“Huff, huufff… holy shit… I can’t believe I actually did it!”

Cynthia’s ambush had been perfect, like something out of a movie. Her quarry had just returned to her hotel room, exhausted by the wonders of the convention downstairs, only to find the silhouette of a hungry, snarling werewolf looming over her!

Except… it was less a werewolf, and more a wolf-themed fursuit. But it probably looked pretty convincing in the dark, right? And when she was being hefted up and forced headlong into a waiting throat, it was doubtful she really cared about the difference anyway.

With every single inch of the scrawnier girl Cynthia managed to wolf down, she was convinced it would be her last. Her brain kept repeating, this is it, there’s no way you can fir her any deeper! And yet, against all odds, her body always found a way to keep stretching that tiny bit further. Even Cynthia couldn’t believe it when those dainty toes had vanished past her lips, and she looked down to see her belly bulging twice farther than it ever had before, straining her fursuit to the limit.

And then the squirming began. Kicks and punches were launched against those churning stomach walls, which you’d think would be painful, but her meal just didn’t have the reach to manage even a single good, solid punch. All it really felt like was the ultimate deep tissue massage, luring Cynthia into a delighted stupor. Her favorite artist in the entire furry community, tucked away inside her gut exactly where she belonged… God, if this was a dream, she never wanted to wake up.

Still, after a few minutes of bliss, some things started getting annoying. Mostly those rumbling belches that shot up her throat whenever Jazzy managed a half-decent kick. One was loud and echoing enough that the neighbors must surely have heard it, which made Cynthia blush. “Oh, come on, Jazzy. You can’t go complaining now! You’re the one who got me into this in the first place!” She teased, running her hands over that fluff and fabric-covered gut. “You always drew yourself inside a gut. I figured this would be a — brrrruaaarrrpppp — dream come true for ya.”

It was a year ago when she first saw it. Her first bit of vore art, randomly recommended to her by twitter. It was a piece by JazzyTheMouse of her rodent fursona squirming about in a big, powerful gut. Cynthia wondered whether ‘Jazzy’ had had the faintest inkling while doodling that quick little sketch that it would eventually be what leads her here: shoveled into a rapacious maw and crammed into a tight, gurgling, churning stomach, just like in all of her artworks.

Well, technically two sets of maws. Cynthia had had the mouth of her fursuit be capable of opening to reveal her face… so while Jazzy was passing by those fake plastic teeth, she was simultaneously being pressed down a very real gullet. From her perspective, it must’ve looked and felt like being swallowed by an actual big, hungry anthro. Must’ve been a dream come true for her… meanwhile, Cynthia was reaping the consequences.

To think she’d been lifting weights for months to prepare for this… what a fool she’d been! All the muscles she’d worked deadlift barely helped; this was more like if you strapped the weight directly to your torso. Her center of balance was far forwards, so if she just let her muscles relax, she’d naturally get bent over by gravity as her belly descended to squash against the ground.

She had to actively be leaning back with all her might just to stand up straight, and walking without falling over was nearly impossible. “Uuurgh… I gotta say… huff, huff… lugging all this weight around is… waaay harder than you made it look in your comics.” After only a few steps, the weight was already killing her back and shoulders. She tried to alleviate this by lifting her belly up with her hands, but it was so hard to get a good grip with how her fingers squished into it through her suit.

She had to strain to lift it up onto the mattress, only to let it come crashing down with a wet schhllloorsch-lllsh-looorsh-llsh as the contents sloshed back and forth from the force of the impact, coaxing a brrruaarrrpp from her lips. She had a cocky smirk on her face as she admired her handiwork in the wall-length mirror, running her hands over her suit-clad gut. “And the bulge is totally different too… usually in the art, I could see your face or something,” she noted, poking her gut curiously. “If only you could see what you look like from out here! You could turn it into some pretty rockin’ art! Well, at least you could do some great internals now… I mean, if you weren’t gonna be butt fat pretty soon.”

That sent her prey into another wave of kicking and punching against her stomach walls, which made her giggle. “Hehe, I always wanted to say that,” she said. “After all, you used that line in your comics all the time!”

An entire year had been spent working up to this moment. Training her body, swallowing foods of increasing size until she could swallow watermelons, then moving on to live critters, bigger and bigger, fitting more and more at once… and now, here she was with a whole person in her stomach. She just took that as proof her supreme determination. Most people in the ‘vore community’ were content to just write stories and draw art… but not her. She was the only one bold enough to go out and make it happen. She flexed in the mirror, silently gloating to herself over what a badass she was.

“What’s the matter? Never thought vore could be real?” She gloated, hands on her hips which she swayed somewhat to slosh her dinner around, making sure those gastric juices covered her thoroughly. “Maybe y’all called it impossible… but to me? That’s quitter talk.”

When she’d picked the lock, snuck into this hotel room, and waited in ambush for her prey, Cynthia hadn’t thought that much farther ahead. Many questions had been left unanswered, such as: how on Earth was she going to get out of here? She had no idea how long it would take to digest somebody. She could try to sneak out of the con, but lugging an entire person around naturally made that a daunting prospect. Maybe she could wait out in Jazzy’s hotel room — but the con ends in just a couple days, and she didn’t want the hotel staff to barge in and find her with a gut capable of breaking world records.

And then she saw it. A pamphlet for that impending panel: How Vore Art Is Devouring The Fandom.

She read over the premise with some interest: “Vore has gone from a strange niche on the far fringes to a nearly mainstream aspect of furry fandom. But when, and why, did this shift begin?” Cynthia smirked as she analyzed the discarded piece of paper, reading it in one hand while caressing her belly with the other. “So that’s why you rushed up here, hmm? Getting ready for your panel? Such a shame you won’t be able to make it.” She teased… before freezing as an idea struck her. A stupid, terrible, irresistible idea. “Or… maybe you will.”

Cynthia was as exhibitionist as she was predatory. After all, what’s the point of devouring your favorite artist if you don’t get to show off the bulge to their remaining fans? Her head was spinning with ideas so devious, she had to repress the urge to start rubbing her hands together like a Saturday morning cartoon villain.

Maybe, she thought, if people just saw the bulging fursuit belly. they would have no idea an actual person was wriggling about in the real stomach just beneath its surface. And ultimately, well… this opportunity was just too hilarious to pass up.

She slipped her fursuit’s head back on, and in an instant, she was no longer Cynthia. She was Ruth the hyena, a grin locked in a permanent cackle over a plump gray figure with purple belly. An icon of gluttony who perfectly suited her creator. Just looking at herself in the mirror doubled Cynthia’s confidence — hell, even her strength. After all, Ruth had no problems lugging her prey around. Why should she? She let out a suitable hyena-like laugh as she swayed her gut in the mirror… until exhaustion set in, and she had to let it shlooorsch back down again. Jazzy was still so damn heavy! But still, she knew she’d get better at this…

In the end, she had to request one of those janitorial rolling shelf carts just to carry her gut around. Well, less requested, more commandeered it from the baffled cleaning woman. And now came the part almost as satisfying as consuming Jazzy had been: letting everyone see what she had done.

Anywhere else, it would cause mass panic, seeing someone strutting around with foot and fist and face prints bulging out their immense dome of a gut. Anywhere but here. After all, for any outside observer, it would look like her ‘prey’ was just stuffed into some covert belly compartment of her fursuit! It drew a lot of stares, looks of disgust and bemusement from those who weren’t into it, and incredible blushes on the faces of those who were. She even managed to score a few belly rubs along the way.

So many belly rubs, in fact, that she was hopelessly late for the panel. When she finally made it, the only person onstage was a schlubby, ginger, bearded guy dressed in con staff clothes. He looked baffled with Ruth strutted right onto it like she owned the place. “My apologies, everyone. We are trying our best, but we simply cannot get into contact with Jazzy. I’m afraid your speaker is going to be missing the event toni-“

It was ultimately a roaring grrrroooorrgglllleee from that very real gut that finally caught the man’s intention. He stared at her, dumbfounded. “Oh. Uh. Ahem. Hello?” He asked. “May I ask you who you are?”

“No need to worry about me. You should direct all questions to Jazzy herself,” she replied with a smile. “She’s right here on stage, you know.”

He quickly glanced in every direction, baffled. “Uh… where, exactly?”

She didn’t even have to answer. All she had to do was heft up her belly — hiding the strain on her face as she struggled to lif that impressive mass — just high enough that she could let it all come slamming down upon the table in front of her. It immediately splooted out in all directions as its tubby bottom squished against the table beneath it, bouncing about with a shlooorsch as those juices got all sloshed about with the girl inside as that tummy settled.

The audience immediately recognized it, and there was a chorus of ooooos and aaaaas as they admired it with awe. These were all vore fans, after all — these were all her people. Meanwhile, the poor con staffie was hopelessly out of his depth, just staring at that fluff-covered gut in confusion… until he saw a handprint bulge out its side for the slightest moment. Then, the look of realization that dawned on his face looked downright exhausted.

“Oh! I… don’t know why I’m even surprised. I should have expected…” He had that sort of expression on his face that declared, in exasperated terms, ‘next year I’m staffing some anime convention instead, where I won’t have to put up with this bullshit.’ “Is that really Jazzy in there, though? How can we know for sure?”

The moment of truth. “Let me crank up the volume, eh?” Jazzy could blow the whole situation. If she could just manage to keep it cool, keep a level head. Explain to anybody who could hear it just how Cynthia had actually managed to… consume her. That’d be game over.

Luckily, she played her role perfectly. Cynthia wriggled her hips to shimmy her huge gut closer to one of the microphones, before sliding it on to maximum volume. Immediately, the audience was treated to a soundscape of layers of gurgles and glorps and churns of a busily active stomach, every tiny little noise amplified a hundredfold and leaving the audience starstruck. Even with the microphone, Jazzy was only barely audible, muffled out by the gurgling cacophony and the layers of fat and fursuit fluff covering her.

And yet, her voice was heard. “Hey! C-can you hear me? This crazy bitch swallowed me! One of you has got to get me out of here, right? I-I’m not food!” Hearing that, Cynthia’s lips curled into a smile. Jazzy had used that classic ‘I’m not food’ line of dialogue in countless works. It was all perfect; it sounded exactly like she was putting on a show, playing the part of the hapless prey. All her protests served to do was make some audience members giggle, others blush, and all admire her ‘acting’ skills as she ‘pretended’ to fight back against that gut squeezing and churning around her.

The long-suffering staffie sighed, resolved to get this over with as quickly as possible. “Uuuh… okay. I guess that works… technically.” He stepped out of the spotlight, conceding the stage to Cynthia and her gurgling guts. “Listen, just… ugh. It’s pretty clear that big lecture is never going to be coming. So… I guess we’ll just move right onto the Q&A. God, I don’t get paid enough for this…”

Instantly, a dozen hands went up in the air. Flustered, Cynthia pointed to a girl in a turtleneck sweater in the back, who immediately jumped up with frantic excitement, her cheeks burning red. “That fursuit is SO COOL! How did you get her in there?”

Cynthia paused. She didn’t expect that she would be the one fielding questions! But she supposed it was only natural, considering Jazzy was so preoccupied digesting. “Oh! Well, uh… there’s, uh, see, a zipper under the belly! You can’t see it right now, but… it opens into, like, this hollow chamber in, uh, the fursuit… it’s all very cutting edge, you know?”

Jazzy’s voice was already quite faint beneath all those gurgles, so it was easy for everyone to tune her out. “How did you manage to make it sound so real?” Asked another enraptured fan.

“Well, ‘cause those are my actual belly noises!” Cynthia announced proudly… before catching herself. “I, uh, hooked up a microphone to my own gut… and there’s a speaker inside the suit! So you’re all, like, getting a live feed of my tummy!” The audience nodded thoughtfully, seemingly satisfied with her stammered lies. She counted herself lucky the crowd didn’t seem to be the skeptical bunch. It’s only natural that getting sufficiently horny tends to dull your sense of critical thinking. Any audience not blinded by vore lust may have noticed that those gurgles and sloshes sound a little too real, that that belly is a little too squishy and accurate for any fursuit to so faithfully capture…

She fielded a few questions herself, improvising made-up technobabble to explain the various impressive features of her ‘fursuit’. A few of them asked if they could experience it on the inside themselves sometimes, and she couldn’t help but smirk beneath her fursuit head as she replied, ‘maybe’. After all, now that she knew she had this ability, this wouldn’t be the last time she enjoyed a squirmy meal. Far from it.

How humiliating for Jazzy. Nominally, she was supposed to be hosting this panel, but instead she got downgraded to meal for the true host, and spent the whole conversation busily digesting. She only got a few words in that the microphone could pick up during the Q&A. Eventually, though, somebody was bold enough to ask her a question directly. “So, Jazzy… what’s it like in there?” Asked one guest in a teasing tone. “Is it just like you always imagined, in all your art and stuff?”

“No!” Came that initial angry shout… and then a pause. “Well… actually, uh… yeah, kind of! But actually being in one is completely different from just… drawing one on a screen! It’s so gross and hot and tight and cramped and… uuugh, just let me out of here, now! Do you know who I am? You can’t keep me in here!”

“What’ll happen to your fursona while you’re gone?” Came another question. Clearly, another tease from someone who thought they were just playing along with the kayfabe.

With that, Cynthia tapped her chin. Or at least, tried to, forgetting for a moment that she was still in full suit. As it was, she just bapped her fluffy hand against her face. “You know what, actually? That’s a good question. I guess she belongs to me now, just like her creator, right?” She cradled a hand possessively around her belly, letting out a teasing bbrrooorp as if just to prove her point. “Oooh, I should commission some art of her sona stewing away inside of mine! One last send-off… makes it all line up with the reality, huh?”

And just like she’d planned, that one really got Jazzy squirming. No, downright thrashing from pure rage! She couldn’t let this random, stupid stranger come and turn her and her entire internet presence into assfat! Cynthia gasped, clutching her gut on both sides, trying to get a handhold even as her fingers keep sinking into the slight layer of chub. She might have bitten off a little more than she could chew, here. The way that Jazzy was thrashing around, kicking and punching and fighting back against the squeezing constraints of her gut, it was making her turn green. Why did she have to get so ambitious for her very first true meal!?

At first, the audience just laughed, considering Jazzy’s tantrum just another impressive display of acting. They couldn’t see Cynthia’s face contorting beneath her suit’s head, gasping and groaning as she fought desperately to keep Jazzy down. She gripped her stomach with her hands, squeezing and compressing its squishy surface in an attempt to restrain her prey, continually gulping to push back against the girl’s attempts to climb back up her throat. Her belly had gone from merely bulging to outright bouncing around on the table in front of her, slooorsching and glooosching uproariously as the juices within were shaken all about by Jazzy’s thrashing.

But even if nobody else noticed, the table definitely did. The crappy plastic table creaked and strained beneath the weight of the girl kicking and thrashing and bouncing upon its surface, its thin surface beginning to crack and give way. Just when Cynthia thought she finally subdued the squirming girl, she heard a crack, followed by the tearing of fabric… and the feeling of her belly bouncing in the open air.

The table had split in half beneath her belly, letting it slosh free, the sudden weight of it almost causing Cynthia to fall forward into the crowd and squash some unlucky (or very lucky, depending) audience member. That was issue number one. Issue number two was that the taut fabric of her fursuit’s belly had been stretched far past its intended limit, and that bouncing motion of her gut finally pushed it over the edge. It tore right down the middle, and that smooth, shiny skin bounced into full view of the gawking crowd.

There was a long silence. The audience had thought the fursuit belly had just been some hollow chamber, some artificial plush holding cell for the pretend prey. But the belly that had been hidden under that layer of fabric didn’t look fake at all. They stared, as if their minds were chugging to process what they were seeing… and then there was the bulge of a handprint in Cynthia’s gut, followed by the microphone echoing with the sound of a deafening

bbbrrrruuuUUUUAAARRrrrrpppp!

The next few moments were pandemonium. As the audience realized that vore was actually occurring right before their eyes, they were overcome by shock and excitement and terror and — just, some cocktail of emotions that they just felt compelled to express through disorganized scrambling. Some away towards the exits, some toward her, as if to arrest her. She turned to flee herself, but did so with such speed that her belly went slamming right into the staffer beside her, sending him flying backwards against a wall! At first, she just groaned at how the movement had hurt her aching stomach. Then, it gave her an idea.

Her belly became her wrecking ball. Anybody that stood in her weight, she just had to twist herself with enough speed and bring that immense weight slamming into them with all her might. Her gut was so big, it was enough to give some lighter people some actual airtime! It was exhausting, swinging that immense weight around, but pure adrenaline drove her forward. People were getting tossed left and right as she cut a path through the crowd, making her way towards the stage’s side exit.

By the time security stormed in, they just found a stunned crowd frantically babbling some nonsense about “stomach” and “predator” and “actual vore”. By then, the mystery fursuiter had vanished.

Cynthia huddled in the parking lot, hidden among some concrete barriers, panting and gasping. Her back was killing her, shoulders aching from hefting that weight around as she’d gone sprinting down halls. Said belly now laid splayed out bare in front of her, squishing over her thighs, the struggles within having gone still. Using her gut as a battering ram earlier must have knocked Jazzy out. She sighed, running a hand gently over the curve of her gut. By now, she merely looked obscenely full, or pregnant. It wouldn't be entirely clear she was harboring an entire person in her stomach. “Now, let’s see about getting you home and seeing how long you take to digest… and how many pounds you’ll put on me.”

She sighed, leaving her torn-up fursuit behind as she waddled to her car. She didn’t want anybody recognizing her at the next con she visited, after all. It’s so much easier to catch prey when they have no idea you’re even capable of eating them. She giggled at that. There was something exciting about a fresh start. Maybe she'd attend her next con as a hippo, or a hyena. She already had another popular artist in mind, just the thought of whom made her belly growl…

Nobody would quite believe witnesses’ retelling of the panel, but one thing seemed agreed upon: Jazzy mysteriously never showed up to a con again, and her accounts went strangely inactive, her last upload a commissioned piece of her sona devoured by an unknown wolf.