And once she’d finally run out of ideas, what she’d thought was already the worst torment imaginable somehow got worse. With all the long hours she spent simply staring at the striped ceiling overhead, waiting for literally anything to happen…as humiliating as it was, she actually started looking forward to the routine of her former friends “accidentally” trampling her every day. It was rare that any of them even seemed to notice her anymore, simply growing so accustomed to Pomni’s status as a weakly groaning welcome mat that they didn’t even register her existence, but just having people nearby was infinitely better than the vast majority of her life had become.



Not counting the most recent RP log I uploaded, I'm actually not sure if I've written anything that leans into this particular combination of mind break + unwilling to willing yet. Always good to put another idea to paper, especially when it's the sort of thing that's been on my mind this long!

This story was available two weeks ago on my SubscribeStar and Patreon! $5 subscribers get access to exclusive commentaries on this and other stories, and $1 subscribers get the next story today—here's a little sneak peek!

The fat Shiver had melted into over the remainder of the performance, alone, had made quite a visible impact on the predator’s figure. That wasn’t even the most distracting result of her digestion, either—Marina’s prey may have filled out her curves, but the frequent glances her hefty rear had gotten towards the end of the concert (from both an utterly smitten Pearl and a very nervous Frye) probably had much more to do with what was coming from it. At least that had been limited to foul fumes, hot air that seemed rather fitting as a reprise of all her insubstantial bluster…but whatever parts of her had remained solid were building up at the base of Marina’s digestive tract, and the opportunity to finally step off stage had come not a moment too soon.

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