- Text Size +

"Okay, I think I'm willing to give it a shot,” Josh says, a modicum of hesitancy in his voice. He’d thought it over, originally being propositioned a few weeks ago. Spurred on by a drunken moment of oversharing about a fantasy he’d always found fascinating. However, bringing it to the real world, beyond text, makes him relatively uneasy, to say the least.

Emma and Josh sit precariously at the wooden dining table. Respectfully, she takes off her cute black frames, silently sliding them underneath the book. Her cheeks flush red every time she has to pull them out. It's adorable in a dorky way. Despite their niche charm, requiring reading glasses has always been a rather sore spot for her.

Emma decides to push her homework to the side after your last comment. The green gemstones encasing her pupils light up while her eyelids narrow. Centering her attention on the nervous friend sitting across from her.

"Oh yeah? What made you change your mind?" She says with only the faintest of interest. How could he possibly put into words what he's feeling? Josh wants to be sloshed around, ravaged in her mouth, and tasted by that uneven tongue...

"Guess it doesn't matter much," Emma says, catching his eyes lingering across her mouth. She smiles knowingly before standing up and taking several steps over to the counter. "So, let's go over it again, okay?" She glances back at Josh, and he nods eagerly, leaning closer to Emma from his spot at the table. "So, first thing first, this'll just be a test, like we talked about the other day." She pulls out the drawer, producing a small white egg timer.


She cranks the dial, placing it firmly on the counter. The metal-plastic clinks against the granite, its dinky noise penetrating the otherwise quiet kitchen. "One hour. That's how long you'll have before turning back into plain old Josh. Now, how about you make me a sandwich, huh? I'm getting kinda hungry." She teases but finds herself hesitating. “Does he even realize how dangerous this is?” She wonders. Regret snakes its way into her thoughts.

Emma reaches over and unwraps the standard cellophane loaf of store-bought white bread, and Josh looks on, transfixed. She grabs a piece, running a finger along with it subtly. Josh feels as if she was saying, ‘Soon, that'll be you.’ She glances back, the severity of the situation prevalent in her eyes. "So just to be clear, you can't manifest back into, well, you until this timer goes ding!" She explains, imitating the timer rather awkwardly.

Josh simply nods, unable to take his eyes off the spongy white bread in her hand. He's mesmerized by the idea that it could soon be him.  His brain is stuck on the possible sensations he'll be experiencing only moments from now. Taking that as a confirmation, Emma puts her tongue up against the back of her teeth in concentration. Envisioning the transformation. Picturing Josh and the sandwich interlocking together.

You blink into consciousness, already able to feel every porous hole and downy tendril encompassing the slice you've become. It's absolutely incredible how unique it feels. Everything from the gaps in your beautifully white dough, all the way to the delicately flaking crust of your sides. Such invigorating sensations! But, something is wrong. You aren't being held by Emma's delicate, soft hands. No, your flaking crust touches the edges of slick cellophane. Emma smirks through the plastic wrap.

Vrrrrrrrr… Vrrrrrrrrr…

Your friend's side vibrates, making her momentarily drop the slice. You feel consciousness tug away, only to snap back into your puffy form like a rubber band. What was that? Did it have something to do with the brunette's shock? Clearly, powers can be fickle. Almost as if you no longer existed, she folds the end of the cellophane, keeping air from reaching your prison as she walks into the other room, seemingly annoyed.

"Um, no, I'm not going to go in any sooner than eight! Madeline! No, I don't want to hear it!" Emma says, practically stomping out of the room, the phone clenched roughly between her tense fingers.

Silence permeates the well-lit kitchen, bright white bulbs burning down overhead. It's such a peculiar feeling being inside the loaf; the very perception of time seems woefully inaccurate. All you can really do is wait patiently, huddled in your cellophane home. Startlingly, a head pops around the corner. Long blonde hair. Brushed, but not well. Emma's older sister, Brittany, strolls casually inside. Her demeanor is vastly different from that of her younger, who's far more laid back than she'll ever be. You note that she hasn't even bothered changing out of her pajamas yet, fluffy pink pants spotted with occasional polar bears running down the side.

Reaching underneath the silky pants, Brit lazily scratches her butt before letting loose a wide yawn. She looks exhausted, a restless night still holding power over her. On cue, her stomach growls, and you're able to hear it all the way from within your flimsy covering.


"Ugh." A simple grunt of annoyance is the closest you'll probably get to a conversation with the impossibly large lady. She meanders over to the bread, head held low. She decides what to eat for her first meal of the day. Her eyes scan the countertop, making you quake in discomfort. Being just another piece of bread in a pile makes you feel utterly powerless. You're a fly in Brittany's ever-looming web. And consequently, her presence, along with the danger she represents, encroaches on you.

After several moments of pondering and checking cupboards, she shrugs and grabs at your cellophane while you sit idly. You're utterly helpless to stop her as she takes you and one other piece. Whisking the two of you away almost whimsically. You feel infinitesimally tiny pieces crumbing up the counter, each and every one of them a part of your whole. She promptly grabs a plate, dropping you down flat. Another piece of bread follows right behind.

She starts to hum a vaguely off-key tune as she reaches for the fridge. Bending down, she gathers up all the materials for a turkey sandwich. You can see everything from your spot on the ledge, her round pajama-clad butt wriggling around left and right as she scours for the proper ingredients. Your eyes drift briefly towards what lies beneath, but you quickly pull back, feeling it's some sort of violation to ogle a good friend's sister like this. Her ass has you in some kind of grain-fueled trance. If she eats you, is that where you’re destined to end up? You shake the thought; an hour isn't nearly long enough for her to completely digest you.

Finally gathering everything she needs, Brittany slams the refrigerator door shut with her butt, hands chock full of her ingredients that she lazily dumps across the counter. Gradually, she starts the process, picking you up with a soft hand. You feel the light oil of lotion on her hands, as well. Seems she’s too lazy to bother washing her hands first. Gross. 

Reaching into the drawer, she grabs out a spreading knife and uses the very tips of the fingers on her hand to unscrew the lid to the mayo. She stops humming now, instead letting out a sigh as her stomach decides it’ll talk back again.

G’rrrrrrrrrk, it roars. Informing Brittany of info she’s already painfully aware of.

“Yeah yeah…” She says in response, readying the metallic utensil. You’re repulsed as she dips it into the moderately sized jar of Hellmann's mayonnaise she’d silently produced from the cold only moments earlier. Chunks of egg paste adhere to the metal surface, propelled by an impossible amount of force. It hits, forcing an immense disdain to run through your consciousness. Utterly repulsed by the chunky slop assaulting you. It doesn’t relent, smearing it repeatedly across, applying the gunk into an even coat of white.

You feel downright sick but lack the proper faculties to vent it. The relentless spread of condiments stops, but Brittany doesn’t yet relent, placing several slices of turkey over you. Moist and slimy, it mixes in, adding to your revulsion. “O-oh! Brit? What are you up to?” She says shakily, the shock fading as she starts to regain her chill disposition.

"Hmm? Oh, hey, Em. Nothing much, just making lunch." Brittany remarks without much thought or concern. Emma, for her part, looks only mildly bothered. Yet she hovers nearby, causing her sister to scoff at the lack of personal space.

"What's your deal?" Brittany says with a raised eyebrow as she drops two slimy pieces of tomato across you, feeling them slide against the other ingredients. Brit affixes a slice of cheese to you, continuing her lunch preparation. It isn’t much longer before the other piece of processed grain goes right on top, finishing your artificial burial. 

The parts mush together, leaving you sloppy and damp.

"Uhhh, Sorry. It's just looking so good! Could I... have it? "Her hand's fiddle back and forth, nervous energy about her that Brittany can’t figure out

It's at this point that your sensations get thrown into overdrive. Suddenly you can feel so much more. The tomato, the mayo, even the turkey resting on your very surface. It's no longer resting on top of you but is a lesser part of your whole. You can feel it all so distinctly that it's outright overwhelming. Like a new dimension had just poofed into existence. No doubt, Emma is the one to blame. Or, more specifically, the lack of control she has with her powers.

Struggling to cope with all the feelings, you only pick up snippets of the conversation as a weirded-out Brittany gradually agrees to just make a new sandwich, much to your childhood friend's relief. But before she makes another, Brit smugly decides to take a bite. It happens in slow motion, Brittany lifting you up to her face, ingredients that made up parts of your greater whole sliding and bending with her hand. Her mouth opens up, ready to receive you, the heat wafting out the red carpet for your arrival.

She tears into you without hesitation, taking a large bite right down the middle, separating your consciousness. Observing yourself ripped apart is the most indescribable feeling, yet the pain that should be accompanying it is absent. Her mouth is relatively dry, the tang of last night's energy drinks embedded deeply into the essence of the cavern. You're helpless as the teeth mash into your easily chewed chunks, tasting every part of you with the individual taste buds on her tongue.

"Aaaaaaaaaa" Light pours in as Brittany opens her mouth, taunting her sister. Emma can only look away in disgust at what her sister's relentless mouth turned you into. Revulsion splayed tellingly across her face. 

"Ew, seriously, Brit? Stop being gross!" Your friend says, looking away, repulsed at seeing you reduced to a chewed mess.

The blonde unceremoniously closes and swallows with the satisfaction of knowing she won this little engagement. Immediately, powerful muscles pull you down into Brittany's uncaring body. A mighty tug before being sent over a mucus-filled waterfall. It's a slow yet comforting ride down; as you simultaneously watch Brittany start on another sandwich. Emma looks almost torn between laughing or gagging in disgust.

Your remains squeeze rather slowly down her throat in a lumpy mass. It's oddly calming, like a hug, except slimier. You travel down and down, working your way further inside Emma's sister over a few seconds. Finally, the muscles let go of you, and you’re sent into freefall. You can feel the heat, the ever-encroaching bile beneath you. But just before you can hit the churning surface…


You're ripped back with a jarring amount of speed.

Chapter End Notes:

Consider subscribing to my Patreon for early access and other bonus goodies!

If you're interested in hiring my services for yourself, more info here:

You must login (register) to review.