FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Shh, just relax, mousie. Kitty's got 'ya. You'll be where you belong soon enough.

Although the cheetah's haunting words were muffled and mostly drowned out by the noises his gut was making, Fomo could understand him clearly enough. "Relax" was the last thing he wanted to do right now.

"F-Frosty! C'mon! Lemme gooo!" Fomo knew that his pleas were falling on deaf ears, but he desperately tried to appeal to his friend anyway. What he couldn't accomplish with words, he tried to do with struggling, pushing and twisting about in the darkness.

Frosty's reply to him was a deep belch that rattled the mouse's sensitive ears, and his surroundings grew more confining as a result. The slimy walls were drawn snug against Fomo's body, rolling over matted fur and skin, which was already feeling raw from the acidic massage. It was getting hotter inside, wetter. He could feel the cheetah's hands pushing against him, aiding his gut in its efforts.

Oooh, you feel really good in there, and my belly seems to really like you...as usual.

It was insult to injury to hear a friend say that. As the words lingered in his panicked brain, everything suddenly grew much tighter, making movement even more difficult. Frosty's abdominal muscles flexed as the cheetah curled against him, wringing Fomo's body and almost squeezing the air from his lungs. Surprisingly, though he was aware of the sensation of the cheetah's gut roughly grinding over him, tight compressions straining his joints, it didn't seem to hurt.

But he knew that the cheetah was beginning to digest him, and he had to escape before it was too late. That was the only thing that mattered, pain or not.

Despite the cat's belly binding his limbs, with a frantic wiggle, he managed to work his arms loose enough that he could push his hands against the walls again. He firmly pushed once, twice, but didn't feel he was succeeding much. His feet were accomplishing even less, legs feeling like they'd been bound by ropes.

It felt hopeless. He'd been devoured whole by a cheetah, and that was that. It was all going to end here in this cat's gut, being digested alive by his own friend.

As the walls bore down on him again, Fomo's whimpering grew louder, more distressed. He planted his hands against the walls and gathered his strength, making one last attempt before his body gave out entirely. Strained screaming filled his surroundings as he shoved outward, sharply throwing away the walls that bound him.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

Fomo shot upright as soon as he felt the tension on his body release. The threat of the cheetah's hostile gut prompted him to continue struggling to free his legs as well. He didn't immediately recognize that there was no further threat, scrambling backwards until he felt his back press firmly to a flat, cold surface with a soft thud.

Still surrounded in darkness, the sweltering heat that had been encompassing him moments ago was now replaced with a chill. Fomo was trembling, breathing rapidly as his pulse raced in his chest. Sweat clung to his fur, matting it down in damp clumps in places. Looking around in confusion, Fomo placed his hands at his sides and felt soft fabric beneath him.

He was in his bed, not a cheetah's stomach. The blankets had been thrown to the foot of the bed, a result of the mouse's vivid nightmare, and were still partially wrapped around his legs. Wiggling to disentangle himself, he placed a hand on his head and leaned forward, still catching his breath.

"Just a bad dream," he reminded himself again and again. A dream that felt far more vivid than any other he could remember...almost real, even.

He'd never experienced one so intense. He slid down into the mattress and closed his eyes, trying to push the images from his mind and failing. He thought he'd been a goner, for sure, and the mood stuck with him as he opened his eyes again and stared at the dark ceiling. Sighing heavily, he debated getting out of bed, but a glance at the time convinced him to try and get back to sleep, albeit with an audible grumble. And a mild feeling of dread that the nightmare may return.

Reaching down, Fomo grabbed the edge of the blanket and straightened it, pulling it over himself once more. He began to draw and tighten it against his body, but thought better of it.

"Only a dream," he mumbled, pushing his head into the pillow and hoping it would be the only one that night.

But still too real...

* * * * * * * * * *

It had only taken one glance to figure what Frosty had done, upon appearing back at home base. His CATS handler, a splotchy calico seated before a remote console for the Causality Assessment Transportation System - though most everyone preferred the clever acronym - shook his head dejectedly while resting it against a closed fist after seeing the cheetah's bloated gut. More work.

"Why did I get assigned such a pain in the butt?" he asked himself, then checked to confirm that his mic wasn't live. He switched it on and leaned toward the terminal. "CATS all-clear. Welcome back."

Frosty gave the camera in the room a thumbs up and stepped toward a secure glass door, which unlocked and slid open once the system was powered down. It was less a measure for equipment safety, and more for guarding against the possibility of unwanted guests. A light mist wafted over him as he passed through the airlock, ensuring that any microscopic hitchhikers would be dealt with as well.

Upon emerging through the opposite door, Frosty found himself in the familiar surroundings of a plain locker room with white tile floors. Others were milling about, either suiting up in preparation for their own missions, or getting ready to leave for the day. Those within sight immediately took notice of Frosty's belly and chuckled, though most said nothing. Such things weren't unheard of in their line of work, but the white cheetah had earned a reputation, not necessarily in a good way.

Muted gurgling accompanied Frosty to his locker, cradling his belly in one hand as he opened the door to retrieve a change of clothes so he could get out of his restrictive CAT suit. Hopefully they'll still fit, he thought with amusement as he groped at the softened gut. As he bent down, a wet crunch could be heard within. The noise made him blush lightly, but he smirked while patting his stomach.

"Sorry, am I being too rough on you?" he purred. Squeezing his gut against himself prompted a louder gurgle, the only sort of replies he'd get from the mouse now.

When Frosty swung the locker door shut, he was met by the exasperated face of his handler. "Yes. Yes, you are, Frosty." He sounded less-than-impressed.

The cheetah cocked an eyebrow at his coworker, still grinning somewhat as he balanced fresh clothes in one hand, and his belly in the other. He bounced it lightly, eliciting another audible _glrrrrn_from his depths. "Come on, Felix. It's not all that bad. You like working with me, admit it."

"You're going to get both of us fired if you keep this up," he warned sharply, reaching out to jab Frosty's stomach, which only prompted further wet noises.

Flinching, Frosty hunched forward and lightly batted the other cat's hand away. "I'm not the one that input the wrong anchor code. You're supposed to be cross-checking those before the mission."

Others in the locker room had begun to take notice of the exchange, listening closer now but keeping to themselves.

"And I'm not the one that ate the wrong target!" Felix shot back. He immediately regretted raising his voice when he heard himself reverberate against the walls. All other conversations in the room had stopped, and both he and Frosty became aware of several sets of eyes pointed their direction.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, the calico furrowed his brow and stared into Frosty's eyes. "We'll settle this at debrief in the morning, assuming nothing else goes wrong before then."

As Felix turned to walk away, Frosty called after him. "Drinks at my place?"

His response was a middle finger over the calico's shoulder.

* * * * * * * * * *

Frosty emerged from his private bathroom the next morning, relieved to be free of Fomo's excess weight. Though his belly was a good deal softer than normal - and would be for several days - the bulk of the mouse had been dealt with. His body seemed to have a way with mice, he noted. Whistling quietly, he twirled a tattered black collar around a finger, the golden tag nearly worn smooth from the rough treatment it had endured. On close inspection, it still faintly bore the name of its wearer: Fomo.

The cheetah's quarters were fairly unremarkable, feeling more like a fancy hotel studio with all the amenities than anything. It was his home away from home, while on active duty. Though he was permitted to leave freely, it made sense to stay close should any situations arise. And given what he already knew about the mission he'd botched, he suspected he might be spending a lot more time here.

Hanging the damaged collar on a hook on the bathroom door, Frosty reached for a black marker and began to doodle a crude caricature of a mouse, joining several other such drawings on the door. This was the only real indication - outside of the cheetah's employee records - as to how many mice had met such an end. The collar's location would be temporary, hung on the door like a prize until it was time to finish what he'd started. He'd need it to bring back the proper Fomo once everything was said and done. The doodles, however, were his own permanent record of past catches.

With some difficulty, Frosty squeezed into his pants and a snug pink tank top, both which struggled to contain the paunch he'd gained. He admired himself in the mirror, hips wiggling when he noted how much fuller they looked. A shame that the added curviness would only be temporary.

The cheetah's gratification was short-lived when he remembered what he had to do. It was nearly time for debrief, which meant he was likely about to be dragged over the coals by his supervisor. Generally an agreeable leopard, his friendly demeanor often went out the window when it came to these matters. On more than one occasion, Frosty had been all-but thrown out of his office at the end of a heated discourse on poor mission behavior.

"Well, hopefully he's in a good mood," Frosty hoped.

He wasn't. That was clear enough, as soon as he stepped into his supervisor's office. Felix was already seated in front of his desk looking anxious, beside another empty chair waiting for Frosty. Diego, the imposing jungle cat, was sitting opposite them, looming over a thick folder opened on the desk with a number of reports spread across the surface.

Frosty could feel his eyes burning into him as he turned to close the door behind him, knowing it would likely be necessary. As soon as he was seated, a pair of heavy hands came down on the desk.

"This is inexcusable. How could you let such a reckless mistake slip by?" he started.

Felix and Frosty exchanged looks, and the calico was the first to speak. "Sir, the conflicting anchor codes should have been flagged by CATS. I'm not sure why the discrepancy got through, but we're looking into it."

"Look into it faster," came a sharp reply. "We can't afford sloppy mistakes when people are in the field. This needs to be addressed immediately, it poses a massive risk to our agents."

Felix nodded, slumping in his seat as his ears flattened. "Yes, sir. We'll get all available techs..."

Diego didn't let him finish the thought. He turned his gaze to Frosty, his voice taking a noticeably harsher tone. "And you're just plain reckless. That's five targets that you've gone through now, and I'm willing to bet none of those instances were mission critical."

"Six," Frosty corrected, having just added another to his tally.

A fist slammed on the desk, making him wish he hadn't. "I should have your ass fired for this!" The leopard picked up a sheet and pushed it across the desk so Frosty could look it over. "Because of your careless behavior, we now have a major situation on our hands."

Frosty's eyes scanned the mission report ...Approximately 45 seconds after extraction, an unusual activity spike was detected in the anchor timeline. CATS detected a simultaneous activity spike of local origin, consistent with a paradox event, but further details are unknown at this time.

A cold chill ran up Frosty's neck. Local origin. Their own timeline. He'd caused a time paradox by eating the wrong mouse, and to make matters worse, it had somehow happened on their home turf. It didn't take much thought to determine the likeliest cause of it, the evidence still lingering on his waist.

"The only saving grace is that you have to be the one to clean up all this mess," Diego continued. "But don't think you're getting job security out of it. One more step out of line and I'll see to it that your employment here is revoked for life, mission complete or not. Am I clear, Frosty?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. We can't afford to waste any time on this, so get to work and don't come back to me until this is fixed. That goes for both of you."

"Yes, sir," both cats replied in timid unison. They were excused with a dismissive wave toward the door while the leopard returned to the reports on his desk, still fuming at Frosty's insolence.

Outside the office, Frosty glanced over his shoulder at the closed door, then looked to his handler. "That could have gone a lot worse."

"Worse than being on a final warning?"

Frosty shrugged. "Well, we still have a job at least. And hey, overtime and hazard pay."

Felix narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "I hate you." Then he walked away.

* * * * * * * * * *

The cheetah's tail lashed about as he walked up to a small, two-story home, hands stuffed into his pockets. Since there wasn't anything he could do until the fallout of the paradox was discovered, he'd opted to leave. Better to get out of everyone's hair for a little while, until he was needed.

"Why's everything gotta be so complicated?" he grumbled to himself.

Frosty's mind pored over the events that had transpired while he knocked firmly on the door. Hopefully, spending some time with a friend would help take his mind off things for a bit. It was early in the afternoon, though, and he was unsure if Forest would be home from work yet.

His ears perked when he heard the door unlock. Grinning, he wiggled with anticipation and prepared to leap through the door to wrap his friend up in a hug. But to Frosty's surprise, it wasn't Forest standing in the open doorway, and he froze in place as his eyes went wide. More complications.

The fur on the back of Fomo's neck stood up when he set eyes on the white cheetah, standing before the cat in a pair of conforming black shorts, his upper body bare. The vivid dream was still fresh on his mind, and though he'd convinced himself that it was only that, there he was. The two stared at one another for several seconds, each sizing up the other. Fomo's blue eyes narrowed behind rectangular glasses, his tapered pink tail moving quickly.

"What do you want, cat?" The mouse eventually asked, breaking their uncomfortable silence.

"Uh, I was looking for Forest. What are you doing here?" Frosty replied, tail swishing anxiously.

"He's at work. And I live here," the mouse replied flatly, regarding it as a stupid question.

Frosty's mind raced as he considered his options. Fomo wasn't supposed to be here, despite the mouse's opinion on the matter. He especially wasn't supposed to exist in the same timeline as Forest, assuming he wasn't lying about that part. Should he leave and report back? Try to bring the mouse with him? He might have to subdue him if he decided to be uncooperative, which would be risky without his suit, should anything happen. He couldn't be transported out without it.

But would anything happen? He was just a mouse, after all, and none of the other Fomo's had given him much trouble, aside from hairballs, maybe.

Fomo could see the gears turning and folded his arms across his chest, drawing Frosty's attention to the black bracers around his wrists, rather than a collar the last mouse had been wearing. He was on his guard, eyeing the cheetah carefully and feeling unusually edgy in the cat's presence. Something about Frosty made him nervous, more so than a dream alone should have. But what?

_Maybe if I end this here and now, I can get back on their good side,_Frosty decided.

"You just gonna stand there?" Fomo tipped his head to the side, a large ear flopping over.

Without warning, Frosty followed through on his original plan, leaping through the open door and wrapping the mouse's bare, fuzzy chest in a tight hug. The momentum of his unexpected pounce knocked Fomo backwards, squeaking loudly and stumbling as he tried to maintain his balance, before ultimately toppling over beneath the cheetah.

Frosty hunched over the mouse, planting his hands on Fomo's shoulders to pin him while his tail lashed quickly. Straddling his thighs and grinning at his good fortune, he leaned in until their noses were almost touching.

"Sorry for having to do this, mousie, but you need to come with me. And I have a hunch that you're not gonna like it."

Intense flashes of his dream came to the forefront of Fomo's mind, heart racing now. He didn't like the look in this cat's eyes, survival instincts recognizing the predatory gleam. Intuition was confirmed when a pink tongue rolled across Frosty's lips, accompanied by a soft growl.

The mouse's thighs came around Frosty's waist in a blur, clenching tightly and throwing him roughly to the side, prompting a surprised chirp. In an instant, Frosty found himself flipped onto his back, and Fomo's butt came down on top of him to pin his legs. The cheetah looked stunned to find himself in reverse position. Where had Fomo learned moves like that? It had seemed effortless.

As he reached up to shove the mouse off, Fomo grabbed the cheetah's wrists and tightened his thighs to ensure he wouldn't be able to wiggle free. He twisted and struggled, but he was soundly pinned at this point. Fomo growled softly as he leaned in, wondering what to do next. He couldn't just let him free now, fearing what the cheetah might do to retaliate.

"Not the easy meal you were expecting?" he taunted, feeling more confident now that he was getting control of the situation.

"O-okay, you win," Frosty conceded, ears flat. "I-I'll just...come back when Forest is home."

"What, so you can try to get a drop on me again? Not a chance, kitty."

Frosty knew he was in over his head already. But he had to escape. He sharply tugged his arms back and managed to yank one hand free, then immediately reached up to push at the mouse's face. What happened next caught Frosty by surprise, and even Fomo didn't fully understand what he was doing as his jaws snapped around the cheetah's hand and wrist.

Instead of shoving Fomo's muzzle away, he ended up plunging his entire hand straight into the mouse's throat before it was halted by fleshy tension. The abruptness of it caused him to gag on reflex, and he briefly sputtered around Frosty's forearm. But once he recovered from the initial spasm, he automatically swallowed and pulled Frosty up to his elbow in a mouse's jaws.

The cheetah looked shocked by what had just occurred, and it took him a moment to process. He knew it had been an accident, but that didn't change the fact that half of his arm was now trapped beyond Fomo's lips. He attempted to wiggle his arm free, but the mouse's throat resisted his attempt, and even rippled to drag it deeper as a result. Large buck teeth were crawling along Frosty's upper arm, pinching it lightly to hold him in place.

As the taste of Frosty's fur began to leech into his drool, something unusual was stirring deep in Fomo's subconscious. A hunger that he hadn't previously experienced, but one that he felt had always been lurking in the back of his mind. It was spurring him on, urging him to continue swallowing this cat. Fomo's already-ravenous appetite was awakening to something new. It made his belly growl audibly.

"H-hey, come on," Frosty started. "You don't wanna do this!"

But that couldn't be farther from the truth. The mouse's ropelike tail was lashing excitedly, hunching down over Frosty and pulling him up by his other arm. As his jaws neared the cheetah's shoulder, Frosty's struggling intensified, but he maintained his grip.

Despite his efforts, it was impossible to free his arm from Fomo's throat in this position, and he was feeling increasingly anxious. Even if Frosty could somehow reach his collar to send a distress call, they wouldn't be able to perform extraction without his CAT suit, which he'd left behind in favor of casual clothing. Someone would have to be physically sent in to rescue him.

If the mouse succeeded in his current efforts, at best, a support team might find his collar and earring in the remains. Assuming they found him at all.

"Fomo, wait!" Before he could make any further pleas, the mouse's jaws gaped in front of him, then swiftly plunged Frosty into slimy darkness.

Large mouse incisors raked over his ears and lightly bit down to grab ahold of his head, twisting to one side to cram him in. A wet squelch was heard as he was abruptly tugged, squeezing his head into the mouse's throat alongside his outstretched arm and pinning the other to Frosty's side, turning the cat's facial features into a distinct bulge beneath his white neck. As Fomo's jaws gaped around his body, progress slowed, the mouse's inexperience showing. It was becoming uncomfortably tight for Frosty, and the stretching was testing Fomo's limits already, but the mouse was determined to make this work.

When Fomo's thigh-grip on the cheetah's waist relented, Frosty attempted to yank himself back, but struggling succeeded in wedging him deeper into Fomo's throat with a noisy shlrrrk. The mouse's lips were working down his chest already, gulping a few inches at a time, letting his body relax to adjust to the heavy bulk of the writhing cat before swallowing again. Frosty was panicking now, hoping that something would halt Fomo's progress.

But to Fomo, he tasted too good to stop. He felt too good. And as the cheetah's arm squeezed down into the mouse's belly, the pressure of a hand on the inside of his stomach made him shudder. His toes curled, aggressively yanking Frosty and cramming him all the way down to his soft midsection. His tongue was feverishly exploring the petite cheetah, liberally applying drool to his belly and drawing out as much of his enticing flavors as he could find beneath Frosty's pink tank top.

There was only one problem, and it wasn't a small one. The biggest hurdle remained, wiggling helplessly on the floor beneath Fomo: Frosty's wide, feminine hips. Generous curves now dominated the mouse's gaze, unaware that his past self had contributed to them, as well as the soft belly he was mouthing over. A pair of tight jeans hugged the cheetah's figure, something that Fomo decided to remove from the equation before he proceeded.

Blushing despite himself when he felt the mouse fumbling with his button and tugging his pants, there was nothing Frosty could do to prevent him. As his rump was lifted from the floor, snug denim peeled away from his hips and dragged down his thighs. The only article remaining was a scandalous pink thong, grinning around Frosty's waist and reaching up to give spotted cheeks a firm squeeze before shoving them in.

Muffled whining could be heard, protesting the same treatment that Frosty had given so many mice before. He twisted and scrambled against the floor as the mouse's jaws worked over his hips, feeling rodent teeth chewing on his padded rump and gulping noisily, but Fomo was making little progress for the moment. His jaws were making a protest of their own, straining from the wide yawn that he was forcing to get the cheetah down his throat.

Rolling and firmly squeezing Frosty's hips again, Fomo closed his eyes tightly, biting down on the wiggly cat before he shoved again. The pressure on his jaws made him feel like he might have bitten off more than he could chew. But he knew that the alternative would likely wind him up in this cheetah's belly, much in the same fashion as his dream.

Just when he felt like he might need to throw in the towel and consider a hasty escape plan, his lips began inching past the crest of Frosty's squirming butt. Then it all happened at once, the pair of spotted hips sliding into his cheeks and puffing them out. Fomo made a thick gulp, his throat struggling to stretch and fit the widest part of his feline meal. To his surprise, he felt them settling into his neck, and with another greedy swallow, Frosty was rapidly descending again.

The mouse's belly gurgled as he was spilled face-first into the slimy, steamy chamber, both arms forced to his body as it was shoved in. The rapid descent made him hunch forward, cramped into a tight position as Fomo continued devouring him without further hesitation. His thighs were quickly vanishing, kicking in the air until Fomo pushed the cheetah's jeans to his ankles, binding them together.

Frosty was panicking now. How had he managed to get himself into this situation? How was this even possible? After packing away so many mice, it had never occurred to him that one might eventually turn the tables on him. But as Fomo gulped down his legs, it was clear that the mouse wasn't stopping until he was finished devouring him. Now that his throat was rippling and kneading over most of his body, it was happening frighteningly quick.

Twisting himself around, Frosty struggled to free his arms, which were currently pinned to his chest against the slimy walls. It wasn't until Fomo was gulping down his shins that he managed to wiggle an arm far enough up his body to reach his collar. A thick coating of gastric slime and drool made it impossible for it to respond to his touch, though. Everything was saturated, clumps of fur sticking to his body and collar.

"Come on, come on," Frosty said to himself, mashing his fingers against the collar repeatedly.

A wet slurp made the cheetah jump as Fomo wrapped his lips around Frosty's paws, toes curling as a warm tongue rolled over them, scooping them back as he tugged Frosty's pants free and tossed them aside. He grinned at the flicking cheetah tail and leaned his head back, reaching down to cradle a sagging belly that was already loudly protesting so much excess bulk. Frosty was bigger than any meal he'd experienced, and he wasn't quite finished yet.

Loud gurgling filled Frosty's ears as his feet were sucked into the mouse's throat, Fomo slurping up the end of his tail and whisking down the last indications of his spotted lunch. The small bulges of his paws slid beneath white fur, forcing the cheetah's knees up to his chest and further hindering movement as he settled into place. The walls were drawn uncomfortably tight against his body, trapping his arms to the point that he could no longer reach his collar.

The mouse's heart was racing, panting heavily as he caught his breath once his throat was cleared of the feline obstruction. A pair of hands rolled across his belly, feeling out the shapes of a cat that had intended to make Fomo his own meal.

"Ohhhhh, kittyyyyy," he groaned, kneeling on the floor with an enormous gut resting atop his spread thighs. "So much food...so big..."

Fomo kept his head tipped back, eyes closed to revel in the new sensations. The feel of his gut stretching and straining to contain a living meal, wiggling about in the tight confines. The knowledge that he'd managed to swallow and pack away a cheetah nearly as tall as himself.

But most satisfying of all, the mere fact that a mouse like him had eaten a cat. It tickled his ego in a way he hadn't anticipated. Fomo's intention had been to save his own skin, but now...he just wanted to enjoy the moment. He'd proved to this one that not all mice were food, and he was more than happy to digest Frosty to reinforce the point. However long that may take.

"Mmmmh, I just...can't get over how good you feel in there, wiggly chee. I never imagined..."

A deep, satisfying belch interrupted him, further compressing Frosty and bringing up a lingering taste of cheetah and several tufts of white fur. Licking his lips, he grinned as he traced his fingers over the vague definition of a cheetah trapped beneath his own soft fur.

"Rrf, 'scuse me. Seems my belly really likes you, kitty."

Unhappy, fitful struggling grew stronger for a moment as a result of the mouse's taunting. Frosty's pawprints could be seen shoving and stretching as he tried to make room, wiggling desperately to escape the acidic fluids that were beginning to pool around him, dripping over his body. But the deep belch had left little in the way of breathable air, and Frosty was quickly wearing himself down as a result.

Fomo reached down and placed a hand on the floor, leaning forward and carefully pushing himself to his feet. He'd never experienced so much weight in his gut, and it took several seconds to find his balance. The mouse rotated around and pushed the front door closed, his gut tightening briefly. One arm cradled the bottom of his abdomen, the other reaching ahead of him as he took a few cautious steps toward the living room, wobbled, then took a few more. This was all new to him, but he managed to make his way to the sofa without incident.

Despite his attempt to lower himself gently, the extra heft in his gut caused Fomo to topple onto the couch and land on top of his meal. As the cheetah's weight settled into the cushion, Fomo giggled, deciding that he was fine with this as he was propped up by his own belly. Both hands now roamed his gut freely, pushing firmly over the shapes. Large ears perked, swiveling downward to listen to the wet gurgles and squelches that rose from his middle as he worked it.

"Ooohh, hear that? I think it really wants to digest a kitty. Guess there's a first for everything." Fomo was letting himself become fully engrossed in the experience, bolstering his confidence with his own bold statements. He could already feel the feline losing steam, struggles growing weaker as his gut clenched tightly around him at regular intervals.

Growing exhausted, Frosty gave up trying to reach his collar again. It was useless at this point. He knew that his distress beacon would eventually activate on its own, but that wouldn't help his current situation.

The itching sensation of potent stomach acids crawled across his skin, loosening clumps of soggy fur as he was roughly massaged beneath Fomo's weight, aided by the mouse's palms. Soon he was being gently rocked back and forth to further grind the walls over his body, the motions driven by Fomo's hips. His surroundings were getting hotter, more active as time went on. Fomo's stomach was already beginning to demonstrate just how capable it was of digesting a cat alive.

Reluctantly, Frosty surrendered to the mouse's belly while his body swayed. As consciousness began to fade, the mouse's distant voice filled Frosty's head. "I might have to give this another try sometime soon. I think I could really get used to eating kitties like you..."