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These kinds of things always meant trouble. College parties had a tendency to be destructive at the best of times, but it was even worse when it was one of those all-house mixers. Conflicts were sure to arise when rival predators were in the same place, along with plenty of naive prey who thought they were safe at a party for whatever reason. Throw in some heavy, thumping music and enough booze to fill a swimming pool or two, and things were bound to get a little crazy. Someone was going to end up with the cleaning bill in the end, and even more people were going to end up vanishing. That level of chaos was exactly what drew Wilbur to the rager in the first place. The donkey had been enjoying some success and prestige in pred circles lately thanks to embracing his inner appetite. It was just the sort of thing he needed to help bulk up - both in strength and in general heft, like that jiggly belly he was carrying around. His hunger had been lucrative, too. He hardly knew why he was still going to college when he was already raking in such impressive revenue with his streams. Turns out, there were plenty of people who were willing to pay to see a chubby donkey devour dorks. If all went well, he'd be giving out a free demonstration of his skills sometime later that night.

Being a bit of a wild card, he mostly managed to avoid the various group drama as pred houses faced each other down in battles of words or just menacing glares. He snapped his head to the side when a shout turned to a shoving match between a group of wolves and a group of lions. When it was pack versus pride, and both of them were thoroughly intoxicated, something was bound to happen. Honestly, it surprised Wilbur to see it calm down before anyone got hurt. Maybe it was the gruff presence of the bear house butting in on the situation, getting their bulk between those snarly faces and making a wall out of their heft and muscle. Ursines of that size probably could have made a meal out of some of the smaller preds there no problem. Wilbur reminded himself to keep well clear of that group throughout the evening. Even if they seemed like the chill, laid back preds among the crowd, that didn't mean they couldn't strike unexpectedly if one of them got hungry. Worse, being drunk might have been enough to make them mistake him for prey. He was a donkey after all, even if his girth spoke of a successful hunter.

Maybe it was best that he occupy himself with a meal before anyone got any funny ideas. He slowly scanned around the room and spotted some succulent choices everywhere. It was a wonder no one was on them yet. There was a mouse boy, a sturdy zebra, and a handsome deer fellow. Too thin, too intimidating, too pointy, in turn. He probably could have handled any of them if he was determined, but he just wasn't in the mood. It wasn't until he laid eyes on that pretty rabbit that he knew exactly who he needed in his belly by the end of the evening. It was almost going to be too easy. He could see that morsel was deep in the booze, knocking them back like it was nothing. What a foolish prey animal he was to get so deeply drunk around so many different people would have delighted in devouring him whole. Easy prey made easier. It wasn't like there were any laws or even any school rules against it. That was just how things went in the natural world. Wilbur would have been on the menu that night too if he hadn't already firmly established himself as someone who did the eating instead. But it never hurt to remind everyone.

He hadn't noticed Casey until he almost walked right into him. That big mean crocodile had a certain reputation even in a school full of various deadly predators. He could be a bully, and he was intensely competitive about his chosen meals. That, and he must have been nearly seven feet tall, with a muscular, hefty frame stacked with extra padding thanks to his various predatory conquests. In short, he really wasn't the kind of guy Wilbur wanted to argue with. Yet something compelled him to keep going, even when it became very apparent that they were making their approach towards the very same prey. Maybe it was his own competitive instinct absolutely refusing to back down, even if it meant going toe to toe with one of the biggest, baddest preds in the whole school. Neither of them backed down, even when it meant surrounding that poor rabbit from both sides. The drunk herbivore didn't manage to get a word in before he found himself sandwiched between two fat guts, both of them grumbling with the desire to put him inside. Realizing they'd come to an impasse, the two predators got in each other's faces, each of them wearing a determined look. That rabbit was just going to have to stay right where he was the entire time, squished to the point of nearly being crushed by those heavy, prey-padded guts while the predators made their cases.

"Saw him first," Wilbur said with a dangerous little grin before Casey could get in a word.

Casey's voice came in such a guttural rumble that it was hard to even tell he was speaking words at first. He barely parted his nasty croc grin to talk.

"Yeah? And what's your point? Don't see how some horse getting in my way is gonna change my mind at all."

Wilbur didn't know if getting his species wrong was meant to be an insult, or if it was a genuine mistake. Either way, he didn't let himself lose his cool. He just folded his arms and puffed his gut out a little.

"Hey, you know well I'm just as much a predator as you are. I'll prove it. Just drop it and go eat someone else."

"Prove it? I doubt that. You're just some leaf-muncher who's high on himself." Casey leaned down even closer, breathing cool air in Wilbur's face. "A rabbit like this deserves a real predator to take him down. He only gets to do it once after all. Bet he'd be awful embarrassed if some fat farm animal got him instead."

That wasn't going to work on him either. Wilbur patted his gut a few times and put on a proud expression.

"Hey, this gut is from all the cute things I've been churning up. Bet you don't have people throwing money at you just to watch you eat. I can hardly blame them. Who wants to watch some slobbery lizard chowing down on someone when they could watch someone with style?"

Wlibur saw Casey's eyes narrowing at that insult. The hulking reptile dropped his voice even lower, to the point the donkey could feel it in his spine.

"Ever see a croc bite through steel? I've got the strongest jaws in town, in the whole damn country. And you talk an awful lot for someone who's in chomping range."

Those two predators were so set on showing each other up, they weren't even paying any attention to their chosen prey anymore. The rabbit waited for them to lock eyes in one of those alpha-male staredowns and then slowly wiggled his way out from between those two fat guts. It took plenty of effort, but somehow, neither Wilbur nor Casey actually noticed. He was a little unsteady on his feet thanks to all the binge drinking, but he managed to hop his way out of there while the two of them were in the middle of their pred-off. Wilbur gradually realized he was trying to out-stare an unblinking reptile, but he didn't let that shake his confidence. He made a little lunge at the croc and stuck his tongue out, delighting in how angry he was obviously making Casey. Only then did he actually notice the lack of presence between those two battling guts. He straightened up and looked off to the side, but it was already far too late. That rabbit had wisely vanished into the crowd, well away from the two predators who'd chosen him. Maybe they could have tracked him down if they were persistent enough, but first they had to let each other know how displeased they were.

"Now look what you've done!" Wilbur complained. "I'd be feasting right now if it wasn't for your lumbering ass getting in the way."

Casey clenched his teeth in a snarl and pointed an accusing finger. "You just made me miss out on a meal. I don't like missing meals."

"I was doing just fine before you decided to just trudge your way over. Everyone knows you don't interrupt a predator while they're eating. It's like, the code" Wilbur grumbled. "God, are all reptiles this dumb or is it just you?"

Rather than let himself be provoked, the croc instead straightened up and spoke in a somewhat calmer tone. "I do whatever I want. I'm the biggest. And now I need a replacement snack for that tasty-looking bunny. What are you going to do about that?"

He jabbed an accusing finger towards the donkey's chest. Wilbur just shrugged.

"Why should I do anything? You're the one who messed everything up."

"Then you're just going to have to make it up to me in a different way," Casey went on. He lost his threatening growl and instead sounded much more focused.

Wilbur was meanwhile defiant. He held his arms out wide and bumped his belly up against the croc's own. "Yeah? What are you gonna do about it? You're just mad because you're too slow and clumsy to be a real pred. Gotta settle for prey that stumbles right into you. I bet you don't even -"

The donkey just kept getting louder and louder while he yelled up at his rival. Yet even he fell completely silent when there was a pair of scaly hands suddenly gripping his shoulders so tightly it felt like his bones might crumble.

"Hey what do you think you're ..." he began, and that was as far as he got.

Casey snatched the mouthy donkey right up off his hooves and didn't waste a single moment stuffing him right between his drooly jaws. A slick slide along the croc's tongue left Wilbur sputtering, shaking his head and trying not to choke on all that excess saliva. That dominant chomp could have been much worse. Apparently Casey had enough jaw control to avoid actually biting his prey while he snapped his mouth shut around the donkey's entire head. Wilbur felt those teeth grazing his skin, like a threat of what could happen if he fought it too much. All he could do was choke and groan and thrash in the powerful grip of the bigger, much stronger predator, but absolutely nothing could prey those scaly fingers from around his form. The best he could do was swing a kick with one of his dangling hooves, but that just made contact with Casey's great green gut beneath his shirt, setting it to wobbling without doing any sort of meaningful damage.

"What the fuck! Stupid reptile, you don't know who you're - mmmf." He got briefly silenced by that wet tongue caressing along his entire face. That hardly slowed his outrage. "You'd better put me down right this second. You're gonna choke on me, dumbass. Get your nasty slimy maw out of my face!"

Casey wasn't exactly in the mood nor the position to talk back. He instead just focused on doing what he did best. That involved lowering his grip to clutch at Wilbur's fine round ass and start really shoving. The grip of his teeth kept his prey right where he needed him to be, and he soon had the donkey's muzzle pointing towards the back of his wet, open gullet. That was what really made Wilbur start thrashing.

"Don't you even fucking think it! I'll choke the life out of you if you even swallow a single inch! Don't think I won't do it!'

It wasn't clear exactly how he intended to do such a thing. When he flailed and punched around, Casey just grabbed him by both wrists and tugged his arms behind his back. The croc's other hand remained cupped beneath his ass, feeding him up between those crooked croc teeth and into the undulating embrace of that humid throat. Wilbur was surprised at how gently it actually squeezed. He was pretty sure his own swallowing muscles were stronger than that overgrown lizard's, but that didn't matter when the predator himself was so damn muscular. Even if his throat didn't do all the work, Casey's constant shoving and forcing ensured his prey smoothly slid down his gullet without pause. Wilbur's world got slowly turned upside down as he plunged facefirst straight down into the darkness, the same way he'd treated so many preythings before. Every time he thought he'd managed to squirm free just a little, Casey just bit down a little tighter, or gripped a little harder, ensuring the plump donkey was completely helpless in the clutches of someone bigger and hungrier. Not that he was ready to admit it. Even exhaustion couldn't make him just settle down and accept the inevitable.

At a party like that, nobody really batted an eye at such a sight. Wilbur blazed with embarrassment to think they might have assumed he was prey just because of his species. Or maybe that wasn't the case - plenty of other predators ended up downing each other over various conflicts, or just to prove a point when things got really rowdy. He didn't care. It wasn't fair somehow. The stupid croc had used dirty tricks to distract him and get that first chomp on him. At least it didn't hurt. He could feel those teeth pressing into some of his soft places, but they never pierced his skin or crushed him. That would have been easy, but the cocky croc seemed set on swallowing him whole. There was no way he was going to manage once he got down to Wilbur's prey-padded stomach. That was exactly what the donkey kept telling himself even as he smoothly descended without a single pause in that extended gobbling gulp. Casey opened up wider and wider to frame his drool-soaked meal between his teeth, occasionally gnawing or kneading just to keep his meal right where he wanted him. The best Wilbur could manage was shouting some more. Muffled in the humid inner flesh of the great rumbling predator, he hardly even heard his own words himself.

"Oh you're going to regret it so damn much if you don't stop right now, reptile. I'm not some dumb prey thing you can fuck with. You're gonna get fucked up for this ..."

In truth, Wilbur didn't really know what he meant by that. Were his fans and subscribers going to swarm Casey when they found out? That seemed unlikely. Was one of the rival pred groups going to berate him for devouring a fellow predator? Definitely not. The rules of nature said whoever got eaten was prey. But he refused. Guess he was just going to have to double up his efforts to fight his way out, if words weren't working. It was getting harder and harder to make any actual sound aside from the usual mmmphing that came with being prey. He hated how it sounded. That was what the rabbit should have been saying right about then. He would have been such a satisfying meal if it wasn't for that clod just muscling in and ruining everything for both of them. Those teeth caressed across his chest and spine, lightly scritching all the way down. It might have been a pleasant sensation if it wasn't for everything else that went along with it. The deeper he delved into those slobbery depths, the hotter, more unbearable it got for Wilbur. The hot scent of digestive acid and previous meals wafted up to hit him in the face and make his eyes wander, turning his kicking slightly more desperate than simply defiant. He never would have admitted he felt a little afraid of how bad it would be for him if he actually made it down to the croc's gut. It wasn't going to happen anyway, he was sure of it. That layer of protective padding packed on after a dozen squirming meals or so ensured he was completely unswallowable. He was sure of it, right up to the moment he wasn't.

It did at least give Casey pause. He couldn't just casually stuff that fat donkey belly in without effort. It took him a few seconds to shift his grip around for more leverage. Some drooly shoving and stretching his jaw around that girthy gut later, and he inched Wilbur slowly in, all the deeper. That involved squishing down on the donkey's middle tightly, really compressing it with his jaws, and this his gullet. Wilbur certainly was one hell of a bulge beneath those jade scales, stretching Casey's gullet out to a swollen, ballooned shape, but not for a moment did it seem to actually bother the croc. No discomfort, no regrets. Wilbur even allowed himself to stop struggling for a few brief moments just out sheer disinheartment. His belly was big, but it was just too squishy to serve as effective protection. His rump didn't stop either. Shoving, even spanking on that fine ass, Casey jammed the bottom-heavy donkey into his throat and tipped those flailing hooves up into the air. From there, he set into the rough, even violent motions of shaking down his prey, proper crocodile style. Wilbur's legs flailed back and forth with the wild movement at first, only to stiffen as he really started struggling. It was his last chance to escape or be devoured, right there at the crowded party, where nobody even cared. They were hardly even watching.

Given just how tall Casey was, turning his meal upside down meant Wilbur's hooves occasionally scraped against the ceiling in the middle of his struggles. That ceased as he descended, until he was up to his knees in croc maw. It was hard to do much struggling from there. He tried wriggling instead, working side to side like a snake just to make it harder for that damn lizard to swallow him. He cussed to himself but none of it came out coherent. Not when his face was so very close to the taut sphincter that was the opening to the croc's messy gut. Casey hadn't even given his prey the kindness of waiting until his belly was fully emptied out before devouring him. Not that Wilbur ever offered his meals any sort of courtesy either. He doubted the croc had been thinking about karmic justice before he ate him. It was just a spur of the moment thing. And with a few more gravity-assisted shakes and swallows, Wilbur slipped past that ring of resistance and into the waiting stomach that churned with juicy anticipation for his presence. It was worse in there than he thought.

The first thing he noticed was the heat. It was absolutely searing, like he was already being cooked just dunking down there headfirst. He couldn't even get his hands out in front of him to protect his face. A splat to the bottom had him immersed in previous meals and tingling acid alike. He could already feel it clinging to his skin, adhering to his hide in a thick layer to damn him to the digestion that awaited him. Not that it was happening yet. His introduction to those fluids was a messy splash that left him panicking for a few seconds, twitching and shivering as he faintly kicked his hooves between Casey's teeth. Drowning seemed somehow worse than being digested, but with enough swallowing he eventually slipped along the bottom of that chamber and escaped to the surface of the chyme that he'd been submerged in. Everything was sloppy, slurping with ungodly noises that overwhelmed his senses to the point of numbing. He meant to fight right to the very last gulp, but for whatever reason he simply found himself giving up when his own ingestion seemed inevitable. The final swallow was an easy one for Casey. All he had to do was shove on the bottom of those hooves and finish off his meal with a long, satisfying ulllp that sent Wilbur on a smooth slide to the very bottom of his scaly belly. A few buttons popped off Casey's shirt as his middle expanded into the grip of both his hands. Such an impressive swell of prey perfect for patting and rubbing with a satisfying croc grin on his face, teeth all interlocked and gleaming with drool.

"Ahhhh ... fuck yeah, heh heh," the croc taunted once his meal settled into place. "You're a hell of a lot more filling than some stupid rabbit. He didn't even make it far, anyway."

It was true. Their argument hadn't exactly saved that sneaky herbivore. All it did was buy him a little time. Not long after he'd crept into the crowd, he'd been spotted by one of his natural predators. By the time Casey finished his meal, that rabbit was nothing more than a pair of paws sticking out of a fox's maw. He watched the other predator finish off his meal, silently judging his technique, and then gave him no more consideration. That rabbit was fox food, and the donkey was all his to tease for as long as it took to digest him. The initial stages were fairly mild. It was just a matter of getting him properly settled in before the real churning started. Enough kneading and he got some of those juices flowing, assaulting Wilbur with some stinging splashes of acids along with the heavy glorps and splorches that ensured he knew he was being digested, one messy gurgle at a time. It was going to take a long time to work over all that meat. He hadn't even started to work on the donkey's fur or hair yet. Those crackling, tingling, sometimes slightly painful sensations danced all over Wilbur's body, keeping him from resting for a moment. He pushed and kicked and even headbutted his surroundings as best he could, but there really just wasn't enough room to get any leverage when he was so tightly caught in the clutches of a hot croc gut.

Wilbur's efforts amounted to something, at least. Maybe not quite what he wanted. Enough movement and he managed to stir up some trouble in that cauldron of a gut in the form of some wild gurgles that bubbled up to the surface of the chyme and slime. It exploded with enough force to briefly stun Wilbur, shooting up the same tunnel that had claimed him. The croc opened wide, held out his arms, and belched out his belligerent roar of triumph for all to hear. It managed to turn a few heads even amid the noise of the crowd and music - and it wasn't the first predatory belch to ring out that evening. Casey gave the bulge of Wilbur a good hard slap and then went trotting over to join up with his crew of crocs, making them six big hungry reptiles in total. They were all sporting fat guts of their own, featuring prey of various sizes, shapes, and species, but Casey's was the biggest of all. He stood among his scaly peers and jutted out his belly proudly, showing off just how much meat he'd managed to gobble down in a single sitting. Competitive though they might have been, the crocs were plenty appreciative of his success.

"Holy shit, nice bro. Looks like you ate a whole fraternity."

"Heh." Casey patted his belly a few times, right on Wilbur's snout. "He's a fat one. But he'll be even better as my fat."

"Hah, fuck yeah. Fatass, uh, ass is gonna look damn good on you. Come on, have a drink to celebrate. Something that'll really make that piggy squirm."

"You mean donkey."

"Whatever, man! Come on! Chug!"

"That, I can do." Casey gave his crew a determined look. "Gimme everything you've got."

Wilbur was never going to be comfortable in there, but he was just starting to get to a state of feeling slightly less awful when the cold shock of fluid came pouring down over his helpless form. The contrast to his surroundings really made him jerk around in there, exactly how Casey wanted him to. An uproarious laugh and cheer came from the croc crew while he kicked around in surprise, then shivered and tried to keep the stuff from getting him in the face. Cheap beer was unpleasant enough going down. It was even worse having it splashed all over him, from his face to his back to his butt. The extra liquid also meant the juices accumulated even higher around him. He wasn't in risk of drowning or anything, but having even more of him simmering away in the tingly stuff wasn't exactly pleasant. Forming a fist, he delivered his protest in the form of a weak punch to the side of those belly walls. Even if he wasn't in the iron stomach of an experienced predator, that blow still wouldn't have done anything to help his situation.

"Hah! Stupid donkey thinks he can get away," mocked one of Casey's fellow crocs.

"Didn't you see the way he strutted in here? Some prey animal thinks he's hot stuff just because he managed to stuff down a few idiots," said another.

"Sounds like you were a fan," Casey teased, getting an immediate scowl from the other croc. "Guess you'll have to find someone else to watch. A real predator. Like me."

The situation was far too dire for Wilbur to be flattered at all that they'd heard of his performances. He must have been the talk of the town, breaking out of his usual role like that. But it didn't mean they were going to show him any mercy. Casey slapped his gut hard enough to briefly stun the donkey inside, and in the process kicked up the activity to overdrive. The bubbles formed and popped all around Wilbur's face, forming right to the top before they burst, releasing all that accumulated air. That meant the gator was rumbling again, that volcanic bellow rising from deep within his donkey-stuffed depths until it erupted from his jaws to pour the scent of beer and prey over anyone within range. The sound moved like a shockwave across the crowd. The other crocs stepped well out of the way just to avoid getting hit by a spatter of spit. Gobs of croc drool flung out from his dripping jaws, and after that, he just wiped his chops with the back of his hand while one of the crew slapped him on the gut.

"Hell yeah. That's why we're the top preds around here. Come on, I know you've still got some room in there. Drown that stupid donkey."

"Drown him? Then he won't squirm for me all night. I wanna feel everything he's got until he's done," Casey said with a grim chuckle. "But hell, I'll take what you've got. Something stronger to really help me wash down that flavour."

Nobody ever outright referred to Casey as the leader of his house, but he was the biggest, the fullest, and the most intimidating. That was enough to make it so he didn't have to wait before he had a beverage in his hand. Some of that cheap, awful vodka would do the trick. He didn't have to hold back. Latching his jaws right onto that bottle, he tipped it straight up and chugged it down totally hands-free, while the crocs hooted and rumbled their approval in the form of some deep, guttural sounds. He polished it off to the last drop and chucked the bottle away with a thrash of his head. It crashed somewhere amid the chaos of the party. A great toothy display went along with his satisfied ahhhh, and from there it was just a matter of leaving Wilbur to stew in cool indulgence. The alcohol poured down over his body, sharply stinging in places where the croc had gnawed him, or where the acids had already made their way down to his skin. Just in case he wasn't already thoroughly coated in the cocktail of booze and digestive slime, the croc reached down to heft the shape of his prey and give him a few bounces up and down, sloshing, splashing, soaking him from head to hooves in that damning mix of juices.

"Hmmmf!" came the donkey's cry as the experience of being slowly digested got worse than he could even bear.

"Heh heh, I think the preybitch is trying to say something ... " came the cruel tone of one of the crocs as he leaned in close and prodded Casey's gut.

"Weird. Meat doesn't talk," another said with a laugh.

"Gonna enjoy churning him right up and adding all that fat to my own. Think that means I get all the prey he's downed?" Casey kept his hand planted on his middle while he talked, slowly kneading in a circle to smear those tingling juices all over the donkey's thigh, where his hand happened to be.

"Eh, he never really got anyone that impressive anyway," said one of the crocs with a shrug.

"Told you he was a fan," another teased, elbowing the first.

"Hey, shut up, just wanted to know about the dumb herby muscling in on our territory. It was research."

"Sounds like nerd shit."

"Boys," came the bassy rumble of Casey's voice. "I think we're forgetting the main point here, and that's that you should all be basking in the glory of me downing that dumb donk. It's gonna start getting real fuckin' nasty in there for him soon. Vodka always gets my gut noisy."

"Fuck yeah, churn that loser ..."

As if right on queue, Wilbur heard the idle churning kick itself up to a frightening degree. It started off with a long, resonant_glurrrrrn_, followed shortly by a rapid-fire blrrrp as the walls really started kneading around him. They felt just short of crushing him, kneading inwards hard enough to squeeze some of the air out of his lungs, leaving him gasping, wheezing, even whimpering. He thumped his fists about again, but couldn't deliver any sort of solid blows. Moving around there probably wasn't a good idea anyway. Every little motion seemed to be enough to make the croc's gut respond with another harsh squeeze, or to pour even more of those stinging acids over his ruined hide. He was really starting to feel it after dwelling down there for so long. Patches of his fur were starting to fall out where those juices sizzled right through, leaving bare patches of skin that soon turned red and raw. Or so Wilbur assumed. He couldn't see a thing down in the darkness of the croc's gut, but he could somehow picture exactly what was happening to him thanks to all those terrible sensations dancing across his body. Enough of his fur accumulated at the bottom of the croc's gut to form heavy clumps, only to get projected right up when he belched again. Another proud urrrrp with his arms spread wide left Casey flinging little pieces of donkey fur across the room to splat down in a pool of spit. The response from the croc crew was as uproarious as if he'd just scored a last minute field goal.

"Fuck yeah! It's good!" one of them shouted, throwing his arms straight up in the air. That had the effect of jiggling his own gut around with the momentum, though his wasn't nearly as stuffed as Casey's. He'd settled for a modest meal who was easy to snap up in a few quick bites, and that was exactly why he wasn't the centre of attention right then.

"Holy shit, you're digesting the fuck out of him," another remarked.

"Well yeah." Casey shrugged. "That's what happens to prey. Doesn't matter if they're a big fat donkey. Nothing survives my gut."

"I know, but ... so fast."

Before that croc could admire Casey's handiwork, another came back with a crate of beers

"Just snagged this off the wolves when they weren't looking. Looks like drinks are on me tonight fellas!"

Things weren't going to get any better in there for Wilbur. As his skin got more and more tender from the slow digestion, he got his wounds cleaned, so to speak, by the cold ones Casey chugged down, one by one. The croc didn't hold back, not when he had something to celebrate about. The splash of cold liquor stung Wilbur's skin and made him cry out a little when it hit a particularly sensitive spot. His clothes were nothing more than sodden rags at the bottom of Casey's belly. A few scraps still clung to his wrists and ankles, but they'd mostly been completely burnt off of him like they were nothing. He was fully exposed to every single churn, every hiss of burning acids. The scent of cheap beer and hard liquor mixed up with the acrid aroma of his own digestion, making Wilbur cough and choke. It felt like he was suffocating, but he managed to gasp just enough air to keep going, for whatever reason. He knew giving up would have probably been his best idea at that point when he was doomed to hours of getting gradually annihilated in the croc's stomach otherwise, but his pride wouldn't let him just be defeated like that. If Casey wanted to digest him, then he was going to have to earn it.

Of course, sheer willpower wasn't going to last Wilbur forever. His body was weakening, slowly but tangibly. He felt every little detail, every awful part of his whole self being processed into crocodile fat, a little bit at a time. It was irritating, gross, and humiliating all in one. Those strokes of admiration Casey gave his prey's exhausted form didn't help. He couldn't hear much of what was going on outside anymore, not with all those sloppy belly noises overtaking everything. His body managed to still hold up. It was just his outermost layers that felt the real effects of the acid so far. Cosmetic damage at most. He could heal that. But he knew that every little layer of him slowly worn away by the constant itchy tingle brought him closer to his final fate of being totally, utterly digested. Even if that ended up taking days. Maybe a whole week if he was stubborn enough - and he was a donkey. A gurgling cry of protest and discomfort alike just caused him to get some of that nasty mixture in his mouth, making him immediately regret trying to make any noise. There was no point anyway. He wasn't getting out. His focus was just going to have to be lasting as long as he could, just out of spite.

"Hah, hear that? Think the little preybitch thinks he's gonna get out if he keeps at it," teased one of the crocs through a slight drunken slur.

The next one was much more intoxicated, swaying as he spoke. "Nothing gets out, heheheh ... nothing does ..."

He sounded almost like he was muttering to himself at that point. One of the more coherent ones swept back in.

"Love when they get all panicky at the end ... when it truly sets in, they're never gonna escape. This is it for them ..."

That one's tone was just short of reverent, as if eating people was some sort of religious experience. A few drinks made everything a little more impressive.

As the party wound down and various guests wandered off to pass out or just sleep off their prey, the croc crew finally started moving again. Wilbur got roused from a semi-conscious state by all the jostling, feeling himself getting splashed in the face as that prey-fattened belly bounced up and down with Casey's lumbering steps. Even he had to be a little drunk after all that. He wobbled back and forth, occasionally colliding with a wall or doorframe. None of that seemed to bother him. If someone got in his way he just shoved them to the side with his hand, or with his actual gut. Wilbur felt the smack of colliding with some hapless fool who didn't give the croc enough space. Getting shaken around like that certainly didn't make things any better for him in there, either. He'd almost got used to the feeling of getting slowly digested, but the agitation reawakened all the tingling and itching, as if it had just restarted itself. There were huge, raw patches over his hide by then. He was increasingly exposed to the worst parts of digestion, ensuring it was only going to get worse for him. He didn't have the kind of energy left to struggle, at least not for the moment. He needed a little rest, a little time to recover, and then he could go back to fighting against his fate and finally convince the croc to spit him out. Hopefully before everything went completely numb. His nervous system was getting overwhelmed by the constant assault, until he found himself missing some of the details of his own churning.

Eventually, Casey made his way back to his dorm and crashed on the huge bed, sagging it right down to the floor with the extra weight. He gave a few last slaps to his gut and one more wet belch, and then that was that. It took no more than a few seconds for him to fall into a deep sleep. Wilbur heard his heart and lungs slow down to slumbery level, or he did once he righted himself again. Having the croc go suddenly horizontal like that meant getting buried beneath all the slime and chyme again, completely submerged until he struggled his way to the surface. Which was harder than it should have been. One of his legs wasn't responding at all. Maybe it had just fallen asleep from being crammed in there in an awkward position for so long. His breathing came shallow. If he didn't pay attention he was going to end up fading right out, and he knew it. The acids danced along his skin, got in his face, gradually ruined his hide to paint him pink all over. Deeper and deeper it ate away at him, the damage far from vital but certainly unpleasant. Just getting stripped of his fur and hair was humiliating enough without knowing how much worse it could be down the line. Sometimes for just a moment, the tingling itch felt more like a burn, painful enough to make him flinch and wriggle in there. It wasn't enough to disturb Casey's slumber. Wilbur hoped he'd get used to it in time, but the constant discomfort, and even occasional agony, amplified by the stifling heat remained unbearable right through the night. He didn't fall asleep with the croc, no matter how weak his body was getting. There was no rest to be had while he was getting digested alive in a sloppy gut.

Somehow, despite the pain, the lack of air, and the constant near-crushing pressure, he was still alive and faintly squirming by the time the croc woke up again. And that wasn't until somewhere in the afternoon, after an indulgence like that. Casey snorted himself awake and shook his head, then gave his gut a few slaps to see how the donkey was doing. The shape of the donkey remained firm beneath the blow, refusing to sink in. His structure remained solid, and maybe he'd been partly asleep himself, because that smack was enough to rouse him back into a fighting state. Maybe it was a burst of adrenaline that fuelled him, but he just kept going, kicking, striking, trying his very best to generate some force despite the lack of room to move. Casey watched those blows bulging out his scales, little bumps forming where Wilbur's fists landed, and he patted them down condescendingly as if playing whack-a-mole. Nothing the donkey did seemed to disturb the croc in the slightest. That didn't mean he stopped, even if feeling the casual kneading and massaging in response was a blow to his morale. It almost seemed like Casey found the struggles pleasant.

"Still alive, huh? Pretty impressive, not gonna lie. Thought you'd be mush by now. Guess all that prey-fat makes you pretty durable." He slapped Wilbur right on the ass, or the general vicinity of where it used to be. "Still ain't gonna matter. You're all mine, fatty. Enjoy your stay while you still can."

He stretched his arms out and slowly got himself up. His first step by the side of his bed was a clumsy one, but he found his balance and bounced his prey up and down as he made his way over to the bathroom. After a night like that one, he could skip breakfast. Wilbur was enough to satisfy even his massive appetite for the day, and maybe longer if he kept taking so damn long to actually digest. All he cared about was brushing his many teeth and getting a hot shower. The steaming stream warmed the chamber of his gut ever so slightly. He wasn't even paying attention to Wilbur anymore. The donkey struggled on, still very much alive, fighting against the natural process working all around him even as fatigue crept into his muscles and made them ache. Casey didn't need to bother concerning himself with nutrients-in-denial. That donkey was just going to take time, even if he was a little annoyed at hefting him around all the time. A strong croc like him didn't mind that much. The donkey kept on squirming while he stopped to catch his breath. Which wasn't exactly easy inside a chamber that felt more like an oven or a furnace, full of caustic air. How he longed for just one deep breath of fresh air, but it wasn't to be. He swallowed nothing but the tainted atmosphere of Casey's belly with every heaving puff. It was getting hard to think. He was so angry, so embarrassed, and beneath it all, admittedly frightened too. Even if he still wasn't convinced it was truly going to happen. No way would that croc really be able to digest him, Wilbur thought, while being digested. Any moment now and Casey had to realize his error and spit him out. Then they could never speak of it again. That hope was what kept Wilbur's consciousness from flickering when he started feeling a little faint throughout the croc's day.

He hardly blended right in even beneath all that scale-covered fat. A bulge like that was impossible to hide with Casey's usual clothing, so as he stepped out of the shower and got himself dressed, he just decided to leave his top totally unbuttoned and let his gut stick out all day long. What was anyone going to do about it? Casey might not have had room for more, but that didn't mean anyone felt the need to point out his fashion choices as he hit up his classes and joined back up with his crew in the commons between academic buildings. A woop rose through them when they saw how solid the donkey still was after a night spent digesting. The pokes and prods came almost immediately.

"Hollllly shit, he's not even gone limp yet. You ever had anyone survive a night in your gut before?" one of them asked.

Casey shrugged. "Maybe. Don't give it much attention. Probably not."

"Yeah, I doubt it. We crocs got the juices," one of them boasted, as if he needed to prove something to whoever might have overheard.

All the touching made Casey's walls press in on the places where Wilbur was particularly tender, right over those big red patches, turning the tingle to that more painful burn for as long as the other crocs had their hands on him. He snorted out then gave a bray of protest, followed by his best cries.

"Fuck you, lizards! I hope you all get skinned for your hides!"

That just made them all laugh. One of them slapped Wilbur right on the face.

"Hah! Got a mouth on him. Don't worry. I'm sure you'll choke that fight out of him soon enough."

"Hope so. Chubby boy's a pain to heft around," Casey rumbled. "Tasty though."

Right on queue, he summoned up a big belch, and made sure that the whole courtyard heard it. As if they didn't already know he was a predator.

No one was even going to know who Casey was digesting over the coming days. Wilbur's bulky body that he'd worked so hard to build was hidden beneath the fat of a naturally gifted, bigger, stronger predator. It wasn't fair. Casey didn't even have to try to be a predator. Wilbur's fate was to pad out the croc's fat form along with all the other meals he'd eaten, like nothing more than a common prey animal. It wasn't supposed to end like that, especially after he'd put in such effort building up his skills, his appetite, and his waistline, but that was what he got for crossing a hungry crocodile with a short temper. It was hard to know exactly what Casey was doing at any particular point in the day, but Wilbur jiggled along with him, every single step. Sloshing, glorping, churning, he was ever so slowly absorbed and claimed over hours, turned to days. It slowly devolved into a blur. He couldn't keep track anymore. Now and then he still managed to put in some struggles, especially when the croc reached down to stroke and grope him, but it came mostly by instinct than anything else. He was doomed to a long, slow digestion, all throughout the rest of the remaining week. And he was going to be alive and very much conscious and feeling it for most of it, even once it got much worse in the coming days.

A Monday to Friday process of absorbing a plump donkey was enough to ensure Casey took plenty of naps, but that was normal croc behaviour anyway. He basked in the sun that Wilbur would never see again and took it easy while he made that donkey part of him. Some of Wilbur would end up going to the croc's powerful bulk to help pad out those muscles and make him even stronger, even more dangerous than ever. Biceps, thighs, and everything else, it was all fair game for that excess energy. The rest though, most of the donkey was just going to end up making the croc fat all over. Another prey-thing down. Another contribution to the massive barrel of his belly. Another dozen pounds or so packed onto his hulking, imposing frame. Another meal like all the others before him.