How Mrs.Ryder Ate Peter. 

Mrs. Helen Ryder; Head of housing at the town council, candidate for the post of Mayor, a veritable pillar of the community. Domineering, intimidating and matronly. The housing department was set firmly under her elegant thumb. Eternally dressed in her trademark white blouse, black skirt and black tights (to match her jet black hair), she strutted about the corridors of power decreeing this and declaring that. She was pre-eminent in the art of having people, especially male colleagues, do exactly what she wanted them to. In return she would however always keep her word. 

And it was rumoured that she kept exotic pets. 

Tall, divorced, children grown up, and with a beauty that grows on you, she was having a party at her overly sized home to celebrate her birthday and had decided to invite some of her mouse pushing minions.  

Peter had until recently been one of those minions. Some months ago he and a dozen or so others had been ‘let go’, so he was a little surprised to find himself invited to the great woman’s soiree. (A clerical error no doubt. Someone’s going to be in big trouble). Since he’d been fired he’d been finding it almost impossible to find another job. He was in his thirties now. Demoralised, he was beginning to question his own worth. Debts were mounting up and he’d just about given up planning for the future, so having nothing better to do he spruced himself up and found himself standing forlornly in Mrs.Ryder’s kitchen as the party went on around him and in spite of him. 

He’d half hoped that Sarah might’ve been there. He liked Sarah. She’d lost her job when he had, but he hadn’t been able (or hadn’t tried hard enough) to get in touch with her since. Well she wasn’t there, and so now he was standing awkwardly in Mrs.Ryder’s kitchen, carelessly wondering what on earth she kept in that sinister looking shed he could see through the window and thinking that he might just as well go home, when a voice right behind him made him jump. 

“Hello Peter.” He turned to find himself caught off guard by Mrs.Ryder herself. “Sorry I haven’t come to say hello till now.” 

“Oh, er tha-that’s all right Mrs.Ryder” stammered Peter. “Happy birthday.” 

“Call me Helen, please.” 

“Right, yes er sorry Mrs. er Helen.” Mrs.Ryder moved the conversation on: 

“And what have you been up to since you left us Peter?” The question seemed to imply no remorse on her part at his being sacked. 

“Well I’ve er been looking for work and I’ve er started writing a novel” he lied, not wanting her to know that he was a complete loser. Her eyes and mouth both opened wide. 

“Aaah, you’re a writer!” exclaimed Mrs.Ryder, displaying the interior of her mouth to him. He couldn’t resist the temptation to glance down for a split second.  

“And what is your novel about?” She continued. 

“Oh it’s er, just something I’ve been working on for a couple of months. Nothing much really.” He felt like such an idiot. 

“Well I’d love to see it when you’ve finished Peter. I really would.” The strained conversation went on like this for a few painful minutes more until at last she made her excuses and strode off to talk to someone else. Peter finished his drink and made his way home, with the fleeting image of her open mouth sitting achingly in the back of his mind. 

Mrs.Ryder had noticed him glance into her mouth and it was enough for her to know what needed to know about him.  

Peter met Mrs.Ryder again quite by chance (or so he thought) on a cold crisp morning a couple of weeks later. Dressed for work, she was loading an awkward looking brown box into her shiny German car, which was parked outside the local pet supplies shop. “Good morning Peter” she announced. “How are you today?” 

“Ok thank you, er…how are you Mrs.Ryder?” He felt obliged to walk over to where she was trying to balance the box with one hand and open the car door with the other. 

“Call me Helen, please.” 

“Sorry, er, Helen…how are you?” 

“Very well indeed Peter” she beamed. “Peter, could you help me with this a minute, I don’t want to drop it.” He took the box, which wasn’t as heavy as she’d made it look, whilst she opened the door. “Pop it onto the back seat for me would you?” He did as he was told. As he straightened up again she was facing him. “And how’s the novel going Peter?” She enquired with a smile. 

“Well I, um, to be honest I haven’t done much writing just recently, but I’ll be getting back to it quite soon…” 

“The creative process. It’s never easy is it?” She said. As she talked, Peter couldn’t resist another glance at her mouth. A provocative trail of saliva traversed the gap between the tip of her tongue and her upper lip. Again Mrs.Ryder noticed him looking. Peter tried to change the subject. 

“So, it must be something valuable in the box is it, Mrs.. er, Helen?” He spluttered. 

“Not really Peter, just food for my snake.” 

‘Christ, she’s got a f***ing snake!’ Thought Peter. “You have a snake? What sort of food does it eat?” 

“Succulent white mice.” 

“Frozen mice? How do you…” 

“Oh no” she interrupted. “Melissa prefers them as nature intended. Very much alive, bless them.” 

Peter was totally enthralled. “You mean you actually feed your snake live mice?” 

"Yes of course” she smiled. “Look, you can come and help me feed her if you’ve got a few minutes to spare, I’m sure you’d find it fascinating.” 

“Well, er yes that would be interesting. Thank you” replied Peter. 

“Come on then, jump in.” She gestured to the passenger door. As they sped along in her powerful German car Mrs.Ryder told Peter about the various animals she’d had in the past and how now she only had Melissa. Melissa was a young boa constrictor and she was going to have a mouse for breakfast.  

They pulled into her drive and Mrs.Ryder asked Peter to carry the box of condemned mice into the back garden. She unlocked the shed he’d previously seen through her kitchen window. Once inside she took the lid off the box and took out a small cage in which were two quite large, beautiful pure white adult mice. Melissa was asleep in a glass tank on a table beneath the window. Mrs Ryder opened the cage, roughly grabbed one of its unfortunate inhabitants and took it over to the snake. 

“Melissa” she cooed “Someone to see you.”  

Peter wasn’t quite sure if she meant him or the mouse. In through the lid of the glass tank went Melissa’s meal. Once the mouse smelled her it began flinging itself about in a futile attempt to escape. Melissa woke up, quickly caught it, constricted it for a short while before slowly swallowing it whole, headfirst, as it’s legs kicked about behind it. 

“Fascinating isn’t it?” Observed Mrs.Ryder. “You know he’ll still be alive inside her for some time yet. She doesn’t always bother killing them first.” 

“Wow, really?” 

Mrs.Ryder watched Peter watching the twitching lump slide further and further down inside the snake’s body. 

“Did you enjoy that Peter?” 

“Yes, it really was… well…I’ve never seen a snake eat before.”  

“Come on” she said, “let’s take the other one inside.”  

Wondering why on earth they would want to do that, Peter obediently followed her into the kitchen, where she put the cage on a table and sat down next to it.  

“Peter, would you please go over to that cupboard and bring me a bottle of Hansol.” She pointed to a cupboard over the sink. Inside he found several bottles of ‘Hansol’ and several more of ‘Grettol’. Both were familiar to Peter as medicines for upset stomachs. He picked up a bottle and took it over to her. 

“Are you feeling alright Mrs Ryder?” He ventured. 

“Call me Helen, please. Yes I’m fine Peter. My stomach’s only upset at being a bit empty!” she laughed. “No, You’ll see what the Hansol is for later. Take a seat.” She’d put a chair facing hers and Peter duly sat down. Taking a more serious tone she said: “Peter, what you are going to see me do now will I hope fascinate you even more than seeing Melissa eat. It may also shock you but please do me the honour of watching til I’ve finished. Will you do that for me?” 

“Yes, ok.” Replied a hesitant and baffled Peter, (not that saying no to Mrs. Ryder was ever an option anyway). 

She smiled her gratitude, then opened the lid of the cage beside her and grabbed the remaining white mouse. As it struggled she produced a small pair of nail clippers and proceeded to expertly clip its tiny claws. Then, with a glance at Peter’s puzzled expression, she held the mouse up in front of her face and declared: “Now it’s my turn to feed!” 

What on earth did she mean? Thought Peter. Was she was going to eat it? She leant forward so that the mouse and her face were inches from Peter’s eyes. Her knees were now touching his. She stroked the anxious creature gently with her graceful fingers and whispered: “Sweet isn’t he?” She looked at Peter with a half smile, saying: “Watch my mouth Peter. Don’t take your eyes off my mouth.” Turning the mouse to face her, she slowly parted her lips. Unsure what all this meant, the mouse struggled frantically in her hand whilst she stared as if trying to hypnotise it. All of a sudden she opened her mouth very wide, and rammed her victim inside and onto her tongue. Its back legs were kicking wildly against her chin so she stilled her prey by sucking hard upon its body, almost crushing it. Saliva began dribbling from her mouth and drops landed on her blouse. (Peter wanted to wipe them off with his finger). She moved a little further forward towards Peter and parted her knees just enough to place them either side of his, but of course he was far too stunned by what he was seeing to even notice. She opened her mouth again and showed Peter it’s terrified occupant, and pushing it further in with her index finger. As it’s snout reached her uvula, she gagged and closed her mouth briefly, before opening again in time for Peter to see two hind legs slide effortlessly over the back of her tongue and into oblivion. She left her mouth open for a few more seconds so that Peter could to look inside before slowly closing it. She wiped herself with a tissue. Dumbstruck, Peter felt his heart pounding as if it would explode. Still only inches from his eyes, her lips spoke in a whisper: “I can still feel him going down Peter. He’s still going down…. dancing as he goes…. still going….. still going….still going…..aaahh, there he is, at peace in my stomach. I love it when they dance their way down.”  

Peter was beyond words. She looked at him with a wry smile and then leant forward and spoke softly in his ear: “Did you see him Peter? Inside my mouth?” He could feel her breath on his neck as she delivered the killer question: “Would you like to have been him Peter? Would you like to be inside my mouth, letting me taste you, devour you? Would you like to slide slowly down my throat, whole and alive?” 

“Er, well I er…” 

“Would you Peter?” 

“Well… I…I….Yes, Mrs.Ryder. 

“Call me Helen, please.”  

“…. Helen…” he barely murmured. 

“Well you can Peter, you can.” She whispered. “I can make it happen.” She leaned back a little and regarded his pale face. “Shall I show you how?” He just looked at her unable to reply. “Yes, I’ll show you how.” She answered for him. 

She took the bottle of Hansol and poured three drops onto the spoon. She put the spoon into her mouth and swallowed the liquid. She resumed staring at Peter and leant forward again. 

All of a sudden she’d put a hand round the back of his head and was pressing her lips fiercely against his. Her other hand came to the top of his jeans and grasped his crotch. He was trying to gasp but could hardly breathe at all, especially as now Mrs. Ryder’s lips had spread to envelope his nose too. He was beginning to panic and tried to pull away when he suddenly felt his lungs fill with warm musty air (mixed with the smell of Hansol) that came from somewhere inside her.  

As she held him, he took in deep lungfuls and this went on for several minutes. All the while her hand was still active at the top of his jeans. As he became comfortable with this unusual situation, he let his own hand settle onto one of her knees, in preparation for an upward journey of it’s own beneath her skirt. 

Just then she pulled back, saying “Not this time Peter, maybe next time.” Disappointed, Peter thought it was all over, and as he sat there panting Mrs.Ryder regarded him with curiosity. “Have you ever been kissed like that before Peter?” 

“No, I don’t think so. Thank you Mrs… er, Helen, it was quite something.” 

“Sit still for a minute Peter and see what happens.”  There was an embarrassing silence for a minute until Mrs.Ryder noticed a change in Peter’s eyes. He was beginning to feel sick and dizzy and he tried to get up, but his clothes felt too big and heavy. His shoes fell off his and his feet were now dangling about six inches off the ground. Trying to lift an arm, his hand was halfway up the sleeve of his now massive thick woolly jumper. In panic, he realised what was happening.  

Mrs.Ryder spoke: “Cell reduction Peter. You’re shrinking, albeit temporarily. Hansol reacts with my stomach acid. Breathe it in and a chain reaction starts; two cells become one etcetera etcetera. Hair, bones, teeth, everything. Hansol for males, and Grettol…. well never mind that just now.” She smiled broadly at Peter as he stopped shrinking at around half his normal size. “And yes, the makers do know about it.” She added with a laugh. “That was only three drops Peter. Imagine what would happen if I swallowed three spoonfuls!” Then, before he knew what was happening she opened her mouth wide and lunged forward at him like a wild animal, making him recoil. She held his head with her huge hands and made him stare into her jaws for a few seconds. He wanted more than anything to put his head inside, but she let him go again.  

She sat back on her chair and her smile returned. “Relax Peter,” she said, “This is only a demonstration. You’ll soon return to your normal size. But listen carefully; if you really want to go all the way, if you really want me to eat you, you’ll have to be one hundred percent sure. I’ll give you exactly a week to think about it.” 

She got him a glass of water and he slowly grew back to size. When she’d decided he was big enough (though still a little loose in his clothes), she showed him the door and without ceremony sent him on his way. 

For Peter, the thought of being eaten by Mrs.Ryder dominated his thoughts and desires for the next few days. He felt weighed down by the enormity of what he might let happen to him, life was unbearable.  He’d called a few friends but couldn’t talk to anyone about it. Who’d believe him? He’d even tried contacting Sarah, but she wasn’t around. The weather was miserable, he’d had no job offers and by the third day he realised it was inevitable that he would give himself to Mrs.Ryder. 

Unless of course the whole thing was a joke, or a dream. The doubt sat in his mind until the evening of the sixth day when the phone rang. He knew it was she before he answered. 

“Peter?” 

“Yes, Hello Mrs.Ry…” 

“Come to my house at eight tomorrow morning and I will eat you. Wash thoroughly beforehand.” Then she hung up. He didn’t sleep that night.  

Next morning, after a long melancholy bath he set off in the cold winter drizzle, walking to his own execution. He found himself in her leafy driveway at eight precisely. (You were never late for Mrs.Ryder). Her silver German car seemed to grin at him as he rang the bell. Mrs.Ryder opened the door.  “Come inside Peter” she said with barely a smile. “Take your coat and shoes off and follow me.”  She led him into a large conservatively decorated room and gestured for him to sit on a blue sofa covered in white cushions. On a glass coffee table were neatly arranged a teaspoon, a box of tissues and an unopened bottle of Hansol. Dressed as if ready for work, and with her hair tied up, she came and stood over him. 

“Peter, I need to hear it from your lips. Why are you here?” 

Embarrassed, Peter mumbled: “So you can eat me.” 

“Speak more clearly Peter.” 

He raised his voice a little: “So that you can eat me Mrs.Ryder.” 

“Call me Helen, please.” Looking down at him she continued; “Peter, I have to tell you that once I’ve started I won’t let you go. Even if you plead with me I won’t stop until I’ve devoured you. Understand?” He nodded his agreement and she allowed a half smile to cross her face. “Good, because I am very hungry. I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning and you’re my first human in a long time. I could even eat two!” Her smile broadened. “Right, let’s get started shall we? I have a meeting this afternoon and I’ll want you nicely settled inside by then. Take all your clothes off. Clothes give me indigestion.” 

He got up and undressed, folding his clothes neatly and putting them on a chair, feeling extremely self-conscious and vulnerable as she watched him. ‘My God’ he thought. ‘Is this all real?’ He sat back down, folding his hands across his lap. Mrs.Ryder positioned herself in front of him holding the spoon and the Hansol above his head as if they alone were to be the implements of his execution; poised and ready to strike. She poured out a spoonful, put it in her mouth and swallowed. She waited a few seconds and did the same again. Then she poured out a third spoonful and put the bottle back on the coffee table.  

Peter now wanted to ask questions, like; ‘will it hurt?’ or ’how many other people have you eaten?’ but before he could speak she was hitching up her skirt and standing with her legs either side of him whilst her breasts brushed against his forehead through her blouse. She swallowed the last spoonful and stretched over to put the spoon on the table. Then she bent down, forcibly taking Peter’s hands away from his lap and spoke into his ear: “We need you breathing quickly and your heart rate up. How do you think we can achieve that?” (Not that his heart wasn’t already pounding anyway).  

She knelt astride him. She grasped his chin and pushed his head against the back of the sofa with one hand, whilst her other hand started busying itself in some quite astonishing ways elsewhere. She gazed into his eyes for a few seconds and then opened her mouth wide, exhaling a warm spray of spittle onto Peter’s face, reacquainting him with the full glory of it’s pink interior. He trembled as he watched her tongue loll back and forth and her uvula arch upwards, showing him the path he would later follow. She tilted her head slightly, and then pushed her open lips against his as she’d done a week ago. Her tongue made rapid circular movements around his mouth, and as she began making love to him, her lips spread to envelope his nose as well. He panted and gasped, and soon drew the musty odour from the subterranean depths of her belly up into his lungs and the bizarre process of ‘cell reduction’ was underway. Every so often she would let him draw in the cool fresh air of the room, so that he wouldn’t faint. Without releasing him from her lethal kiss, she managed to manoeuvre him round on to his back, with his feet up. Now she lay with her full weight upon him, holding his head with both hands. Peter knew there was no going back. Mrs.Ryder continued to make unyielding love to him even when he himself was done. He tried to regulate his breathing so as to take in more of her miraculous potion and eventually she relaxed her body, but not her kiss. All that could be heard in the room was the sound of their breathing Peter’s, strained and urgent, hers, slower and more purposeful. Beyond this, Peter could hear rain falling steadily against the window, plus the sound of an occasional car passing, or footsteps in the street. But his head was beginning to spin and the world he had known was fading away. 

Half an hour later Mrs.Ryder judged that he’d inhaled enough, and so released him. She stood up, wiped her mouth with a tissue and readjusted her clothing. Peter lay exhausted as drops of saliva ran down the sides of his face. The room felt cold and neither of them spoke. 

At first Peter just felt dizzy and a little nauseous, but gradually there was an unpleasant sensation like a thousand bubbles popping in his chest, a sensation that gradually took over his entire body. He grimaced against the sheer discomfort of it and it became so bad that he lost consciousness for a while. With hungry eyes Mrs.Ryder watched in fascination as his body started vibrating, convulsing and eventually reducing physically towards a swallowable size. In time he lay still amongst the cushions like a discarded doll, about five inches long.  

He regained consciousness and there was Mrs.Ryder looking down at him with a self-satisfied smile, only now she was a giant. “Oh my God….oh my God.” Muttered Peter in a thin tremulous voice as he tried to come to terms with this strange new world.   

“Yes indeed Peter. Oh my God!” She sat down next to him. “Just look at you!” She let him recover for a minute and then lay the back of her hand on the sofa next to him. He began shivering with the cold. “Come onto my palm Peter and get used to the feel of my flesh. It’s all you’ll have from now on.” Her skin was warm, soft and leathery. He knelt there as she lifted him up to her face, and then it was time for another of her mouth displays!  

She positioned his miniscule head in front of her lips and suddenly opened wide, exhaling, blasting him with hot musty air and peppering him with enormous drops of spit. The vision now before him truly took his breath away: Teeth of all different shapes, each as big as his hand lined a deep glistening wet pink cavern. Her undulating tongue lay expectantly on the cavern’s floor and three strands of saliva reached up from it’s glassy surface to the graceful arch of her palate. Peter froze in fear and anticipation of being inside there, of being tasted, of being sucked upon. Now Mrs.Ryder made her tongue flash around in her mouth, a vast slab of hot wet flesh, a live animal in it’s own right. It came out of her mouth and pushed hard into Peter’s face and shoulders, pushing him back into her cupped hand where it proceeded to caress his body as if in the throes of having him as a lover. Before it had suffocated him Mrs.Ryder lifted her head and a long silvery strand ran from his belly up to her lower lip. He wondered if he was about to enter Paradise or Hell. 

He felt the chill air as his wet body cooled. Her massive brown eyes peered down at him. “Peter” she whispered, “Listen carefully. When you go down keep a hand in front of your face. Your journey to my stomach will take quite some time and we don’t want you suffocating do we?” Peter was grateful for this practical advice, but why did she want to keep him alive? She went on; “Once in there you’ll have more room. Do you understand?” He nodded his tiny head. 

He was lying on his back across her palm with his hands, quite absurdly, folded over his lap. Mrs.Ryder smiled a toothy smile at him and arched her neck so that her mouth was directly above his head. “It’s been a great pleasure seducing you Peter. But now I think its time…” 

Peter began shaking again, this time through both fear and expectation. He managed to raise his hand up to touch the giant red lips that hovered above him, at which point they parted, ready to welcome him in. Kneeling upright once more he reached inside and Mrs.Ryder could just taste the sweat as his little hand smoothed its way over her tongue. Now her lips came slowly over his head whilst her tongue gyrated forcefully across the top of his skull before eagerly moving down to taste his face. His neck was forced back against her incisors, which nuzzled into his skin a little painfully. Her lips moved down over his shoulders, releasing a hot thick drool of saliva, which meandered slowly down his torso before coming to rest around his genitals.  

Her head eased further down over her prey as she wrapped her fingers around his abdomen. Peter could feel her teeth now at the small of his back, teasing him forward against her monstrous tongue. With one hand still above his head, Peter could feel the lush, softer, wetter and hotter surface at the back, and there was her uvula; too flighty and slippery to grasp. All of a sudden copious amounts of saliva came flooding over him, accompanied by a deafening noise as Mrs.Ryder gagged. Her throat opened up in anticipation of something to swallow, but instead she sucked hard on for a second him, squeezing him until his ears popped. With her fingers around his legs, He felt gravity shift as she tilted her head back. Now he was upside down and facing into her throat. Her tongue now furiously and mercilessly worked his body, savouring every inch of him. Even with one hand in front of his mouth breathing was becoming difficult. His other hand hung loosely in the sticky flesh of her throat.  

This went on for what seemed an eternity until Mrs.Ryder released her fingers. She curled the tip of her tongue up between his legs and levered him deeper into her mouth. Her uvula rose up and his head was inside her throat where new muscles grasped it tightly, eager to pull it further in.  

Mrs.Ryder, breathing fiercely through her nostrils, was making purposeful gulps every fifteen seconds or so. She let his tiny feet rest on her finger until they disappeared between her lips. Peter could hear her heart beating quickly as her throat, relishing such a meaty challenge, welcomed in his shoulders and torso. She swallowed hard and as her uvula brushed across Peter’s bottom her oesophagus received his head and shoulders, cajoling him deeper and deeper with sensuous rhythmic contractions. It was unbearably, almost painfully tight. His feet slipped quietly over the back of her tongue and into her throat and soon his whole body was being squeezed slowly yet urgently on towards her expectant stomach. Being larger than most morsels that follow this route, it was some ten minutes later that Peter finally slid into the relative spaciousness of his final resting place. His devouring was complete. He lay exhausted waiting for digestion to begin but felt nothing, and in the warm darkness he lost consciousness. 

Hours passed. Deep inside her, the mix of fluids that had shrunk him was now preserving him. The world outside of Mrs.Ryder seemed distant to him now. He was losing track of time and reality. He drifted in and out of sleep but he could hear her voice up above him sometimes. He awoke to hear her say: “Time for my meeting Peter, let’s go….”

Much later he was aware of her voice again, talking softly as if to someone else: “I want you to let me kiss you Sarah. Just a kiss Sarah… just a kiss…

Mrs.Ryder’s stomach filled with the odour of Grettol.