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"Hey, you're the dog fucker, right?"

The wastelander who said it was scarred, muscular, and not a pretty man. A leather harness supported various bits of salvaged armor and a backpack and pouches held supplies.

Madeline scowled at him, turned, and left the bar. There was only one bar in Novac and it was an open air thing set up by a traveling merchant and now maintained by the old lady who ran the town junkyard.

When she rose to leave there as a slither of scales. Rattles the nightstalker uncurled from beneath a table and padded after her. He was big, two or three times as heavy as most wastelanders, and a mutant mix of coyote and rattlesnake. Fur covered his belly and back but a broad band of scales ran down his flanks from a snakey face to the rattle at the end of his tail. A leather harness had buckles and clips for saddlebags.

Rattles shot the wastelander a look as his followed his mistress. The snakedog was smart enough to not like it when someone insulted her.

"Hey, don't go away mad," laughed the wastelander, but when he looked around the other patrons and Old Lady Gibson glared at him.

"First rule," she growled, and pointed at a sign on the wall. DON'T BE AN ASSHOLE, it said. "Only rule."

"Well, fuck you too," he mumbled. He grabbed his rifle and left. "Company sucks here anyway."

He didn't have a room at the Dino-Bite. The hotel was for better-off travelers. He waved at the concrete T-Rex's toothy maw, imagining the sniper on duty waving back though it was too dark to see, and headed out of town to where poorer travelers camped.

Not that far past the spot where trade caravans bivouacked was a cluster of rocks that blocked view in most directions. He knew that noisemakers and even the occasional bear trap made most of the entrances unsafe but it wasn't his first rodeo. As he emerged into the clear area within the rocks he saw someone had a campfire going in one of the rocky nooks.

"You got back here fast," he said. The woman sitting next to the nightstalker shrugged. She had a chipped coffee mug with who knew what in it.

"So, uh." She was visibly pregnant. Maybe about six months in. She was either a Vault Dweller or had scavenged one of the suits and it was stretched tight over her baby bump.

"That's his, right?" The nightstalker stopped licking its balls and looked at him. One of its eyes was blue and the other yellow. The yellow one had a slit pupil like a snake.

"Funny things happen on the trail," she said. She reached over and stroked the mane of yellow-brown fur that started behind the nightstalker's ears. "It gets lonely. It's nice to have your lover with you. I didn't expect this to happen." She looked down at her baby bump. "But things happen in the wasteland."

"So how about a threesome?" One too many drinks, and he got lonely on the trail too. Tomorrow he'd visit the Nipton whorehouses, rebuilt since the Legion withdrew. But why wait?

She and the nightstalker both glared at him. "Fuck off," she said. "You said it, I'm just a dog fucker."

"Aw, come on," the wastelander slurred. "No one'll know. I could pay." He pointed at her bedroll. "Me and the dog snake and you."

"No," she said. "Go to bed, you're drunk."

"Not that drunk," he said, and reached for his rifle.

He made the mistake of doing it from too close to her. The instant his hands moved she dropped her cup and grabbed the barrel of the rifle and twisted it to one side. Before he could tear it from her grip the nightstalker was on him.

The damn thing was fast and it was smart. Its jaws clamped onto the rifle's stock and as he hit the ground with it on top the gun was ripped from his grasp. It tossed it away with a flick of its muzzle and then its snakey fangs were in his shoulder.

"Shit. Get off!" He tried to push it away, but it was twice his size and a mass of muscle under the fur and scales. It held him down with its forepaws, fangs sunk into his shoulder, until he got a hand free and went for his pistol. Instantly it let go his shoulder and bit his forearm. It went for the unarmored parts of his body and its fangs were the size of a man's finger. He had two oozing holes in his shoulder and now two more in his arm.

"Ah, fuck!" He looked past its shaggy mane and saw the pregnant woman had his pistol. She reached down and pulled the knife out of his boot before he thought to reach for it.

"Hold on to him, Rattles," she said, and with a twist of its muzzle it rolled the wastelander over. He was belly down on the dirt with a three hundred pound snakedog's chest and forepaws on his back.

"My name's Madeline," she said. She gave him a going over where he lay and took his other knife when she pulled his belt and pouches off. It was just a little eating knife anyway. She used it to cut the straps of his backpack so she could take it off him.

"What the fuck," said the wastelander. He only now realized that his forearm was numb. The same shoulder was numb too and it was spreading. "Your fucking dog is poisonous?"

"You're an idiot," Madeline said. "How can you not know about nightstalkers? They aren't that rare." She examined his pistol, a weathered old ten millimeter, and set it on her bedroll. His hunting rifle, a bit battered by its treatment, got the same looking over and was also set down.

"What are you going to do," he panted. "Wait until I'm too weak to move and take all my stuff?"

"You're almost there already," she said, and she was right. "Don't worry, it only paralyzes. Probably won't stop your heart even with two bites."

She sat on a rock by the fire and whistled as she waited. When he could barely muster the strength to kick at the nightstalker she glanced around. They were the only ones in the rocky camp area. "Okay, Rattles."

The snakedog stood up. Without being told it turned him back over with its forepaws and when he managed to weakly shift one arm it pinned it to the ground with the same paw.

"What the fuck," the wastelanders mumbled. She was unstrapping his metal leg armor. When she got that off she examined his thick leather chest piece, shrugged, and turned her attention to the metal armor on his left arm. All he could do was lie there with an alert nightstalker looking down at him as she finished searching him.

"What do you think, Rattles?" The nightstalker nosed at him, examining his remaining clothing before making a happy noise halfway between a bark and a hiss. Madeline pulled off his boots, and gave him a last pat-down.

"Bitch," the wastelanders mumbled. "You better leave my stuff. Even if you kill me, my friends will find the body and track you down."

"Body?" Madeline said cheerfully. ""What body?"

With a great effort he turned his head, just in time to see the nightstalker yawn. The sharp front fangs folded neatly against the roof of its mouth and rows of small, sharp teeth lined both its upper and lower jaws, standing out of soft pink gums. All the teeth hooked back toward a slimy chute of gullet he could have put his arm into without touching the sides.

"Hold on," he mumbled, but his face was already in the thing's mouth. It folded its flexible maw shut around his head and set about swallowing him whole.

"Hold on!" He tried to shout, but his face was in the thing's gullet. With a simple push of its muzzle it took in his head and neck and slimy flesh slithered past his eyes as it began to work its jaws over his shoulders.

He was too weak to fight. He tried anyway, but the nightstalker didn't bother to pin him to the ground as it ate. It knew he was helpless. Dozens of sharp little teeth sank into his shoulder, then with a twist of its muzzle into the other one. The teeth were needle sharp and all curved toward its gullet. Once they sank in the other way to get them to release was to push in deeper.

He soon saw how the thing planned to eat something the size of a whole human. Its loosely articulated jaws stretched and with a few side to side movements of its muzzle it walked them over his shoulders. That was the widest part of his body and as it worked its way over his upper body he knew he was doomed. His face was slithering down its throat and somewhere ahead waited the stomach.

Feebly, he tried to squirm free of its jaws. It was useless. The many sharp teeth dug in the second he tried to pull out. The only way out was deeper and with almost casual ease it worked its jaws over him to the elbows.

There was no doubt in his mind that it could digest him. It wouldn't have jaws like this without the ability to digest what it ate. Madeline had taken everything off him that wasn't made of leather. The snakedog's stomach acid would dissolve his mole rat skin pants and vest as easily as it did him.

He grasped weakly as its advancing jaws and they worked their way over his hands. He was too weak to get a grip and now there was nothing to grab at except the slick muscular walls of the thing's throat. When his ass was in its jaws the nightstalker lifted its jaws. All that was left of him was a weakly kicking set of legs.

They swiftly followed the rest. With an undulation of its thick neck it got his ass to the back of its jaws and then its muzzle jerked upward. With one quick thrust of its scaly muzzle he was gone to the knees and it pulled its muzzle back toward its chest. It clamped down on his knees as it did so and that pushed his thighs down its throat.

The wastelander cursed as a muscular valve expanded to let his face past. The stink of acid hit him, as though he hadn't already known where he would end up when it was done. A muscular contraction of its throat muscles eased his shoulders past the valve and fleshy folds flattened to make room for its meal. He was coated with a thick layer of saliva from its throat walls, a neat, easily swallowable package once it got his feet in its mouth.

There was a brief pause as it pawed at his protruding feet. No, it was the snakedog's owner! Fingers peeled the socks off his feet. Either she wanted them for herself or she didn't want to explain why a big pile of snakedog poop ended up with socks in it. Everything else on him was digestible except maybe a button or two. There wasn't even a metal buckle left to make its way through the nightstalker's bowels with what used to be him.

With a snap of its jaws his feet were in its mouth. All the work of eating him had been done by its loose ratcheting jaws and gravity. Only now did it tense and swallow.

"Bitch," the wastelander complained. A great contraction of the nightstalker's swallowing muscles took hold of him and too weak to fight he slithered down its throat. He felt it bend its neck in an ess and push the bend down toward its chest. The bulge moved through its neck, through the creaking confines of its reptilian chest, and finally into the elastic confines of its stomach. Scales spread apart on its flanks, exposing the pale skin between, and the tan fur of its belly stretched tight as a massive meal of human arrived in its guts.

From within the snakedog he heard the creak and snap as it reset its loose jaws. Broad as its snakey muzzle was, he'd never have guessed it could swallow a man whole. Yet here he was, living proof.

If he had all his strength, if he had a knife, maybe he could cut his way out. Lacking either, all he could do was squirm as the thing's muscular stomach folded him into a neat ball. The thick coating of slime on the stomach walls wasn't the same stuff as slicked him down for easy swallowing. The stomach slime was powerfully caustic and stung him wherever it touched. It was the first taste of a process that would take several days. When it was done there would be nothing left of him that resembled a human. He wasn't a man any more, just snakedog-shit-to-be.

More of the caustic slime came trickling in. Soon it would fill every space, displacing the air swallowed with him. There would be no escape, but the wastelander gasped in what air remained. Wastelanders didn't give up the ghost easily, or they wouldn't be wastelanders.

With a grunt the nightstalker flopped onto its side, the great bulge in its middle shifting, and then rolled onto its back. The weight of swallowed man pressed down on it and the wastelander felt it hook its forepaws over the bulge to stabilize it.

It was an awkward and uncomfortable position for the well fed snakedog and for a moment the wastelander wondered why it bothered. Then he found out. First came the push of hands gripping the bulge, then something pushed against the portion of the swelling down toward the nightstalker's hind legs.

He couldn't see what was happening, but he could feel it. Madeline straddled the nightstalker's haunches, her baby bump pressing into the bulge, and began to bounce.

"Oh, you bitch," the wastelanders groaned. Not content to feed him to her pet monster, now she was fucking it while he stewed in its gut!

The only good news is his suffering was nearly over. As the acid trickled in to consume him, the pressure of Madeline's hands and her movements atop the nightstalker's cock squeezed the belly tight around him. Rattles let out a long, relieved sounding belch and in the gurgling dark of his stomach there was no longer any air for the wastelander to breathe.

Old Lady Gibson turned the bar over to her helper shortly after the two wastelanders left. Worried that the man, drunk and stupid, would do something nasty, she grabbed her shotgun and went looking for the two.

The first place she looked was the rocky outcrop where travelers too poor to pay for an inn room tended to camp. There was no one by the campfire, but the sound of panting drew her into a nook where some undergrowth concealed its inhabitants.

"Okay," Old Lady Gibson said, for what did she find was an extremely full Rattles with Madeline in his lap. The lumpy bulge in the nightstalker's middle could only be one thing. Near the two was a leather sack with a rifle stock sticking out. Presumably the sack held the belongings of the wastelander, who had no need of them on his trip through Rattles' bowels.

Madeline looked up from behind the bulge and had the good grace to blush. She didn't dismount from her lover, though. Old Lady Gibson had the sense that she was stuck where she sat. That happened with coyotes and wasteland dogs. Apparently it happened when a woman fucked a nightstalker, too.

"All right," Old Lady Gibson said. She slung her shotgun. Even if the two wished her ill, a gorged nightstalker and a woman tied to it would be easy to outrun. A brisk walk ought to do it.

"Lay it out for me," Old Lady Gibson said. "So I know who to blame, if it comes up."

"He followed me back here," Madeline said. She shifted uncertainly where she sat and winced as whatever tied her to Rattles shifted inside her. "He was drunk and wanted a threesome with me and Rattles. I said no and he went for his gun."

"One thing led to another," Old Lady Gibson said, and Madeline nodded. The pressure of Madeline's hands on his belly forced a burp out of the nightstalker and Rattles tilted his head back to look upside down at Gibson.

"Well, he wanted a threesome," Old Lady Gibson said. She decided that no one needed to know about this whole sorry affair. People disappear in the wasteland. Sometimes down a nightstalker's throat, it turned out. "And he got one."

"Technically," Madeline said, and groaned as Rattles' knot finally pulled out. Rattles looked up at her, then back at Old Lady Gibson. He'd had his threesome. His hopeful expression said without words that he wouldn't turn down a foursome.