Catch of the Morning
After his friend steals Frosty's bed for the night, the cheetah must sneak into his own bedroom to avoid waking the sleeping mouse. Unfortunately, he doesn't always pass his Stealth check, and Fomo already has ideas about what Frosty should do for breakfast.
Large grey ears subtly shifted when he nudged the door open and crept in. Though the blinds were drawn to keep his bedroom dim, it was nearly noon and Fomo was still asleep. Or so he assumed. Much to Frosty's annoyance, the mouse had laid claim on his bed while he was showering the previous evening. At least their hideaway bed was comfortable enough. He quietly crept across the bedroom, glancing toward the mouse-shaped outline beneath his sheets. The dresser creaked when he pulled a drawer open for a change of clothes, causing Frosty to pause. Several seconds passed, but the grey mouse seemed to be undisturbed.
Turning, his spotted tail swished through the air, passing over the edge of the bed. The light breeze made Fomo's whiskers twitch. While the white cheetah cautiously slid the closet door open, the bed behind him creaked. Much to the mouse's satisfaction, his friend's attention was directed toward choosing something to wear. If everything played out right, the cat wouldn't need any of it. He'd been sneaking glimpses of the cheetah when Frosty wasn't looking, and was fortunate that a soft growl from his belly had gone unnoticed.
Just stay right there, kitty.
_ _ It was something of a game to him. Whenever he visited, Fomo would attempt to catch his friend unawares. Sometimes he was successful, often not. The white cheetah lived up to his namesake. Perhaps this morning, Fomo could get lucky. His blue eyes watched feminine hips rolling to either side, prompting a livelier groan from his middle. If this kept up, there was no doubt the cat would be alerted to his morning craving. He couldn't help himself. There was something about the svelte white cheetah that drew out predatory impulses.
Indecisive as ever, Frosty was oblivious to the grey mouse slipping to the edge of the bed and carefully placing his feet against the carpet. Clad only in a pair of the cheetah's conforming boxers that he'd pilfered, Fomo was virtually silent. Peering around the edge of the closet door, Frosty further exposed himself while he reached for a tank top. The light-pink sleeping shorts hugging his hips left little to the imagination with the way Frosty was crouched. Back, forth--the cheetah's tail was moving steadily now, predictably enough that it made it all the easier for Fomo to predict its path.
A startled chirrup was muffled behind the sliding door when he felt someone snatch his tail. Clothing rattled against the hanging rod as he nearly pitched forward into the closet. Wetness greeted the tip of his tail immediately, taking advantage of the feline's distraction to mat spotted fur in drool. Though he pulled a fistful of shirts loose in the process, Frosty managed to regain his balance without major incident. One hand tightly gripped the closet door while the other braced him against the wall, peering over his shoulder to identify his "attacker."
Mischievous blue eyes greeted Frosty; the mouse had won. Several rows of grey cheetah spots vanished when Fomo swallowed, treating his friend's tail like a noodle. He released the wiggling treat, letting his esophagus take over while he reached for Frosty's squirming hips instead. Greedy fingers clamped down on the cheetah's wide curves, ensuring he wouldn't easily wiggle away. A deep, ominous groan from the mouse's belly announced his intentions, if they weren't already clear enough.
"H-hey, t-that isn't what cheetah tails are for." Even he didn't sound convinced, cheeks rosy and voice flustered.
He reached back when Fomo's fingertips curled beneath the top of his pink shorts. Their eyes met when he placed a hand over the mouse's wrist, but Frosty didn't stop him. An approving growl could be heard, humming around Frosty's tail as he stripped the cat's sleepwear off. It was almost flattering to see the mouse being so assertive, aside from the fact that the small rodent was determined to have a cheetah for breakfast. His tail was nearly hidden from sight, the grey and white mouse approaching the finer points of his body.
There was a brief pause. For a moment, Frosty wondered if the mouse would simply let him free, allowing the cat to scurry off to the shower in shame. Fomo's fingertips squeezed and rolled over his hips, and another wet gurgle made it clear that this wouldn't be the case. He was simply admiring the view, exploring the feminine curves of a grey-spotted white rump presented to him. The mouse's ravenous appetite wasn't patient, however. The taste of the cheetah's fur on his tongue was fueling it. Spurring him to cram the delicious cat down.
Fomo was all-too-happy to oblige that particular urge. It seemed like an impossible feat, but the diminutive mouse proved that he was up to the challenge of flipping the food chain on its head. Yawning impressively, his grip tightened on Frosty's hips as flat rodent teeth nibbled over his friend's perky butt. This proved to be more than a mouthful, jaws clamping and twisting to fit supple cheeks. Frosty found himself crouching, then nearly sitting in the mouse's gaping maw as a result.
"W-wait, F-Fomo, can make breakfast i-if you're hungry..." Frosty knew the mouse had already decided what he'd be having.
It seemed an impossible feat, and even Fomo wondered if maybe he'd bitten off more than he could chew this time. But his appetite demanded a kitty--this one especially. A strained squeak could be heard, then a wet _glrrrrrk_as he struggled to swallow. His eyes watered at how tight it become, jaws protesting the girlish spotted cat. In the end, Fomo's persistence paid off. The cheetah's toned thighs pressed snug to his belly, rather folding him in half as his rump was forced down. An impressive bulge stretched Fomo's white neck fur, defining his fidgeting breakfast.
He could scarcely believe it was happening. Though the cute look on Fomo's face had seemed innocent enough when he was nibbling his way up the cheetah's tail, the mouse was now ravenously packing him in. A slimy tongue helped itself to exploring anywhere it could reach, making Frosty blush furiously whenever Fomo dipped anywhere intimate. A living, fleshy cocoon was conforming to his hips and steadily overtaking his body. His tail had already passed through and was beginning to curl in the pit of Fomo's belly, giving him a preview of the sweltering bath that awaited him.
The mouse's thin tail was almost wagging. Large, round ears laid back while he reached for his friend's shoulders. The cheetah's weight was beginning to work against him, shifting from his feet to tip him into the slimy esophagus. Deep, rolling swallows aided his descent, pearly mouse teeth nibbling him teasingly to keep the feline squirming. Frosty was doing plenty of that on his own, knowing that he could do nothing to convince his friend otherwise. The cute mouse was going to keep swallowing until his "breakfast" was settled in his belly.
It was starting to become difficult despite his enthusiasm for devouring the spotted cat, a favorite of the rodent's diet. Though the cheetah's hips were probably the widest feature of his body, being stuffed down the rodent's throat butt-first meant there was little relief until this was finished. Tugging Frosty's shoulders, his tongue slurped through the cheetah's fur, sopping his belly and chest to ease his passage into the mouse's digestive tract. Mouthfuls of cheetah-flavored drool were swallowed down with the luscious feline, obscene bulges dipping until they finally reached Fomo's waistline.
A deep, approving growl rattled Frosty's body, feeling his rump sink into the steamy embrace of the mouse's gut. Thick fluids were already pooled around his tail, sopping wet and looking a bit ragged. Wet gurgling rose from Fomo's gut, watching the mouse's jaws creep over his shoulders as another deep swallow kneaded him, arms dangling uselessly in front of him. His feet were pushed to either side of his head, bordering his view of the outside world.
Frosty wanted to say something to scold the grey mouse, but it would fall on deaf ears anyway. The only thing that mattered was food. He felt his friend's slimy tongue stretch, pressing flat to his neck to ultimately curl beneath his chin. The golden bell on his collar jingled, but was promptly silenced. As Fomo settled back onto his butt, a mirror on the closet door allowed him the chance to see a blushing cheetah vanishing into the back of his throat. White fur was already spreading thin to accommodate the heavy meal, belly sagging down Fomo's thighs. His hands wandered across the swelling bulge, feeling out the wiggling cat while he made another deep gulp.
Arms outstretched, the dim sunlight in the room faded into blackness as his head was wrapped up in Fomo's throat, senses now dominated by the rapid thud of a mouse's pulse and constant gurgling. He could feel two hands tracing him out, admiring the bulges _he_was making. The greedy mouse was reveling in this moment of predatory indulgence. It was a bit difficult to finish, the sleek rodent's body protesting such a heavy meal. He was determined to make it happen. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head toward the ceiling, large ears tucked back. A heavy, strained gulp followed, tongue lashing over the cheetah's fingers as they crested the back of his throat and vanished. The slimy abdominal walls conformed against Frosty once he finally settled in, still uncomfortably curled and pinned in place.
Panting quickly for a moment, the mouse's tongue flicked over his lips to gather stray drool while he caught his breath. The spotted cat's unusual flavor lingered, a subtle vanilla aftertaste to remind him of breakfast. His hands squeezed possessively over his gut, shamelessly groping the bulges that weighed him down. It felt exquisite to have a big kitty squirming about, admiring the cute pawprints that occasionally graced his white fur. Each time one appeared, he reached down to flatten his palm against the cheetah paw and push it back down.
"Ohhhhhhh, kitty," Fomo groaned, arching his back to pull his belly taut around Frosty. His body trembled whenever the cat stretched, coaxing a subtle grind against his meal. He wouldn't let on exactly how much he enjoyed this cheetah, though his noises certainly suggested it. "You feel so good in there where you belong."
The words only added insult to injury, though Frosty was blushing in the dark, humid confines. He was already tingling wherever the mouse's belly pushed him, smearing caustic slime over his body. More of it was dripping in, ears filled with the disgusting squelches of creased stomach lining flexing to envelop and soften Frosty. The sour, acrid odor in the air made it clear what the outcome would be. The mouse's voice removed all doubt.
"J-just relax, kitty...oooof...so full..." Fomo's voice lowered, rolling onto his side on the carpet and partially curling around his engorged abdomen. "Settle down and digest like a good meal."
Frosty had no real say in the matter, aside from whether to heed the request for compliance. Putting up a fight would encourage the rodent's efficient digestive tract to work harder to subdue uncooperative prey. Submitting from the get-go would prolong the process. The end-result would be the same. His surroundings shifted again. It was disorienting, being sloshed around in the darkness. Each time the mouse's guts relaxed, his body slipped into a new position, constantly moving. When the movement stopped, there was a moment to gain his bearings before everything became stiflingly tight.
Grunting to himself, it took effort to pull the additional weight into bed. Fomo's arms protested the attempt, and the enormous gut sagging beneath him was impeded by the bed itself. Despite several attempts, the heaviness proved difficult, repeatedly grinding his meal against the corner of the mattress. An unhappy gurgle from the rough treatment prompted him to fall back for a moment, a hand coming to rest atop his belly and stroke it soothingly. Maybe he wouldn't be getting back in bed. Plush as it was, though, the carpet wasn't the most comfortable thing to lounge on.
Another stretch from within made Fomo wince. His stomach was near its limit, struggling to contain the wiggling cheetah. It was probably the biggest meal he could remember, or close to it. Though it caused a small amount of discomfort to be this bloated, he couldn't help feeling rather smug. The cat's shape and position was vaguely-defined by his white belly, silky fur displaced and spread thin. Twisting in place, he leaned his back against the bed frame to support himself while both hands resumed dutifully kneading his belly.
"Shhh, calm down. You can handle him," Fomo crooned encouragingly, speaking to his stomach itself rather than the cheetah trapped beneath white mouse fur. "So much kitty for you to digest."
An airy gurgle was his reply, followed by a deep belch that further tightened his belly around its feline passenger. It relieved some of the tension on Fomo's gut, eliciting a satisfied groan while the mouse licked the inside of his mouth. The result was an impossibly-tight squeeze that left Frosty no room to move, arms pinned against his body. He was already getting lightheaded, and the fact that he'd woken up early that morning only made the desire to drift off to sleep even stronger. The caustic bath saturating him kept him awake for now, stinging his skin as soggy patches of fur were rubbed away.
Another burp escaped when Fomo pushed both hands down on his belly. The taste of cheetah was potent on the mouse's breath again, and flecks of fur loosened from his meal accompanied the deep burp. A clawed fingertip saw to it that the wet clumps were dislodged from his teeth and flicked away while the other hand followed the contours of his stomach as the shaped shifted and twitched. Fomo knew his friend wouldn't last long in there. The cat would be spared the worst of it, though he was tempted to gulp down a bit of fresh air to see how long Frosty could endure being digested alive.
The moment of predatory gratification was interrupted when Fomo noted a muffled musical jingle from the closet. It was scarcely detected at first, but grew steadily louder each time it played until it was impossible to ignore. A cell phone was humming in a pile of clothes on the floor of the closet, the screen lit to proudly announce that it was time to wake up. Grumbling, he pushed himself away from the bed, leaning until he was on all-fours so he could crawl toward the disturbance and silence it.
It took a moment for Fomo to realize that it wasn't his alarm. Or his phone. Frosty must have dropped it when the mouse nabbed his tail. Disappointingly, there was nothing of interest on the screen, and he didn't know the passcode to unlock Frosty's phone. He was pleasantly-surprised to discover that the camera still worked, however. That brought an idea to mind that earned a devious smirk from the little mouse. He pushed the cheetah's pile of clothes into the center of the closet, then planted his ample rump directly in the middle of them.
The mouse's wiggling hips made the clothes shift beneath him, serving as a cushion while he brought the cheetah's phone in to snap a picture of his swollen gut from Fomo's perspective. The movement also jostled Frosty, earning a muffled murmur and a half-hearted wiggle. Several more photos followed, including a maw-shot and a selfie or two of the mouse proudly lounging in a pile of Frosty's clothes while cradling his gut. It was a shame he couldn't send them to anyone, but it would be a surprise for whomever found the cheetah's phone next.
Satisfied with his impromptu "photoshoot," Fomo tossed the phone aside and peered briefly between Frosty's laundry and the bed. The pile of clothing and towels was surprisingly cozy, he found. The fact that the bed was now opposite him, when he still carried the cheetah's full weight, was incentive enough to stay put. His friend's clothes were shuffled around again as he rooted into the pile, burrowing himself into the center of them and shaping a nest of sorts. Fitting, given that he was currently digesting their owner. Curled up among lightly-used towels, shirts, and plenty of Frosty's lingerie, he wasn't nearly as comfortable as the bed would have been, but it would be suitable enough for the next hour or two.
"Mmmh, still awake in there, kitty?" the mouse purred to his belly. He grinned when it shifted, but the best Frosty could manage was a quiet whimper that was drowned out by deep gurgling.
Yawning, Fomo rolled onto his side and hugged his belly against himself. His knees pushed against the softening cat from beneath, arms hugging the top. The distinct shapes in his white fur were beginning to smooth in places, his belly growing a bit more pliable to the touch. There was still a lot more cheetah to digest, however. Efficient as his metabolism was, Fomo wouldn't bother getting up for another hour or more. Perhaps enough time for a short nap to let his body focus its attention on Frosty.
A muffled pop drew the mouse's gaze toward his belly. Hunching forward, he gently pressed his cheek to the top of his gut and grinned tiredly. He could clearly hear the wet gurgling of his stomach getting rough with Frosty, who seemed to be putting up little resistance now. There wasn't much movement from his breakfast anymore, a hostile environment mercifully smothering the white cat.
It wasn't long before the sluggishness following a heavy meal caught up with Fomo. He was finding it difficult to keep his eyes open, and the quiet churn of his working stomach was like a lullaby. Taking a nap was seeming like a better and better idea. His arms tightened against his belly like a body pillow, right up to the point that he felt the cat's body offer resistance. Crooning under his breath, a tighter squeeze elicited a muffled crackle within his belly that made Fomo shiver excitedly.
Oooh, good kitty.
Embracing his gut, the cheeky rodent allowed the ensuing crackles and pops to lull him to sleep. It felt wonderful to drift off like this, stuffed full of digesting prey. Having a cat on his breath made it even more gratifying. His belly would continue breaking down the hapless cheetah while he rested, promising that he'd awaken with a round, pudgy gut and a hefty sag on his hips. Fomo always teased that kitties were the most fattening, if only because he took so much pleasure in the act of eating cats. His metabolism was notoriously quick, however, promising that he'd be seeking another unsuspecting meal in due time. He liked to call Frosty "spotty snack" for a reason.
While he napped, his belly quietly gurgled as it worked on breakfast. His dreams, though brief, were filled with the cute white cat he was in the process of digesting. Though he'd fallen asleep with a cat in his belly, he found himself holding the sweet cheetah in his arms. Fomo was pinning him down against the bed and squeaking softly, nipping those cute round ears, licking Frosty's dark tear marks. The white cat was wiggling beneath him with anticipation, stretched out luxuriously on his belly while grey arms embraced his petite waist.
Fomo could almost smell him. Taste him. Hear the cute chirps when he pressed close to that curvy body. Unlike before, he wasn't looking to fill his belly with cheetah. The mouse had other appetites to sate. Rolling onto their sides, he pushed his hips against Frosty's plush rear and tightened his possessive hug. The feeling was exquisite, teasing his shivering friend while his body grew warm with excitement. He wanted this kitty.
His ropey tail lashed quickly as he drew his hips away, only to growl as he pulled the cheetah close again. Frosty was purring, a deep, rhythmic hum against the mouse's belly that made the experience feel even more real. As he focused, though, it seemed to develop into a much steadier pulse, less fitting of a cat's trademark rumble. The humming continued as the lovely scene seemed to lose focus, though the mouse's subconscious was determined to cling to his saucy vision.
A wet gurgle finally caused him to rouse from his dream. Blinking in the dim closet, it took a moment for Fomo to register the device still humming against his belly. He'd rolled over on the cheetah's cell phone while asleep and someone was calling. Sitting up, he rubbed his neck while he stretched and yawned. He'd partially burrowed himself into the cat's clothes while napping. After looking around in confusion for a moment, he remembered where he'd fallen asleep.
Spying the glowing phone, Fomo grumbled that it had disturbed his dream. He half-considered swallowing it out of spite. That would mean spitting it up later, however, so it wasn't worth the effort. He brushed it aside as it went dark, ignoring whomever was attempting to reach Frosty. They won't be getting ahold of the cheetah anyway, he reminded himself with a smirk. His eyes came to rest on his belly, his stomach a good deal smaller and more pliable than it had been when he fell asleep.
The mouse's hands roamed over his soft, round gut, admiring what Frosty had left behind on his waistline, and especially Fomo's hips. A soft gurgle let him know that his stomach was still working on Frosty in some fashion, though most of the delicious cat had already been reduced down and pushed through the mouse's guts. Smirking, he reached for the cheetah's phone, helping himself to a few more glamor shots to show what had become of the cat in the previous photos.
Though he wanted to do more, a gurgle deep in his guts let Fomo know that he had more pressing needs to attend to. He still had to let this kitty out. Lightly rubbing his belly, he hummed to himself while he emerged from Frosty's closet in nothing but the cheetah's shorts. He found it easier to move about with the cheetah's weight properly distributed.
After a brief stretch to unkink his muscles, he strolled to the cheetah's bathroom to answer the call of nature. In his eyes, it was a fitting end for the cute spotted cat. Perhaps after doing so, he'd take a few more pictures just to show what had ultimately become of his friend. The thought made him grin devilishly as he planted padded hips onto the toilet seat, wiggling to get comfortable. He let himself relax with a heavy sigh, slumped forward to rest his arms across his thighs while he felt the cheetah's remaining mass shifting deep within.
I just hope it can handle this much kitty. That wasn't his problem, though.
A guilty shiver of satisfaction danced up his spine while the mouse relieved himself, toes curling at the sensations, as well as the knowledge that he'd given another kitty a personal tour of a mouse's digestive tract. Fomo bit his lip and blushed when he felt something solid moving through his intestine, muffling a cute squeak, and managed to pass a tarnished bell attached to a tattered collar easily enough. He was grateful to have caught the cheetah early in the morning, before he could get fully dressed. Too much clothing was always a nuisance.
The rest came easily enough, which Fomo was grateful for. He'd passed intact skulls before with no small amount of straining, an experience he'd sooner not repeat. A cheeky wiggle followed when he felt the last of the "cheetah" taper off and dip away. Once finished, he rose from the seat and peered back to briefly admire his handiwork. The partially-digested collar and bell were the only recognizable items, the rest little more than clumps of slimy cat fur and tightly-compacted waste.
"Hope you're not too upset with me, chee. You know a mouse can't help himself around his favorite food, especially when it digests so well."
Giggling, Fomo reached for the toilet and rest his fingers on the flush lever. He traced along the edge of it while he lowered the lid. "Seeya later, kitty. Thanks for being a mouse's breakfast."
The sound of rushing water filled the bathroom when he pushed down the lever, and Fomo smirked when he heard it fully cycle without incident. A quick lift of the lid confirmed the bowl was once again empty, allowing him to saunter off to the shower with a clear conscience.
How humiliating, for Frosty to be flushed down his own toilet.
The thought lingered in his head while he stepped into the shower, enjoying the hot water streaming over his newly-padded curves. He didn't feel guilty, or even a little remorseful. He had won. And why should he feel bad for his food? With any luck, Frosty would come back sooner or later, and the game would start over for Fomo as it often did...