Melting You Down
#56 of Patreon Reward Vignettes
Another Second Person POV vignette, FA: BasilSanguine 's fourth, but his seventh vignette overall!
You've ordered a nice slow churn in Clover's stomach at In the Mix. He's going about his duties as a server as you slosh and soften more and more, soon to be adorning his hips for the rest of the night at the very least.
Contains: Second Person POV, Soft Digestion, Semi-Public Oral Vore, Alcohol Consumption, Exhibitionist Predator, Melty Digestion, the Glut Glut Onomatopoeia, Continuity of Sensation and Sentient Fat.
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It's easy to lose track of time in his warmth. The pillowy rugae squeezes and contracts in undulating waves, feeling almost like massaging fingers approaching from every angle. The feeling of actual fingers stands out, however. Clover's blunt hoof-like fingertips are distinct as they feel over you through his stretched flesh.
Some time ago you had ordered a nice slow churn from the beautiful bull and since he could multitask quite well, he returned to going about his duties as a server in the bar while you softened. As he rubs over you, his voice is clear.
"Table seven drink orders." Your world shifts as Clover speaks, sending you lightly swaying. You guess that what kind of shift is when he hands the orders over to the bartender, as the last few orders were accompanied by a similar movement.
The bartender's voice is harder to make out, but the tone seems pleasant, affectionate even.
Soon, the beautiful bovine stands nice and upright, starting to send you swaying as you hear the muffled clack of his hooves on the hardwood of the bar. Each rock of Clover's hips sends your mass sloshing back and forth, the smooth chyme lubricating your form to allow it to slide about freely.
You're sure that you're not properly solid, either. The way the stomach walls squeeze and clench... You don't think you have rigid bones any longer. Further thought on the subject brings you to a realization: The stomach isn't secreting juices fast enough to have made this much fluid squelching around you. You must be melting.
Clover stops and leans forward. "Your orders, sirs." He speaks cordially as the shifting above tells you he's placing things from his platter to the table.
You brace your hands against the 'front' wall of the bull's stomach, forcing it to give you some room as the muscular walls continue their eager processing. You pant, managing to press outward for a mere moment, wondering if you're solid enough to make a bulge that the customers can see. This thought is derailed as the next contraction squelches you back down. This time, however, you feel an odd pulling sensation on your lower legs and tail with the eager clench.
The symphony of the bull's body enters a new movement as a series of rhythmic 'glut' sounds emanate from beneath you in time with the strange new feeling's surges. Soon the beat is accompanied by a blissful lowing moan from Clover from above. At the same time, the level of chyme in the stomach is gradually lowering...
Your heat-addled and softened mind puts the pieces together after a long moment of being clenched and pulled upon. What parts of you that have already melted are being drained deeper into the bull's body for assimilation.
Clover stands upright again, huffing lightly. "Sorry about that..."
"What was that?" One of the patrons at the table asks loud and clear enough for you to understand.
You feel the torso twist around you, before the bull brings his arm down quickly. You gasp in surprise as you feel as though you'd been spanked by Clover's hand, then the fingers curl into a groping motion.
Confused by this, you shift your arms around in the chyme as best as you can, feeling for your rear... Below the small of your back, nothing is solid enough to really be identified by touch, especially with how malleable your fingers are getting.
"Just getting another customer situated back here." Clover is saying in reference to his rump. Of course. He's just slapped his own rump and given it a squeeze... and you're already starting to pad it out. The stomach walls start to greedily clench in tighter, and you hear the bass rumble of a belch escaping the beautiful bull. "Oh, pardon... I'll have room for you soon, don't worry."
"M-Me?!" Another patron asks, flustered.
Clover's voice resonates around you as his body merrily works to claim you for his own. "If you place an order, that is." You can almost hear the wink he gives the embarrassed customer. You had received one as well.
You groan weakly, the stronger grinding motions of the stomach making you lose track of your arms and chest. The level of chyme rises, as more and more of your mental map of your body is just a round, hefty rear end. And ever on, the intestines beneath drink you up with a steady 'glut glut glut'...