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D.U.I. (digested under the influence)

By Strega

The Swamp is a strange, some say cursed, place. People wandered into its meadows and pools and woods and sort of...got stuck. Paths that led one there would double back when you tried to follow them back out, and while some people did escape, the more unfortunate ones spent the remainder of their lives here. Sometimes, those lives were very short indeed.

"Stop yanking on the leash," Marcus slurred, "Or I'll eat you right now."

The slender young otter, not even a quarter his own muscular mass and of a markedly less anthropomorphic build, whimpered and settled down. "Please don't eat me, Mister Tiger."

"That is exactly what is going to happen," Marcus said, and chugged down another beer. He had a whole picnic basket of the stuff someone, probably someone long since digested, had left under a tree. They were far enough from the grassy meadow next to the lagoon to be able to watch without being drawn into the action. Marcus, who at six foot four was one of the medium-sized local predators, made a habit of sneaking into the danger zones and creeping back out with some smaller creature to eat. Yesterday it'd been a pretty catgirl who quite willingly climbed into his lap and rather less willingly went down his throat when the sex was done. He was still a bit pudgy after that meal or else today's much smaller meal would already wear a sleek new tiger-fur coat.

For whatever odd reason the forty-pound otter came equipped with a close fitting harness clipped to a leash. Someone's intelligent pet? If so, someone would soon be shy one house-otter. One more bottle of beer and that leash would be dangling from his jaws.

At least, that was the plan. Already very drunk and intent on getting still drunker, Marcus slugged down the beer and burped. The otter tugged on the leash again. Once, twice, and then it settled down to a steady pull, as though he'd hooked a fish. Blearily Marcus blinked and looked to see what the otter was up to.

He hadn't hooked a fish. He'd hooked a skunkette. There on the grass, just as far away as the leash allowed, a pretty, slightly plump skunkette in a yellow sun dress was on hands and knees, muzzle bobbing as the tip of an ottery tail disappeared beneath her chops. The bulge in her ebon neckfur shrank and one appeared in her belly as the otter, who was scheduled for a trip down a tigery gullet, disappeared down a skunky one instead.

"Heeeey," Marcus complained, and burped. He tugged on the leash. "That's my otter."

The skunkette whimpered as the lead went taut. The bright red strap went in beneath a cute pink nosepad and despite a couple more tugs, the otter showed no sign of coming back up. Marcus drunkenly tried a harder pull but that just dragged the unhappy skunkette closer.

Beer bottles clinked as he tried to stand up, wobbled, and settled for sitting up facing her. "You give that back. I was," he belched, "Gonna eat him."

"I'm sorry," the skunkette whined. She had pretty blue eyes. "I was so hungry. I've been lost here for so long." He had pulled her within reach and one brawny arm reached out, fumbled, and then got her by the scruff.

She could hardly be more than half his weight. Marcus, drunk as he was, easily pulled her into his lap. Under other circumstances a pretty lady - or a handsome lad - in his lap might have led to fun times, as it had yesterday. But he was just too drunk. The plan had been to simply finish off the beer, gulp down the little otter, then crash under a tree until he sobered up.

"You cough him up," he mumbled, and shook her until her teeth rattled. All that came up was a little burp.

"S-sorry," she whined, very frightened, but at the same time her tail fluffed up in terror and he remembered, even drunk as he was, that a frightened skunk could become a really stinky skunk. "I c-can't just throw up on, on command."

The bulge of curled-up otter in her middle wriggled. His snack was still alive, for now. "You cough him up or I'll eat you instead," he slurred, but that just made her tail get even fluffier as she tried, and failed, to squirm out of his grip. Even from the depths of his inebriation Marcus knew he was about to get sprayed. She'd make a good meal but it just wasn't worth being so stinky he couldn't sneak up on anyone for days.

"Fine," Marcus grumbled. "I'll just get him."

"But," she chirped, and then her eyes went wide as he shoved his hand into her mouth. Her nose went up and her chin went down as his hand, which was almost as wide as the otter, pushed into her gullet. It was slimy, as he'd always imagined they would be, and a complex arrangement of joints and tendons allowed her jaws to creak wider as his forearm followed. Marcus had managed to avoid any trips down a hungry gullet through caution but this must be what his meals felt when he swallowed them. If she weren't a skunk she'd be sliding down his throat right now but he grumbled, holding her by the scruff with one hand and sliding the other arm to the shoulder in her in search of the otter.

There he was! His padded hand squeezed down her throat and past a tight muscular obstruction. He'd heard there was a valve between stomach and throat and his fingers slid through into a hot, wet, slimy place where they brushed fur.

Darn it. The otter wriggled, but instead of grabbing his hand it tried to squirm away. You would think it'd want back out of a skunky stomach! The skunkette let out a muffled squeak of alarm as he forced his shoulder into her jaws and at last he managed to get hold of the otter's harness. There was a long slithery slide as he pulled his arm back out of her gullet, dripping with saliva...and there in his hand was the harness, but no otter.

"Stupid thing," Marcus slurred. "Slipped right off." Strings of mucus dripped from the bright red harness, the lubricating drool that had eased the trip down the skunkette's throat making it tricky to hold on to the thing even now.

"Jus', jus' a sec," he slurred, and popped the cap off the next to last beer before slugging it down. Marcus burped. "Kay, no problem, I'll just eat him in there."

"But, but," the skunkette chirped, but then his hands were in her mouth. Her eyes went wide in panic as not the one arm, which had gone down her throat easily if against her will, but both his arms went in - and then his head! She whimpered and tried to back off but as she slid out of his lap she ended up on her bottom and the pressure of Marcus pushing down from above forced her butt against the grass and made her nose go up whether she wanted it to or not. Her jaws creaked what must be painfully wide as a bulky tiger muzzle, thick neck and then even his shoulders squeezed into her maw.

The same thick coating of saliva that both made it easy to slide his arm in and at the same time impossible to get a grip on the otter lubricated Marcus's arms and cheeks as he forced himself deeper. With a series of creaks and pops the skunkette's maw distended until it slipped over his shoulders. Considering how tight her throat had been around his arm that should have been a warning sign right there but, in his defense, Marcus was extremely drunk.

He did not see the slow change in her expression as he forced himself deeper. The fear faded, bit by bit. Maybe it was never really there to begin with. And as he squeezed himself into that surprisingly roomy gullet, his hands reaching deep into her to find the otter, very slowly, almost imperceptibly, she began to push her jaws forward to meet him. Her narrow muzzle crept down his back, her stretched cheeks slipping bit by bit over the orange fur and stripes of his muscular body, and very gently - at least for now - she reached down with clawed, pink-padded fingers and got a grip on his hips.

He was twice her size and much stronger. In her maw to the bottom of his ribcage he could still most likely have kicked her away and pulled himself back out, even with both arms down her throat. But he didn't. Far down her throat his hands squeezed through the sphincter dividing throat and stomach and found the otter. A few seconds later his muzzle, slicked down by lubricating saliva from the walls of her throat, appeared in her stomach as well.

"Got you," the tiger mumbled, and the otter let out a terrified squeak as the big cat's fanged jaws creaked wide. The stomach walls pressing in from all sides made it slightly harder to yawn for a meal but the otter wasn't that big a bite, and despite the otter's effort to worm its way out of his grasp it was soon stuffed in.

The bulge of tiger-face in the skunkette's belly fur lurched as he got the otter's head in his jaws and swallowed. It was not a big meal, and the otter had nowhere to go, so he took his time. Bit by bit, using only his tongue, he pushed the wriggling mustelid into his throat. The lightest of gulps helped ease the little meal deeper and the tiger smiled drunkenly as webby hindpaws kicked at his face. The otter was trying to save itself but the cat, who had swallowed far larger and more dangerous creatures, knew that there would be no escape. Soon enough of the otter would be far enough into his throat for his swallowing muscles to get a good grip and then it would be all over.

But while he focused on his amusing little meal, well aware it could not escape, someone else was focusing on a much larger meal. Marcus was big and strong, twice the size of the skunkette, but ever so carefully she worked her jaws over him while his attention was elsewhere. Past her seemingly conventional front fangs, which gave her a bright smile and would never suggest she habitually swallowed prey whole, her soft gums did not sport the back teeth you'd expect from a mustelid. Instead they supported dozens of small, needle-sharp fangs that hooked back toward her elastic gullet.

She dug these into his tough hide, twisting her muzzle to work one side of her mouth forward, then the other. She made only a tiny bit of progress with each motion, so bulky was her meal, but over the course of just a couple of minutes - minutes in which Marcus could easily have extracted himself had he not been focused on his own snack - her muzzle worked its way down his back to his tail-root.

By the time Marcus teased the otter's rump into his jaws, feeling the little hind paws kick as it tried desperately to pull itself back out, her jaws were around his rump too. Drunk, playful and entirely ignorant of what was going on he gave a last push with his tongue and swallowed. The otter's harness scraped his palate as his throat took a good strong grip and with that the tapered tail was slipping into his jaws. Marcus sucked up the ottery tail like a noodle and as the tip disappeared beneath his nosepad he felt the long bulge arrive in his stomach. A last contraction of his throat muscles and the otter curled up, in a stomach for the second time today. This time it would stay there. Well, until his body was done with it, anyway. He grinned as he felt the strap of the leash resting against his chin and pushed that in, too. It was a leather strap and his stomach would consume it as readily as the otter, though the metal buckles might survive a trip through his guts.

With his meal finally done Marcus lazily stirred himself to pull back out. The muscle and skunkfur stretched around him flexed readily enough, but rather to his surprise her muzzle was not just past his shoulders as he expected. What he felt instead was the jab of little fangs at the middle of his thighs. Wet, slippery gullet and stomach was wrapped around him from his nosepad almost to his knees and the skunkette's wedge-shaped muzzle was busily twisting from side to side as she ratcheted her way over even more of him. There was a tickle as his knees slipped into her jaws and then a lurch as the skunkette, who by now had little but a fluffy striped tail and a pair of pink-padded hindpaws hanging from her jaws, lifted her head.

The smooth flesh around him was so covered in slime that he slipped and slid as she moved, Drunkenly he pushed at the surrounding tissue but that just got him even more thickly coated with the slimy fluid dripping down her stomach wall. There was only the slightest of stings. He was too drunk to really feel the slow beginnings of digestion.

"Heeey," Marcus mumbled as he felt the skunkette tense. "Kinda stuck here. Gimme a hand."

Suzy tilted her snout down, then moved it forward and up in an ess, and a set of bulky, furry, padded tiger-paws slid into her jaws. This had not been the plan. She'd actually been in a bit of a preyish mood and a trip down the handsome tiger's throat, hopefully after being spitted like a roast on a barbed cat-cock, was just the thing. All Suzies were expendable: all were, in fact, remote controlled. When this one met a sticky end her distant controller would just decant a new clone.

But though she hadn't used any of her tricks like her drugged spray and, absent those, should by all rights be completely outmatched by the tiger, Suzy wasn't about to turn down a free meal. Her loose jaws, intricately designed to let her swallow prey even larger than herself, closed around the tiger's feet and the first gulp sent a great contraction moving down the walls of her gullet. She had very gently, very carefully worked her way over the tiger to this point but that was all done. One great gulp pushed his padded feet down her throat and the striped tail slid in after, ring after ring of orange, then black-brown and white fur disappearing as the great bulge in her middle shifted. Marcus rotated in place as easily as an oiled bearing as her throat pushed his legs in after the rest, and before he knew it he was curled up around the little otter-bulge in his middle. A chocolate brown tailtip slipped into her jaws, a last bulge moved through her dark neckfur and the tiger was gone.

It was warm and soft and comfortable, as her stomach juices had not yet begun to flow in earnest. "Funny," Marcus giggled, as he felt the otter wriggle in his stomach. "Ge' real dark real fas' this time a year." Slippery belly-slime lubricated his fur and he fumbled at the buttons of his shorts before he finally got them undone. "Bu' is warm." His sheath bulged forth and Marcus rather lazily began to play with himself, so drunk he still didn't realize what had happened.

He didn't even struggle. Suzy was ready for it, ready to wrap her arms and legs and tail around her hugely swollen belly and hopefully hold him still until he weakened. If his claws came out he could do a lot of damage before he ran out of air. But the tiger was so amazingly drunk he never reacted. All she felt was a rhythmic movement of one of his arms. She had a pretty good idea what that meant.

"My goodness Mister Tiger," Suzy said, and paused to let out a long, long burp. "You are very drunk, aren't you?"

Carefully she squeezed her belly, pressing the fur in against the bulges of swallowed tiger. Another belch, and then a third, and he shuddered and was still. A tiger twice her size, who by all rights should be burping and settling down with a skunkette-shaped bulge, was instead wrapped in her belly fur. She wouldn't be the one to be digested tonight.

Laboriously Suzy rolled over atop the huge bulge in her middle. It wasn't the largest thing she'd swallowed, but it was close. Had the tiger been just a touch less drunk their positions would be reversed, but there he was, on a short trip through a hungry skunkette's guts. One hand reached out and took the last, unopened bottle of beer, which she put crossways in her jaws to carry.

Her arms were just long enough for her to go on all fours. It was a strain to lift such bulky prey but she couldn't stay so close to the lagoon. Someone would find her and her preyish urge had fled. Now she had her meal - meals, really, - and she waddled heavily off along one of the Swamps' trails. This was one she made herself and ten minutes later, panting with effort but far enough from the lagoon for reasonable safety, she climbed into a dug-out den hidden beneath the roots of a tree.

It was much larger than she needed, as it had been excavated by her wolverine lover, who was several times her size. He was off elsewhere now, or else her preyish urge would have certainly led her down his throat. So she'd gone looking for a handsome, hungry pred. Instead she found breakfast, and a filling breakfast at that.

The earthen den was furnished with assorted rugs, items of clothing and clothy bits, many carried there for this very purpose and others regurgitated after their owners were digested. All had been carefully cleaned but there was the least smell of bile in the den. It only made her smile as she lay down. She set the beer aside and hugged the great bulge of tiger, stroking his face where is showed in the dark fur. He hadn't been in there long enough for the outlines to soften. That would take many hours and she'd be working on this big meal for days.

"Maybe next time, Mister Tiger," Suzy said, and stretched out on her side, much too full to curl up. Her doublestriped tail slid around to snuggle against her belly, where the slow gurgles and churn of digestion was beginning to get going. People who died in the Swamp usually came back. Maybe she'd see him again. Or maybe his trip through her would be a one time thing. Maybe all there would be left to remember him by would be a new paunch, one bottle of beer and what she left in the midden. There was no way to tell.

"Maybe next time," she purred, and settled down to sleep.