Club Grub - Vore Film
Vivienne Vale has herself a good meal at the club and sleeps off the evidence (mostly).
F/F, Soft Vore, Digestion, Weight Gain
(All characters are 21+ and generated using AI with no intended likeness to any real individuals.)
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Tillie had herself another meal from the local hostel. He thought he was getting lucking, but he was just getting churned.
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Vivienne Vale leaned against the high stool in her dressing room, green satin robe parting over the absurdly swollen dome of her middle. Twenty-four-year-old Timothy had botched her rehearsal calendar, and now his panic was trapped behind a wall of flexing, enzyme-wet muscle.
Her stomach hung low between her splayed thighs, glistening with sweat as thick, subterranean shudders distorted the skin. Inside, Timothy was folded double in the stifling dark, frantic elbows and knees scraping uselessly against the hot, suffocating walls.
Vivienne winced as a sharp kick jabbed outward, then smirked, pressing her palm deep into the taut bulge to pin him still.
“You wanted my full attention today, Timmy,” she purred, letting out a wet, acidic belch that tasted faintly of his aftershave. “Now you’re the only thing on my schedule.”
She picked up her cocktail, savoring the heavy ache dragging at her spine.
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The ceramic tiles of the feeding room radiate a deep, comforting warmth, contrasting pleasantly with the cool twilight filtering through the tall windows. I let out a long, shuddering exhale and sink deeper into the plush leather chaise, my fingers idly tracing the slick, glossy surface of my distended midsection. It’s the perfect place to simply be heavy and idle while the beautiful work continues inside me.
Leonie, a delectable little morsel who miscalculated her odds in my city, is still putting up a fight, though it's growing fainter by the hour. I feel a muffled thud against my lower spine—her last, desperate protest against the inevitable. A wry smile touches my lips. It’s a rather quaint resistance, really. Every sharp kick and frantic twist sends a pleasant ripple across my skin, rocking my heavy, leaking breasts and jostling the immense dome of my belly. She thinks she’s fighting for her life, but to me, she’s just providing a delightful, hours-long internal massage, keeping my pleasure centers humming in a slow, narcotic haze.
I lazily knead the tight skin with both hands, savoring the deep, internal friction. The nitrogenous neuro-intoxication is starting to set in, pulling my eyelids heavy and drugging my limbs with a thick, satisfying lethargy. I adjust my legs, splaying them wide in a crude, unavoidable waddle to accommodate the dense, shifting weight that drags at my pelvis. It’s a small price for such total, intimate possession. My stomach gives a wet, resonant gurgle, echoing in the quiet room like a deep, satisfied purr. She’s dissolving nicely now, turning into the thick, hot slurry that will soon reshape my thighs and hips. I trace a sleepy hand over the taut, pulsating dome, knowing she’ll be entirely gone by morning—just a memory absorbed into the very core of my being.
I went to a concert recently and picked up a very filling snack. I think she said her name was Lacey...? Great night, even better meal.
(All characters are 21+ and generated using AI with no intended likeness to any real individuals.)
Check me out on DeviantArt for more of my films!
#vore #vorebelly #voredigestion