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Author's Chapter Notes:

In which Emma learns that power comes with responsbility. Low-impact vaginal insertion, vore, and a whole-body tour. Updated at the same time as Chapter 9.

Maybe it was a side-effect of the alcohol, maybe it was a conscious decision, but, as soon as Emma started to get a bit drunk, Aaron was forced back into his own mind. The sudden sensation of overwhelming heat and bone-crushing pressure, all-encompassing stench and a slimy taste that filled his mouth was an overwhelming assault on his senses. He kicked and squirmed, off pure instinct, but his fighting elicited no reaction.

Then, a few minutes later, he suddenly shrank. He knew immediately what was coming next, or he thought he did. But, instead of her boyfriend's cock slamming through the walls, his fingers did. They worked their way effortlessly into her vagina, and he found himself pressed betweeen the muscled walls and his middle fingertip.

Then he pulled his fingers out, taking him along with. Aaron was pulled out of Emma's vagina and into blinding light, still clinging to her lover's fingertips in a thick layer of vaginal fluid. After a dizzying blur of motion, the next thing he saw was Emma's mouth opening wide to receive him.

Oh, God dammit. In a second, her lips closed around the man's fingers, plunging him back in darkness. Her tongue, bright red from the wine, slimed up to lick him off. Wine-laced saliva mixed with vaginal lubricant, and her tongue worked him towards the back of her throat. Then, without warning, her throat closed tight around him and dragged him down into her belly.

The whole process only took a few seconds, and he spent most of it in the tight, pulsing confines of her esophagus as the powerful muscles pushed him rapidly down. He hit her stomach with a wet slap, and was immediately thrown into the air by the sudden motion of walls that pulsed like the waves of the ocean. 

The constant motion was nauseating, and, ironically, he had to fight to keep from throwing up. The walls of her stomach twitched and heaved ceaselessly, throwing droplets of brown-grey fluid around. Sometimes, Aaron would hit the wrinkles her stomach and ride the heaving muscles, stuck there by gravity and the viscous fluids that lined the walls. Other times, he was thrown into the air, either by the giantess' sudden motions or the convulsions of her stomach, and bounced off of one fleshy surface after another.

He was coated head to toe in stomach acid. He knew from the subtle tingling on his skin, even though it did no damage to him. He knew that the acid, combined with the pummeling of her stomach, should have reduced him to a pile of liquified flesh and half-digested bones, but he survived anyway. After about an hour of enduring the endless abuse of her insides, he found himself at the bottom of her stomach in a thick pool of half-digested fluid. Then the tight opening below him parted, and he was sucked down into the slow, steady path through miles and miles of intestines.

He had hoped, even as Emma's stomach pounded at his helpless body, that she would size him up, prevent him from passing any further, and throw him up when she was done. He held onto that fading hope even as he slid towards the muscular ring at the bottom of her stomach. But the moment that that ring dilated, and he slid into the fluid and flesh-filled hell of her intestines, all hope was lost.

How long did it take for food to travel through the human body? A day? Two? Maybe it would be even longer for him, his tiny body stubbornly remaining whole amidst the sloshing fluids. He would have thought that her body would barely even notice him at this size, but her intestines continued to suck and squeeze at him, mindless muscle seeking to abosrb whatever it could from him. Thick fluid, rich with the sour taste of half-digested food, filled his mouth as he screamed futilely. Emma's heartbeat pounded its steady, powerful background beat as the msucles of her intestinal tract patiently pushed him further and further into her body. Aaron's fighting spirit wore itself out after the first few hours, but, even as he lay still, feeling the gentle but insistent pulsing of her body, he knew that there was much more left to go. 

And, worst of all, he would live to experience every moment of it.

Emma waited for her little toy to emerge again, cursing her drunken self for swallowing him. Her vague sense of his location wasn't specific enough to tell exactly how far along he was, only that he was still inside her. So every trip to the bathroom was an exercise in false hope.

Her frustration grew with every passing day, along with a nagging fear that she had fucked up by swallowing him at that size. What if her intenstines had been able to absorb him? What if her body had used his tiny body as food and deposited him somewhere inextricable? There'd be no way for her to tell if he was still sliding through her intestines or if he had been trapped in a globule of fat somewhere around her stomach. She tried to shift her mind into his to check up on his progress, but everything was red, hot, and filled with fluid. She couldn't tell what part of her body he was in from that perspective. She wanted to size him up to help find out where he was, but she didn't want to risk injuring herself.

On the morning after day seven, Emma finally felt her shrunken toy leave her body. Half with relief, half with disgust, she recovered the tiny man, sizing him up to twelve inches to aid in cleaning him off. Fortunately, the filth didn't size up with him, so there was actually very little to clean.

When he was clean, Emma set him on the side of the sink so she could wash her own hands. She had debated a lot whether to own her mistake or make it seem like it was something she had done on purpose. If she wanted a healthy, trusting relationship with her little living toy, she had to be honest with him. He would, he already had, seen parts of her that no other man ever could, so how could she be reserved about sharing her mistakes?

On the other hand, her relationship with him wasn't a romantic one between equals. He was, for all intents and purposes, her slave. She wanted him to want to be her slave, but he was still her slave. His mistress had to be infallible, she had to own everything about him and do everything with a purpose in mind.

She eventually decided to make it seem deliberate, mostly because this had been the majority of his time with her. After the first night spent in her stomach, she moved him to her mind, rather than making him endure the torture of being digested for however long it was going to take. She only put him back in his own mind once or twice a day for an hour at a time, just so that he knew exactly what was happening to him, in case she needed to use this as a punishment later.

She never bothered explaining herself to him, and she knew that he was begging to know the answer. But now that his little whole-body tour was over, he stood naked beside the sink, looking up at her expectantly and asking the question without even voicing it. Alright, she thought, flicking off the water with a sigh. Time to play the cruel mistress.

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