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You open the door into the dry sauna, wearing just a towel around your waist. You were already tired from exercising, and had taken a quick shower to make sure you weren't getting too much sweat on everything in the sauna. The air inside is hot and dry, and you think you might just be dried off from your shower by the time you decide to leave. As you close the door and look up at the benches you freeze.

Filling up the other side of the sauna is seated an anthro lapras. They are large pokémon to begin with, but this one's white underside is adorned with broad, full pectorals and a pot belly that rests so well between his thick thighs that you can't tell if he has on a towel for modesty or not. He is so tall that the top of his shell grazes the ceiling, and his long neck and head are stooped over to keep from doing the same.

The logistics of such a male entering through the same door you had or just what you are getting yourself into are a far, distant thought however, as your eyes trail up his form to meet his own. You blindly reach for the handle behind you. "S-sorry, I won't crowd you..."

"You won't crowd me." His bass voice resonated in the chamber. You can feel it in your bones, especially the tingle it sent up your spine. One of his large, flipper-like hands pats a spot near his knee on a bench perpendicular to the one he was taking up. You estimate that his thighs alone are making it so that one half of all bench space is unusable, since there are no benches on the wall that the door is on.

Swallowing nervously, you make your way over to the indicated spot, which he still hasn't removed his hand from the vicinity of. There is enough room for you to sit down, however, so you do.

The immense pokémon scoops around you with his flat fingers and powerful arm and effortlessly lifts you from the wood to pin you to his broad gut. Along the way you feel your towel flutter off your hips and there's nothing to separate your bare body from his spongy slick underside.

You weakly squirm, but his other hand is firmly cupping around your rump to hold you in place. You have no choice but to feel over his belly as your arms are still free, and each time you bump your elbows into the cords of muscle on his arms he squeezes you a bit tighter. You turn your head to try to get your face far enough to the side that you have a fully unobstructed pathway to breathe through your mouth, as his blubber conforms almost too perfectly to your body.

Of course, this means your ear is pressed directly into that elastic flesh, and the gastric symphony of the larger male takes up one whole half of your hearing, the other filled with your own shallow pants and the soft sound of the sauna fan blowing the hot air into the chamber. It's almost like the ocean, or listening to a partially emptied oil barrel slosh. That is, until it lets out a sonorous, empty groan of hunger.

You turn your eye, trying to see his face.

He twists his long neck around to put his paternal smile into your range of vision. "How do you say we put you in the wet sauna?"

Despite everything, you can't think to do anything but nod in agreement, feeling flush in your cheeks.

His hand cupping your rump pulls upward as the hand on your back shifts away. You can see him grasp the bench as he shifts his weight, taking his immense backside off his seat as you are lifted along his beautiful spongy torso.

Twisting your head, you realize that he's shifted to kneeling on the floor of the sauna to give himself more head room. Your lower legs are dangling and your arms feel strange and empty when he pulls you away from his chest to bring you before his face. His neck and head are in a far more comfortable looking position than before, and your hips are at the level of his beak. And then he parts his jaws. Steam gushes forth from his throat as though he's pulled the lid off a pot of boiling water, and you stare in awe.

He seems to notice your apprehension, smirking. "I'm not gonna cook you, kid."

You blush deeply, embarrassed that he had to say that, squirming in place.

The lapras licks his beak and parts his jaws again. This time you think you're ready, but as he slides your feet over the back of his tongue, the heat of his flesh and the situation conspire to make you writhe in his grip. He responds by using both hands to steady you, working you into his jaws. His throat is yielding and accepts your entry without needing to swallow just yet. He slips your rump from his palm to his tongue. That's when the first gulp hits.

The soft, conforming flesh around your legs suddenly squeezes in with more power than you thought possible. It yanks your legs down deep, dragging your torso into his beak with one powerful flex. But it remains soft enough that you don't fear being crushed, even though your whole vision was now your arms hanging out of his beak, upside down.

The second swallow is all it takes to seal you within darkness. For a long moment you can only feel his tight throat on your form, as the beating of his heart and rush of air into his lungs overpowers the squelching of his drool into your ears by the assertive esophageal flesh to be clearly heard. Then, all at once, you slide through the cardia. The muscular valve didn't need to have any strength keeping things out, after all.

Your feet touch down in the heated stomach and you fall on your bare rump into the rugae, not prepared for the impact. It's too dark to see, but that gastric symphony from before is downright triumphant with your relocation from dry to wet.

When he pats his belly it's like a timpani. "Now you just settle in, kid. Daddy's gonna be sauna-in' for a while..."