FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Two Tales of a Lost Morsel By Limewah Subscriber Reward for Hypfoo

I

Chomba could not look more alien and out of place if she tried.

She was a bright pink feline for one thing, with a fringe and two long drills of crimson hair framing her face. She had two long tails; not something one would see on this particular planet. Then there was the matter of her clothes. A tight grey plugsuit clung to her fertility-goddess figure. She was sunning herself in a little clearing, her mouth open and panting. It was a little more humid than Chomba was used to, not to mention she was used to planets where the oxygen was a little richer and the gravity was a little gentler.

The cat had only managed to scout out about a square kilometre of jungle before she had to take a break. And she was some distance from her ship, too… it’d take her ages to get back.

A holographic screen was projecting from a little panel just above her collarbone, in front of her face. She was lazily scrolling through the scans her cloaked ship had made, with one of her favourite comedy shows playing in a little window in the corner. She’d seen this episode a million times but it was good background noise while she scanned.

“Hmm… Alright, looks like there are no settlements within 50 klicks of here. No signs of any ruins, any precious metals have likely been picked clean already-”

She heard the sound of growling from the darkness, and opened one blue eye to stare in its direction. She lazily took a violet, tapered pistol from next to her and fired it well above the creature’s head - the jet of white hot light didn’t do much more than singe the tree trunk it hit, but it was more than enough to send that creature scurrying away.

“-and there’s no sign of sapient life, though I wouldn’t expect to find any out here. It’s looking more and more like this might be a bust-”

It was at that point that a creature fell from the trees above.

The young homo sapien was clad in nothing but a purple-dyed sheaf of cloth that was tied tightly around his hips, his slender body the colour of light soil and his hair the colour of tree bark.

Chomba shrieked and flinched, fumbling for her gun and failing to get it in time before the fleshy thing landed on her.

Her belly cushioned his fall, jiggling and transferring the force right back into him. He bounced and tumbled through the air, somersaulting once before landing on top of her, straddling her.

“OOF!” he wheezed, doubling over and putting his hands down on Chomba’s stomach. “Hah… hah…”

Chomba tilted her head, a stifled ‘prrp’ in the back of her throat. Her hand was on the handle of her gun, but she let it lie there. This little squirt wouldn’t be able to do much, if anything to her.

She studied him. He smiled down at her, nervously, and began to speak. It only took a half-second for the two-way translator to kick in; the holoscreen’s display changed to a set of sound waves, capturing the boy’s voice and filtering it into Chomba’s tongue.

“-magical wand? I’ve never seen anything like you before!”

“Whoa, slow down, slow down…”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but… are you a God?”

“...What if I was?” Chomba asked, always ready to bluff.

“Oh, oh, oh, wow… Who are you?”

She had no idea who this kid might worship.

“Why don’t you guess?”

“Are you Dinsana, Goddess of Bounty?”

“Yes!” Chomba said. “Got it in one, it is I! Well done, mortal…”

“I’m so blessed to meet you, Dinsana…” he looked away, and started to scurry back. Chomba grabbed him and pulled him right back where he was.

“No no, stay right here. What’s your name, kid - I mean, my child?”

“Obel,” he said, nervously and reverently.

“What brings you out here, then…? So far from your kind…”

“Uhm… I’m lost. I’m looking for a way out.” She watched him squirm on her stomach, weighing her down just a little. She could feel her tummy gurgling a little.

She did need some energy…

She licked her lips.

“A way out? she asked, tutting. “Boy, I can understand that, there’s nothing to do - I mean, why are you trying to leave, my child…?”

“I’ve run away from home,” Obel said, still fidgeting and accidentally tickling Chomba’s stomach. “I don’t want to live in this jungle any more. There’s nothing here for me…”

She could relate.

Maybe she could help him out.

“I could provide some assistance for you, kiddo. - I mean, little one.” Chomba purred, sitting up and holding a hand behind Obel’s back to keep him from falling over. She made sure he was staring deep - quite deeply - into her sea-blue eyes. He looked back at her with nothing short of awe. He’d probably do anything she asked him to.

“Perhaps I can take you with me to my heavenly realm…” she cooed. “I can hold you in my embrace and bring you someplace oh so very safe…”

His dark eyes seemed to twinkle with stars. Poor kid didn’t know what he was in for.

“Yes, my child. You can come with me. All I need for you to do is close your eyes and lift your head… and pray. You do know how to pray to me, right?”

“I don’t know…” Obel said, nervously.

“Just think about how wonderful I am, and how much you want to go to heaven with me! Easy enough, right?”

As soon as his eyes closed, she opened her mouth wide.

“O Great Dinsana, I-”

“Shhhh,” Chomba said. “Pray quietly, thank you very much.”

“S-sorry…”

He remained silent even as she rested his face against her warm, rough tongue. He did quiver a bit, though. Maybe he was nervous? He didn’t seem to realise the danger he was in. Not that it would have mattered. Sleepy and tired as she was, she’d be able to catch him easily.

It was nice that he was playing along, though.

She tilted her head back, purring with delight as that sucking emptiness in her throat was filled. Obel was lifted into the air, his legs kicking unconsciously as gravity upended him and pushed him down to the shoulders into her mouth. She squeezed her lips around his chest and suckled on him like a popsicle before slurping him down further. Torso, legs, and feet all slipped right down Chomba’s throat with one last gulp. When he hit her stomach, it bounced again, and Chomba sighed pleasedly, stifling a little burst of trapped air from her throat as she rubbed her stomach.

“Mmmngh…. Much better. Once I’ve got a bit of energy, back to the ship I go…”

She laid back down on her rock, turning her shows back on.

Obel was dazed and confused, stuck in that thick warm parcel. Her laughter reverberated through him, and as her stomach jiggled and rocked, so did he.

The air was getting thicker. His head was feeling lighter.

“Am I… heading to heaven…?” he murmured. “Dinsana....?”

There was no response, just another laugh.

He had to trust that laugh…

He heard a soft hum, felt lights twinkling upon his face, and chalked it up to more of the Goddess’ magic as he slipped into slumber. His last sleep before he went to the heavens… and escaped his old life.

Sapient lifesigns detected in stomach.

Life Preservation Protocol Activated.

Haven-Stomach set to energy siphon mode.

Digestive functions suppressed.

Chomba didn’t know, or care, about her stomach-mod’s special functions. She hadn’t even bothered to read the manual. Her conscience and karma would be clean, even if she didn’t realise it.

The bionic modifications were gently taking some of Obel’s life force, stealing just enough energy and nutrition from him to get Chomba perked up and peppy again. All Chomba did was fall asleep, snoozing through the whole procedure

She ended up jogging leisurely back to her ship, heavy stomach still jiggling from the weight of the still-sleeping man-thing inside her.

She was a fair bit more conspicuous now, not really caring if she got seen or not.

“Well, this whole mission was a bust,” she thought out loud, “And this gravity’s a killer… but it was nice to get a bit of sunlight and fresh air, I guess.”

Once she’d beamed back up into her cloaked ship above the treetops, she casually glanced along the horizon. She spied the signs of smoke, heat signatures of bipedal creatures, and casually flew over it to get a closer look.

It was about what she expected - primitive people, cooking food with analog tools and wearing very basic rags.

“Dunno how anyone could live like this,” she mused to herself.

A small party of people had gathered in the middle, and they seemed to be frantically conversing, gesturing off into the jungle.

“Looks like a search party,” she mused, absent-mindedly rubbing her belly and not really wondering why it was squirming against her touch.

“I wonder what they’re looking for.”

–

II

Obel was one of the stealthiest in his village, even from a very young age. He would keep disappearing without a trace, his footfalls silent and his footprints barely noticeable. As if he hardly touched the ground. He had a natural inclination for wandering, and he wasn’t going to let anyone stop him.

It had gotten to the point where the rest of his village no longer panicked when he went missing for hours at a time - those fears had been assuaged before his 10th birthday. They knew he would turn up again when he was ready to. He was a free spirit, and who were they to deny him that freedom he desired and deserved?

He slid through the glade, the grass barely moving as his body brushed against it. Despite his darkly tanned skin contrasting with the greenery, his camouflage was effortless. He was almost completely un-detectable through sight or sound.

Unfortunately, the third hunter’s sense - scent - was more difficult to mask. Obel hadn’t considered that. Even when he bathed, there was still a subtle scent - too subtle for his nose, but not for creatures whose nose was the key to finding a meal.

He’d never dealt with a carnivorous predator. Nor did he realise that an even more stealthy figure was following him slowly, cautiously, licking his chops in anticipation of his dinner.

Obel might have been flighty and free-spirited, but he was hardly stupid. He knew he had to be careful to stay out of the territory of Shere Khan, the great and frightening tiger. No one who ventured in there would come back out in one piece. He was large enough to swallow Obel in a single bite… or so Obel was told. He had never laid eyes upon the orange, black-striped pelt. Nor did he plan to.

The choice was not his to make.

Obel heard a rustle behind him, and turned his head. He froze, still as those statues in the ruined temples he often spelunked inside. He knew better than to run. He looked to the nearest tree branch - it was well within leaping distance, he could get out of danger if the tiger leapt at him.

Obel watched for movement. Whoever spotted him was counting on him to look away again. Or to make a move. As soon as that suspension was broken, it would attack.

Obel’s heart thumped at his chest, spurring him desperately to run. But he ignored it. He knew panic would lead to death.

He caught a glimpse of something through the grass. A flash of yellow that passed in and out of sight. He stood his ground even then, even though his neck was straining.

Another flash of gold. Closer, now. Obel blinked very slowly, cautiously.

Another flash of sunlight.

He couldn’t stop his legs from shifting - still silently - until he was in something like a kneeling position. Facing directly towards the slow sway of the golden flashes of light. Like two lanterns in the darkness.

It was getting dark.

Or maybe he was in a shaded spot.

But the lights shone. Closer.

Obel’s heart was slowing down.

He began to feel less and less unsafe.

He began to feel calm.

His mind dulled, his senses faded.

His knees met with the moist under-brush and soil.

He heard the slow sound of paw-falls, thick and heavy. The reeds and grass parted, and there, looming over him, was the king of the jungle.

Shere Khan, the tiger, stared down at him with his golden stare.

Obel stared back, in placid awe, a reverence washing over his youthful face.

The tiger’s gaze was implacable, un-knowable. The stare of a deity, something more powerful and terrible than any mortal thing.

Obel stared. His world forgotten. His mind melted like butter. He knew that he was helpless. He knew that he was food.

Shere Khan pressed his nose against Obel’s chest. His yellow eyes never seemed to blink. They just poured their godly glow over the man. And Obel accepted the gift they gave him. The gift of oblivion. Of worship. Of becoming something far greater than himself.

His neck was craned, his knees bent low, his rump resting on his heels.

The tiger opened his mouth, and the thick, pink, wire-bristle tongue pressed into Obel’s stomach.

The purring growl vibrated and pulsated through the man’s fragile flesh. Obel, lips clenched, eyes wide, didn’t dare make a sound. He had no right to. A servant did not talk to its master unless bade to.

Shere Khan’s tongue dragged a slow journey up Obel’s bared torso, sampling him. The scents and tastes were far more exquisite to the tiger’s palate at this distance.

When the tongue reached Obel’s face, it pulled away, and lolled back down to the stomach to start again.

It was slow and gentle enough to avoid drawing blood, but it still left a sore mark along the man’s weak flesh. And all the while he remained silent, staring, docile and placid.

Shere Khan’s great, terrible maw lingered at Obel’s face, lips parted enough to show the stiletto-thin teeth between his lower canines. His breath, its heat, its promise of death washed over Obel’s face, but he remained completely still, as would should before a god.

The muzzle pushed forward and pursed, as if about to form words. A slight forward push brought Shere Khan’s lips against Obel’s face. His teeth raked the flesh just the barest amount. Obel was cut off from the jungle’s fresh air - he could only breathe save for the breath issuing from the tiger’s mouth. The tiger chuffed, snorting invisible puffs of air from his nostrils, caressing the man’s head.

Obel made his first sound since laying eyes upon the tiger, the barest hint of a moan. A gasp of exultation.

The tiger kissed the man again, without pulling back or pausing. Each new kiss brought with it a brief dagger-touch of the big cat’s tongue against his prey’s face.

Obel’s eyes fell closed, his body sagging down further like a slit sack of grain bleeding away its contents. Gratitude was the only thing in his head. The gratitude for the knowledge that he was to become part of something greater. To contribute to the laws and rules of the jungle in the most perfectly embodied way possible. Giving up his body, his life, to something that was, is, and would always be superior to him.

The kiss concluded. The tiger pulled away again, one last bristle-lick leaving Obel’s face reddened and flushed. His eyes were closed, in gracious acceptance of his end.

Shere Khan opened his mouth wide, a cavernous abyss yawning out before the uncaring, unthinking meal.

He would not use his jaws to rend flesh and break bones. He had something different in mind.

His head descended upon the human’s, enclosing around his shoulders with the gentlest of clamps.

Obel’s fingers twisted into claws, and his legs shifted and shivered- perhaps from a sudden realisation of his plight, or from a paroxysm of excitement. It did nothing to deter Shere Khan. He pushed down a little further, his throat relaxing and opening wider.

When Shere Khan’s mouth had reached Obel’s chest, a little lift and hoist brought Obel up to his feet, his body bent forwards at an awkward angle. Shere Khan was undeterred, pushing forward, swallowing more, until he had taken him far enough to tilt his head back.

The journey was slow(Shere Khan’s body was not built for this as, say, a snake’s might be) but the predator was patient as always. He savoured the taste and texture, the slight give to his flesh, the thump of his heartbeat inside his trunk. His tongue lathed and lapped at every spot he could as his morsel’s journey continued.

He sat on his haunches and tilted his head back, lifting the man off of his feet for the last descent. A slight choke, but otherwise a very smooth journey. The man’s torso, pelvis, legs and feet all descended into that darkness, chased down by a snap of those great jaws.

Murmurs came from deep inside that stomach as Shere Khan got back onto all fours and began to walk. He felt his new weight shift inside his gut, and reflexively kicked his back leg out to stimulate his stomach and start the long process of digestion.

Obel slept in the sleeping-hammock sway of that stomach, feeling the underbrush caress against the outside of his final resting-place.

What a strange gift - the painful end the man might have expected was a slower, more intimate gesture, one that did not break his skin. The warm embrace of the tiger’s insides brought to mind a tight bed-wrap keeping him warm on a cold, rainy night. That sense of pure contentment and safety, protection from the terrors and dangers of the world around.

Purest bliss.

Few better things could accompany the man on his way to oblivion.