please! Please don’t do this! Please, please, please!” Just as she was sure the mouth was going to close past her head, it closed down instead against her chest.

Unseen, Tracer’s tongue lapped away at the chocolate, stripping it away from the strawberry candy bondage. The woman couldn’t feel this entirely, but she did feel herself being knocked around by a very eager tongue. Slowly, a rarity for her, Tracer pulled the tiny out, but not fully. She only wanted to strip away some of the chocolate with her plump lips.

The woman’s perspective was spun, literally, as Tracer rotated her like a corkscrew back into her mouth. So disoriented, she could no longer anticipate what was going to happen – not that she had much luck of that before the spin cycle began. Even as Tracer brought her back out, and back in, repeating with satisfied noises, the bellowing woman couldn’t tell where she was in the matter. All she could say for certain was that she was in danger.

A tip of the tongue gently pressed out, wetting Emily’s pink lips as she watched. She had to admit, that even in matters of eating tinies, Tracer knew how to put on a show. Breath caught in her throat when Tracer pulled out the tiny and hung her vertical. The tongue she had grown quite familiar with started lapping away at the candy shell that had been stripped of its chocolate. Growing more excited, her fingers curled back around the tiny in her hand, sealing her in darkness. It was for the best, anyway. The tiny didn’t want to witness what Tracer was doing. Only her morbid curiosity had forced her to watch what she had.

“The candy,” Tracer said between licks, “will take longer, of course.” Emily listened to the soft sounds of her softer tongue stripping away the strawberry hard shell. To the smaller woman, however, the sounds were anything but soft. “However,” lick, lick, lick, “the shell is pretty thin,” lick, lick, “so pretty soon…” lick, lick, lick, lick, “it’ll be thin enough for them to break free!”

On cue, as soon as the woman felt some agency back in her limbs, she stretched out, breaking away the very thin coating into sticky shards. She was still covered, for the most part, in strawberry candy, but she could move freely. Well, as free as she could in Tracer’s grasp.

“Once they can move, it’s time to swallow!” Tracer announced, to her and Emily’s excitement, and everyone else’s terror. The last plea for mercy was interrupted as she was flung through the air and landed in Tracer’s accepting mouth. Despite the impression she gave, she didn’t swallow right away. Tracer savored the thrashing in her mouth for a few moments while getting rid of the strawberry shards. Having sampled chocolate, then strawberry, and now flesh, Tracer was ready for the grand finale.

Emily’s eyes went wide as she watched. Tracer’s head fell back, exposing the full length of her throat. Delicate fingers rested against the base, waiting for the final pass of the lump. Emily silently gasped as she heard the gulp, knowing it signaled the last chance the tiny had at escape going away. Her gaze followed the bump in the tan neck slide down a bit, stop, and then with another gulp go the rest of the way. Her trance was only broken when Tracer sat her head forward and let out a satisfied “ahh.”

The voracious hero shook her body in a shiver as it ran up her. “Ooo, that was wonderful!” Her eyes opened and looked at her girlfriend, who transfixed on her stomach. Tracer was happy to satisfy her curiosity. “Want to feel?” She asked, confident in Emily’s answer. She stood and pulled up on her short, black, dress she bought just for Emily. Inch by inch it bunched up in her grasp, going up her thighs and then her curvy hips. Tracer only stopped when her stomach, and black string panties, were exposed. Seeing how slowly Emily was moving, Tracer grabbed her hand and pressed it against her twitchy tummy.

Another silent gasp left Emily’s lips as she felt the tiny struggling in the stomach. Emily knew Tracer ate tinies, she’d known since Tracer first started doing it, but she had never really cared to watch. It was an activity she saw no joy in, other than seeing how happy Tracer was, and enjoying how amorous it seemed to make her. Therefore, in the past all she offered were passing glances. Now she had watched the process slowly take place and was now feeling the summation of the efforts fighting against Tracer’s stomach walls. “I can feel her!”

“If you can feel her,” Tracer said down at her lover, “imagine how much I can feel her.” She watched the last of Emily’s trepidation leave when her face lit up at the prospect. The prospect of eating a tiny herself. To taste it. To feel it. To dominate it. She could tell Emily was ready. Plus, she got to show off her sexy underwear earlier than she planned, and that delighted Tracer. And Emily, for that matter. With her dress smoothed back down, and her bum on the couch, Tracer got ready to watch Emily break her vore virginity.

A deep inhale and long exhale later, and Emily was ready. Fingers unclenched and exposed her first. In her heated witness to the hot display, much of the chocolate had melted and smeared on her hand. “Oh, shoot!” Emily despaired.

“Don’t worry,” Tracer reassured. “You just focus on the tiny. I’ll clean up.” Tracer’s fingers closed in around the tiny woman and peeled her off Emily’s palm. As she brought her closer to Emily’s lips, her mouth instinctively started to open, though with some clear hesitation. Once Tracer’s 2nd favorite lips in the world (her 1st favorite were further south) closed in around the dessert, she left the rest to Emily. Meanwhile, Tracer brought Emily’s hand up for herself to clean off. And what better than the best way to clean off chocolate?

Cooing around the tiny, feeling Tracer seductively lick her hand clean, those big chocolate eyes watching her, Emily started to suckle on her treat. It didn’t take long to remove the chocolate, as there wasn’t much left, and when she started to taste the strawberry, Emily slurped the shrunken woman in the rest of the way. While Tracer had treated hers like a lollipop, Emily was using the Jolly Rancher method.

The woman inside was in hell. Emily’s mouth was incredibly warm and full of saliva from all her salivating while watching Tracer. The moans from the flavor and watching/feeling Tracer lick her clean were deafening. As she was tossed around the mouth, her hard shell knocked into the teeth and made a loud sound. Worse were the vibrations it sent through her body with each impact. Like a Jolly Rancher, Emily did two primary things to the woman. One, she’d keep her in her cheek as she sucked, extracting the flavor and thin layers from the candy. Mostly, she’d keep her pinned to the roof with her tongue as she sucked. The woman felt her body slip quite often from the suction, threatening to yank her into the throat earlier than either woman wanted.

“Oh!” Emily blurted out. “I can feel her moving now,” she said as best she could with the woman on her tongue. Every twitch sent her this way and that, but Emily never let her go far. “Do I swallow?”

“How many guys at university wished they could have ‘eard you say that?” Tracer joked. A smirking scowl from Emily later and Tracer answered seriously. “Not yet. Just let her move around a bit. She’s not going anywhere, though you may want to corral ‘er if you feel ‘er getting near your throat.” Emily did as she was told, relaxing her tongue and letting the woman explore.

The woman was frantic and panicked. As soon as she could move, she did so. No space to stand, not that she could with the uneven, wet, and moving ground. So, she crawled. She shuddered as she felt what were clearly the teeth and recoiled in fear. The roof was wrinkled under her touch, and clearly wasn’t going to help her. The tongue was so slimy, which she didn’t like. More than that, she didn’t like how it moved, and that it moved at all. She might have compared it to a giant slug, if she had ever allowed herself to touch one in her life. In truth, nothing she had experienced in her life would compare to what would come next.

Ready, Emily swallowed. Well, she tried. She’d never had something that big in her mouth that she didn’t chew up first before swallowing. Her body was fighting against her attempts. It was like trying to dry swallow a large pill. The body feared choking, rightfully so, and Emily couldn’t even get the woman to her throat.

“I can’t do it,” Emily said, mouth full. Every word let in a brief flash of light and a glimpse at the outside world for her prey. “She’s too big.”

Before Emily could spit her out, Tracer held out her hand. “Wait right there, I’ll get something. Don’t spit her out!” Tracer leaped over the back of the couch and sprinted to the kitchen.

Emily sat with her hands in her lap, eyes looking about the room while she waited. She never had to wait long when it came to Tracer. However, with a squirming life in her mouth, she grew a little impatient. Emily wasn’t even bothering to taste her anymore. The stillness in her mouth allowed the shrunken woman to find the back of her lips and start to push herself through.

First came her hand. As she pushed herself against the giant teeth, her arm slid out with it. Soon, her head and then her shoulders exited too. By that point, Emily could feel what was going on, and squeezed her lips tighter, preventing her from slipping out further. It didn’t matter. The woman had gotten out far enough to do what she needed to do.

“Please!” She cried up at Emily, who literally looked down her nose at her. “Don’t eat us! Don’t eat me! Look, I heard what you said. You don’t want to do this, I can tell. She talked you into it! I don’t know what she’s told you, but we are real. I am a real human being! I had a life before this, and you can give it back to me. Just spit me out, hide me, do whatever you have to but don’t eat me!”

Emily had to admit, she made a strong case. Even she had her doubts about the validity that the shrunken people weren’t lab grown but were actual people. She wasn’t a scientist, but she’d wager shrinking someone was easier than building a person, no matter how small. However, she never could accept the possibility that the tinies were real people. The sole reason being that if they were real people, that meant that what she had done, what Tracer had done, was bad. It was wicked, to put it lightly. And there was no way Emily could entertain the idea that Tracer was in any way a bad person.

Speak of the devil, Tracer came back around with a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Brought along some training wheels,” Tracer announced as she sat. “Oh, ‘ello there, love,” she said to the woman trying desperately to get out of Emily’s mouth. “Sorry, I only brought along two glasses, so you’ll ‘ave to sit this one out.” Uncaring of the woman’s protests, perhaps even delighting in it, Tracer pushed against the woman’s head with her finger and slid her back between Emily’s lips. “Boop.”

The thrashing in Emily’s mouth was restored anew. Emily, meanwhile, just enjoyed her movements, foreign though they felt. Tracer had poured them both some white wine. Something light, Tracer decided, to not overpower the taste of the tiny herself. “This should help get her down,” Tracer informed, taking a sip from her own glass. Unable to wait any longer, Emily downed some of the wine to wash the tiny into her gut. “Not too much! Just a sip. Don’t want to drown her before she gets there.” Just a sip was all it took. When her body felt the liquid hit her tongue, it eagerly allowed the throat to open for the swallow.

There was nothing the woman could do to stop it now. The wine swept her of her hands and knees and carried her immediately to Emily’s throat. Though the wine slipped down easily, Emily was not liquid. So instead, she found herself waiting in Emily’s throat. It wouldn’t be long, however. Each gulp sent her further and further down, the muscles squeezing around her and dampening her cries. The pressure was intense, but the good thing was that it was over fast. The bad thing was it meant she was now in Emily’s stomach. She remained disoriented, of course. More so than ever. But that didn’t stop her for screaming her lungs sore and slamming her fists against Emily’s walls.

“Ah!” Emily squealed. “I can feel her!” She didn’t even have to ask. Tracer immediately slid her hand up under her sweater and pressed it against her stomach. Emily helped her out and pulled up the thick covering, exposing the smooth, pale, expanse of her delightfully soft torso.

“How does it feel?” Tracer asked. “How does she feel?” She added with a more wicked smile.

“It’s…she’s…wonderful!” Emily was glowing. “I’ve played with tinies before. Hell, they’ve even found their way inside me one way or another. But this? This is different. I feel so…powerful! I feel so…”

“Aroused?” Tracer finished for her. She was right. With the life inside her thrashing around to survival, Emily felt aroused. She began to think of the tiny as an actual human life, which she was of course. She thought about how she had traded a human life, one with a life and a future, for her pleasure. This woman, this snack, had spent her entire life working hard, facing obstacles, and overcoming them – all to wind up inside her cute little tummy. As her thighs rubbed together, she nearly came from that thought alone. Tracer’s hand on her stomach, and the tiny writhing around on the other side of that stomach wall, got her the rest of the way to an orgasm. A subtle one, but one, nonetheless.

Suddenly, Tracer’s lips were upon Emily’s. She couldn’t contain herself anymore. Seeing her girlfriend in such a heightened state of arousal, matching her own increased horniness, and all because they had both devoured two people, broke down the last of her inhibitions. With her hand still on Emily’s stomach, she pushed her back along the couch and followed with her. Laying on top of her, Tracer’s tongue pushed into Emily’s mouth. Two murderous mouths played with one another, while their future victims watched.

“This may be the best day of my life,” the gruff man said, trying his best to keep his head up so he could watch the gigantic lesbians delight in one another. He licked his lips as he saw Tracer push her hand up further, shoving aside more of the sweater and cupping the breast in the salmon pink bra. His eyes swung in the other direction when he saw Emily’s hands hike up Tracer’s dress and sink her fingers into her barely covered ass cheeks. “Saints alive, I think I died and went to ‘eaven.”

“You’re going to actually die if you don’t help us get out of here!” someone tried to reason.

“There aint a place on this shitty globe I’d rather be than right ‘ere, right now,” he responded with attention give to his detractors. “Except maybe on that couch with ‘em.”

Dreams do come true, even if they should be nightmares. With Emily’s mouth on her neck, Tracer reached over to the box and blindly picked the next dessert: the gruff man. “Oh, thank you, God! I promise I won’t waste this opportunity!” No deity heard him. And the two goddesses he was advancing toward didn’t pay any mind to what he was saying.

Tracer pushed, begrudgingly pulling herself away from Emily’s mouth. However, she wanted to see her eat another one. “I want to see you eat another one.” See? Emily was all too eager to accept. Without another word, she opened her mouth and laid out her tongue. Her eager willingness displayed, Tracer slid the man feet first into her mouth.

The pink lips closed around his body. He wasn’t squirming at all, not that she would have felt it if he had. Gently she suckled at his chocolate while he watched. “Taste good, lass? I’ve always thought of m’self as a gift to women,” he smugly commented so close to death’s door, no matter how attractive death was. He looked up and saw Tracer watching. Her adorable freckled face looked down from on high, her bangs darkening her features. The shadows didn’t hide her mouth, open and salivating, though. A bit of drool dripped out and hit him directly on the head.

“Ack!” He instinctively said. After shaking some loose, one eye now closed and the other squinting, he found his smile again. “No worries, lass. I quite enjoy the previews before the show.” He said a lot more things, all in relation to either his own desirability or his desire to be inside either Tracer or Emily. His only regret, he noted, was that he couldn’t do both. How wrong he was.

Tired of listening to his constant yapping, Tracer descended. Full lips closed in around what Emily left exposed of him. When she felt her girlfriend suddenly kissing her, Emily generously pushed him forward. The two of them then shared equal halves of the nearly sucked-clean man.

He was certainly happy about the turn of events. At first. He hadn’t realized how humid it would be in their mouths. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, and instead opted to focus on how soft their wrestling tongues felt. “Ladies, ladies, please don’t fight,” he said for his own amusement. “There’s plenty of me to go around!” However, only one woman would get the prize.

He had to admit, being in the middle of a lesbian make out was rougher than he’d dreamed. Their mouths were soft, but relentless in their assault on his body. He had imagined the bath part of the tongue bath would be more relaxing, but the saliva was thick and heavy. There was no doubt in his mind hitting the teeth wouldn’t feel good – and he was at least right about that. Though he knew they were moaning, at his size, in their mouths, it was hard to distinguish them as anything other than loud, albeit feminine, noises. The darkness was the worst, for him. Not knowing what was going to come next, not being able to take in the sights. It frustrated him more than terrified him. The fear would come later. Sooner, rather than later, actually.

It seemed Tracer had won the battle of the tongues. No longer able to contain herself, she greedily stole him away from Emily with her more practiced tongue. She sat up, straddling Emily’s lap, and leaned her head back. The hero gave a strong swallow, working hard to swallow the tiny was a bit beefier than the rest. When he finally fell into her stomach, she rested a hand against her clearly displayed abdominal muscles and took a sip of white wine.

Inside the stomach, the man fell in on top of the exhausted woman. There was less space than he was hoping for. He was hoping to stretch out and welcome his untimely death with a relaxed heart. Instead, he was left fighting for space with a woman who wanted nothing to do with him. For Tracer this of course meant even more struggling, so she was fine with that. The wine she added only angered them more.

Now that he was at the final stretch of his demise, he found it harder to really dismiss his demise was imminent. Up until that point he had put on a brave face, both for the others but mostly himself. Denial was very powerful. He told himself being swallowed through the moaning mouth of a hot woman would be the ideal way to go. He still believed that may be true. However, ideal or not, it was still a way to go. He didn’t want to go. Finally, the fear was setting in, and he violently thrashed against her stomach walls to get out.

“I thought you wanted to watch me eat another one,” Emily teased, running her hands along Tracer’s strong thighs. She had watched many tinies get crushed between those strong thighs. Emily smirked at Tracer’s unapologetic shrug.

“There’s more where that came from,” Tracer promised. To Emily and Tracer, that was a sweet reminder of the fun ahead. For those left in the box, it was a grim reminder of the horror to come.

One by one the rest of them were consuming in ways ranging from romantic to erotic. Tracer and Emily traded tinies with each other; sucking clean the chocolate and then swapping the two tinies between their mouths. With another pair, they tested adding another flavor and dunked the tinies into their wine glasses. Both agreed that while it added something, it took away more than it added. Some were disposed of in mundane ways, idly sucked on and then swallowed by the two women discussed their days between orgasms. Others were eaten in more sexually charged ways, as the two women worked toward their next orgasms. Eventually, their ravenous feast had ended, though not by choice.

“Aw, there are no more,” Emily remarked as she looked at the sadly empty box.

Tracer was of course sad that there were no more but was delighted that Emily had so enjoyed breaking her vore cherry. “Shall we adjourn to the bedroom, m’lady,” Tracer said in an overly posh voice.

“What a marvelous idea,” Emily said, matching the accent, causing them both to laugh. As they stood, Tracer took another look down at the box.

“Look! There’s one left!” Indeed, there was. Pressed up against the wall of the box, away from everyone else, and out of the line of sight the women had while on the couch, was the last candy-coated tiny. He had remained as quiet as possible, and not just while in the box. In the bowl, too, he tried to remain invisible, though that clearly didn’t work. He’d almost succeeded in being overlooked but was once again unable to escape Tracer’s gaze.

“Who should get him?” Emily asked, picking up the last man standing.

“Why don’t we both get him?” Tracer suggested, plucking the tiny from her grip.

“Are you suggesting another make-out session?” Emily asked, referring to the means in which they savored the gruff man. “Cause my tongue is kind of worn out.”

“Hopefully not too worn out,” Tracer made sure to mention, waggling her eyebrows. “But no, I mean why don’t we bring him into the bedroom with us?”

Emily moaned as she smiled. “That sounds like a fantastic idea. Here’s hoping he can keep up with us.” As she said that, both women looked down at the last tiny in their possession, smiling. And since he was the last, at least for a while, they were set on making him last.