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Vore – Unbirth

Redscale101

Mara took in a breath, sighed it slowly out, and then reached her arms over head, letting the fingers of the steady wind run their way over her bared skin, completely naked from head to toe. Occasionally a few strands of her hair hanging down along her back tickled at her skin and sent a shiver bouncing through her body, but other than that the day was pleasant, with nothing but the sound of trees, nature, and the little waves on the lake all around her. She resisted the urge to look back at where she had left her clothing, over next to the foot of the rock upon which she stood, then took a few little half-steps forward along the warm, smooth surface.

Down below the lake gently stirred, water a rich, deep blue down to a certain depth. An entire week to herself out here on her cousin's property, with nobody else to bother her within miles – so who cared if she stripped naked and strode through the woods, or lounged out on the shore, or went about her daily business like that? Sure, it was quite annoying and not worth the trouble more often than not, but it still felt good to be closer to nature like this. The wind on her skin and in her hair, the tingle of the changing temperature over her body, even the tickle of hanging vines, reaching leaves, and little bugs, all just did something for her.

Then there was the little bit of arousal and pleasure that came from the idea too, of course. She smirked as she held her hands together, braced herself against the edge of the rock, then leapt off, smoothly guiding herself into a dive down towards the surface of the water. The soft chill rushed up and enclosed her in its grasp, washing away all thoughts of the world outside as she plunged further into the depths, tiny impressions of plants and fish brushing along her skin as she went. Each one of those touches sent a little chill of primal fear through her system, but Mara had done this enough times to ignore most of it.

Able to feel the pressure in the water shifting around her the deeper she went, she kicked her legs behind her and moved her arms to adjust her angle and direct herself up towards the surface again. Eyes still closed, lungs filled with that mouthful of air that now felt like much more than it had a moment ago, she felt the slight change in color against her eyelids as the sunlight began to pierce through the water again… but then felt herself dragged steadily down beneath the surface, against the motion of her kicking.

Immediately her eyes flashed open and she looked down, squinting against all the particles and bits in the water, to try to see what was happening. A tentacle, or a ribbon of seaweed, or something, had clasped around her ankle and drew her down in bursts, pulling her closer towards a huge, rounded object that rested down along the bed of the lake. Clouds of silt swirled up around the thing obscuring most of it, but her heart thumped in her chest and anticipation blossomed into fear when she saw one huge eye, glittering in the light that just barely made its way to this depth. It rolled and followed her, and Mara realized with a shock that this tentacle, this appendage, was coming from the thing itself, pulling her closer and closer to a thick, fleshy slit along its revealed underside.

Again and again she tried to swim away, but there was nothing she could do against it. Two, three more tentacles squeezed and pushed at her hips, her chest, her shoulders, first pulling and then pushing her into that slit. The distinct, undeniable sensation of wet, slick flesh started to slip up around her, squeezing and sucking at her feet, her ankles, her legs – but the thing wasn't eating her. Not in the standard sense, at least: with her body nearly halfway subsumed into it she scrabbled out at the lakebed, trying to find purchase within the slimy, silty bottom, and saw out of the corner of her eye as the thing, the beast, turned its dolphin-like head to look at her, all the way at the other end of its body.

It turned itself a little bit, swinging Mara through the water. Her lungs and throat started to burn with pressure and lost breath, but still it slurped her deeper inside of itself, wet walls of flesh slipping up along her skin, smearing her with sticky slime that seemed to coat her more thoroughly than the sunscreen she made sure to put on every morning. Cheeks bulging with her last vestiges of air, Mara reached out into the water, up towards the shimmer of sunlight on the distant surface while this thick, swampy heat wrapped around her –

-and then sucked and sealed her deep, pulling her back into a warm, writing, wet mass of pillowy flesh and overlapping internal wrinkles. To her surprise she could actually breathe inside the thing, though each inhalation heavily carried the stinging, musky aroma of fish meat and who knew whatever else, thick ropes of mucus and sticky wetness hanging down throughout the space that she established inside of it. Hidden rings of muscle squeezed and pulsed around her, these silken, meaty walls wrapping her snug within their folds, while those tentacles remained around her.

One held each of her arms up and away from her body, pressing up beneath her shoulder so that she was constantly squirming and tickling. One had coursed down underneath her breasts and now curled against her throat, more holding her in place than squeezing down; one coiled around her upper thigh, squishing into the soft flesh beneath her skin, then teased up between her legs while another coaxed her into spreading them. Mara gasped, tasted that stale, sour again, then gritted her teeth and shivered as the tentacle plunged up into her, sinking slowly into her loins.

Her leg kicked, then did so again. A faint, distant tingling began rippling out throughout her loins, then started to quickly grow warmer and warmer. The tentacle was pumping something into her, more forcefully the deeper it pushed.

This certainly wasn't how she had expected her vacation to go. Mara squirmed again, found herself stuck, and turned her face to press it into the warm, wet walls around her. She would just have to ride this one out.

Rimming

Anonymous

Nick grunted and lurched with each thrust from the wolf behind him, hips rubbing up against his own and pushing him forward across the couch. He gritted his teeth and winced under the pressure of that treatment, his own full arousal twitching and oozing off the side of the table underneath him; he thought he might have already hit his peak about fifteen thrusts ago, but it had been so hard to tell with everything else going on, and it wasn't like he could turn and look as the other wolf in front of him kept his muzzle forward, a large paw caressing the underside of the fox's chin.

Every time he managed to open his eyes again and look up he saw that same sleek white muzzle, brown eyes hooded with indulgent pleasure – and Nick's nose twitched and sizzled with the sharp bite of lupine musk and arousal, practically oozing from the still hard, red-veined shaft that bounced and bobbed before his smaller muzzle. Still he could feel the slickness of this one's load every time he swallowed, and felt its heat bubbling in his belly – while the other one pounding away at his tail tossed his head back, grunted, and just barely suppressed another howl as, this time, his swollen knot finally managed to pop free from the fox's stretched tailhole.

Nick's jaw clenched and teeth gritted at that sensation, his used and abused muscles straining to reflexively clench back around the mass that was no longer there. Gary and Larry, these two, a chance encounter through a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend – or at least, that was the story Nick gave to anyone who asked – following some rather unfortunate business under their previous employer some time back; over time their arrangements had gradually shifted from business to personal, and now often resulted in situations like this with one fox bent and squished between each of the two wolves, filling him up on each side with more meat than he could eat during holiday dinners.

More often than not Hopps came along too. Hindlegs shaking, innards feeling as though they had been filled like a water balloon, Nick lifted his head and looked to the side, making sure to nuzzle along Gary's length as he did so. Hopefully she had remembered to actually start the recording this time. The fox looked back up to the white wolf before him, Gary now leaning back with his eyes closed and muzzle open; taking that as a sign, Nick smirked, rolled his eyes, and resumed dragging his tongue gently along the underside and tip of the wolf's shaft, lapping off the last few drops and spurts that continued to spray out of him.

That was another thing about wolves, he had found: they just didn't know when to stop. He could have sworn that Larry behind him had finished about the same time he had, knot burying past the rim of his tailhole, swelling up, and tying tight there, but still he had continued pulsing his hips, grunting and groaning and growling in that way he did. A warm, sticky slickness oozed down along the back of his sack; the other wolf circled his thumbs in around that spot, at once sending a shiver up the fox's back and making him look back over his shoulder again.

“Hey," Nick said, surprised by the effort it took to speak. “We've been – over this before. Try it before you buy it. So what'll it be? Am I – staying here with you two tonight?"

“What're you talking about?" Larry, fur grey and eyes blue, glanced up at him. Now his thumbs came back up to sink easily into Nick's tailhole and spread it open, the muscles yielding quite easily to the touch. “I still haven't tasted it yet."

“Lar, you-"

That broad muzzle scrunched up underneath Nick's tail, and eradicated all thoughts from his head. Broad, flat tongue working and flicking deeper inside of him than he thought it could reach, scraping out along his inner walls, slurping and swirling, lupine lips sealed to his stretched rim and sucking. Nick felt his eyes roll up with the sensation of this treatment, his muzzle falling forward and everything else around him disappearing for those few moments while Larry feasted beneath his tail, one paw gripping one of the fox's legs while the other kept his tail hoisted up.

Then as quickly as he had dived in did he pull back, leaving Nick panting and shivering, his free footpaw kicking with pleasure. Dazed and disappointed he looked back over his shoulder, halfway into a complaint, only to see Larry leaning forward over him. Nick's reservation faded again as he expected that lupine length to sink right back up into him again, slickened by saliva, but instead Larry let it nestle up alongside the base of his tail and kept on coming.

The two wolves shared a glance and a look between them, just barely out of Nick's field of vision. Gary released the fox's muzzle for Larry to lean in over his much smaller frame, sliding his fingers along his throat and tilting him up and back; seeing what he was going for, the vulpine smiled and closed his eyes in preparation for the kiss, then sure enough felt lips meet lips, warm and soft and just a little bit wet.

Then, though, the wolf's broad tongue started to curl into his mouth. This wasn't unusual on its own, but it was the texture of it that caught him off-guard, slick and slimy, coated in what Nick quickly, easily recognized as the very same thing of which he had just gulped down some seven mouthfuls just a few minutes ago. His eyes flashed back open, he squirmed with Larry's paw tightening along his jaw to hold him in place, and the wolf's bloated cheeks stirred, then moved as he emptied his mouth into Nick's – and shared his recycled load, first emptied under his tail and then sucked right back out, so that Nick had no choice but to drink it back down, his tongue dancing over Larry's while they both indulged in that finish.

When Larry pulled back once more, thick ropes of milky white hung between his lips and Nick's, soon dripping down to break across his muzzle. He rumbled in his throat, licked his chops, then swallowed, then had to do so again for the slick thickness of the stuck clinging there.

Still leaning over him, Larry gave a few more grinds up against Nick's rump, pushing the fox back up into his companion's groin. “So," Nick managed, “final verdict?"

“Tastes fine to me – but I think Gary would like a turn, too, wouldn't you?"

Feral

Peegus

The feral lynx kept his nose down close to the earth as he prowled, wide paws nearly soundless over the blanket of snow beneath them. He had caught quite an interesting scent a short ways back and had managed to track it over here, tall ears forward, eyes focused, nose twitching in rapt attention, but right around this tree things became a little bit fuddled. He padded up, sniffed again, drew back, then looked around to see if there were any signs nearby that could point him back on the trail.

As it turned out he found a set of tracks coming in from over the next hill, then disappearing around the far side of the trunk. Revitalized, his ears perking back and little nub-tail giving a flick of appreciation, the feral continued forward to follow the trail, trying his best to place his paws directly into the prints there in the snow so that he wouldn't lose them again. No longer was he sniffing at the ground, as the mixed scents in the air could serve only to distract him: he followed the tracks around to the other side of the trunk, then kept on going as they curved around… and around… and around… and then after some time he realized that he had just replaced the trail with his own, and had been following that for the past four circuits around the trunk.

So the lynx stopped again, huffed, and moved to plop himself down in the snow, only to then pick up a stronger, sharper version of that same scent. His ears flicked back, his whiskers came forward, his eyes dilated, and he crouched down, easily tracing it to the front side of the tree again; he wiggled his backside to build up that elastic energy, pressed himself in, then leapt forward –

-and bumped muzzle-first into the presented backside of a taller, broader creature, which jumped and let out a yelp of surprise at the contact of cold nose against warm, sensitive, puckered flesh. The lynx stumbled forward and fell against his poofy chest, then managed to open his eyes a second later and looked up to see that it was a white-furred coyote who stood here in front of him, one forepaw raised like his tail, blue eyes looking back over his shoulder.

What a contrast that was: eyes the color of the brisk midday sky over fur as clean as the snow field around them, burning back towards that wrinkled pucker of simmering pink. As the lynx watched it twitched and pulsed, folds of skin tugging up against itself while the other male – for male he was: down beneath that tailhole hung a plump, full sack, coated mostly in the same thick white fur – looked right back at him. Then, slowly, the coyote turned himself sideways, bringing into view his sheath jiggling down beneath his belly as well. He tilted his head, blinked, twitched his nose as he sniffed at the lynx watching him… and then he turned to face the feline fully, stepped forward – the lynx tried to scramble back – and plopped himself down again.

The lynx felt his muzzle squish down between soft snow and a softer rump, the humid heat burning down through his fur. Those hefty orbs rested down across his short snout as well, effectively blocking his vision; he could feel them bounce and jiggle as he tried to free himself, one of the coyote's forepaws planting itself down near the base of his little tail to keep him off balance. So he tugged, and squirmed, and tried to pull himself free, only succeeding in driving himself deeper down into the snow as it melted around him into curling coyote-scented steam, musk straight from the source sizzling up into his sensitive nostrils.

Were it not for the paw on his rear he might have thought that the other feral hadn't even notice. While he struggled the coyote leaned forward over him, brought his other forepaw up as well, and now moved both of them to the lynx's bared rump, muzzle easily coming in over his tail as it did embarrassingly little to protect his backside.

The lynx froze under the sensation of humid breath puffing out over his fur, then again, and again. He swallowed, licked his chops in annoyance, and tried to tug himself again, this time feeling the wrinkles of the lupine's tailhole brushing across his nose and those balls shifting over his eyes – and then he jumped as the breath strengthened, then turned from humidity to full-on dampness, as the other male's broad tongue flicked out and down across his own tailhole.

It surprised him, and surprised him again that it was so smooth, so sleek, so distinctly lacking the ragged and jagged touch of his own tongue. In short, it felt so much better: the lynx paused in his squirming and let the coyote work there for a while, tongue repeatedly flicking out across his pucker, pressing in against it, dragging down, and then zipping back up into his maw, each time pushing a little bit firmer, a little bit deeper. His muzzle scrunched up and he took a slower, deeper breath of the coyote's musk as it seeped down and around him, those balls shifting atop his muzzle in the changing temperature here underneath his body; at the same time the lynx widened his stance and pushed his rump up and back for ease of access, though tried not to make it too terribly obvious.

It seemed he failed, though. All of a sudden that weight, warmth, and scent disappeared from his muzzle, leaving him sprawled facedown in a puddle of half-melted snow with his nose and whiskers twitching and tufted backside in the air. Surprised and more than a little bit disappointed, he popped up, looked to one side, then looked to the other – and this time felt that tongue dig in under his tail from face-on, the coyote's muzzle fitting quite nicely with nose to tail.

The lynx felt himself pushed gradually forward beneath the urgency of those licks, each one working to drive him right back down to the ground. He closed his eyes, licked his chops again, shivered, raised his little tail, dropped down… then felt the shadows fall across his eyes as the coyote got into place above him. The lynx opened them right back up and looked up to see that muzzle pointed down to him; then a moment later he felt a twitch, twitch of firm wet heat against his saliva-slickened pucker.

He wiggled himself down a little bit further, then started to push back. At least the prey had been found.

Lactation

Peegus

Kopa ran his paws up along the serval's hips, letting his claws drag through the short, thick fur there dusted with a fine sheen of sand from the desert winds. In his grasp she giggled, shuddered, then sighed and rolled her head to the side, his lips and fangs pulling gently over her neck.

“And here I thought-" She gasped again, tail lashing around his upper thigh to pull the leopard more firmly in against herself. “-thought you'd be gone for at least another week..."

“Spoils this time," he went on, deliberately maintaining that low growl in his voice, “were quite rewarding. And so, too, is my return."

He worked with one of the merchant groups that ran their route into the jungle across the other side of the sea of sand, specifically seeking and importing herbs and spices the likes of which could only be found there. A great effort spread between adventurers, soldiers, hunters, craftsmen, and others alike, the group had only recently begun to spread its grasp out to the other reaches of the desert as well, often delaying and minimizing the time that Kopa had to return here.

To help with this he just told himself that it made his trips home that much sweeter. Sometimes literally: Mo here, the serval squirming and giggling beneath his grasp and his little kisses as they trailed down her neck to her collar bone, knew his tastes and would often prowl the markets for little treats that he might like. He would bring her back incense freshly dipped and rolled by that lovely cheetess who rode with the caravan, loosely wrapped in waxed paper that still wasn't enough to keep the fresh oils from bleeding through, and then his paws would smell of the stuff for days after. Sometimes he would keep a few of the sticks for himself and burn them out of his belt or one of the other fasteners on his clothing during the travels, just so he could remain wrapped in one of the scents that reminded him so much of her.

Then other times his returns were sweet in a different way. Mo shifted her head to the other side again and flicked her tongue out over her chops, bright eyes flashing up and around to see if there might be anyone nearby. The sounds of the market square burbled all around them, a far cry from the still, calm silence within the library just on the other side of this sandstone brick wall. As Kopa drew his nose down through Mo's fur he could smell some of that incense on her, the little strands of haze sticking to her fur, accentuating her own natural scent; his eyes met hers and they shared a little look, and then he went down a little bit further, fingers curving in beneath the folds of thin cloth that draped down over her chest.

Mo giggled again, a little bit of familiar nervousness burning through from underneath. Once more she looked from side to side down the alley – Kopa had surprised her in the library as usual, and then also as usual she had taken him down the aisles and around to the rear exit of the building, each of them stealing their little kisses and gropes along the way – then brought her own paws up as well, smaller and sleeker serval's compared to the leopard's, and slid her shirt open across her chest.

Kopa licked his lips, an appreciative rumble stirring in his throat. Mo tilted her head up and away, likely in an attempt to hide her growing embarrassment; the leopard waited until her eyes met his again before he started to lean back in, continuing his little trail of kisses down across the smooth, soft curve. Fur and flesh squished gently beneath his touches, warm and dense and supple; that fur straightened and thinned out, then gave way to smooth skin which then pursed up in slight, soft texture, circling around, poking up along her nipple.

A little bit swollen, it seemed. Kopa had a bit of an idea why. Half-crouching a bit awkwardly, he kept one paw there along her breast, forefinger and thumb spread around her nipple, while the other rested at the serval's waist. He tilted his head and leaned in, first letting his tongue dance gently around the nub of flesh, then closing his lips gently around the whole thing; he closed his eyes, swallowed, and continued swirling, teasing it into firmness, drawing it full and heavy onto his tongue.

Firm and tight indeed, warm, hot. He swallowed again, adjusted his angle, then began to press his paw into the front of her breast, squeezing her up towards his maw; the serval shivered again and gasped, now bringing one of her own up to heft herself from underneath. Kopa tightened his lips, squeezed, pulled, then sank in a little bit further, and after a moment felt the first trickles of thick liquid warmth ooze down onto his tongue.

His sweet return. A little bit savory, a little bit bitter, a little bit sour, not unlike fresh buttermilk. Warm from the source, little trickles strengthening into squirts and sprays as he tightened his jaw and sucked away at her, drawing it from inside until it swirled around his tongue and dripped down out of the corners of his mouth; Mo shuddered, muscles in her body tightening, and moved her paw to the back of his to pull him in closer against her.

Many times before had the leopard lurched in against her, from above or behind or underneath, and wrapped his paws around her chest to squeeze and rub and massage. This time there was a certain firmness hidden beneath the surface, something that he could wrap his fingers around and pull, and the serval would gasp and sigh and squirt again across the roof of his mouth and his tongue, filling his senses with the high, rich taste. This wasn't the first time this had happened, and Kopa liked to imagine it wouldn't be the last, either.

After getting another mouthful of rich, fresh milk he pulled back, swallowed, and sighed, mouth still coated with its clinging slickness. More trickles of white dribbled out from all across and around her nipple, catching along her fur where it went; still half-crouching, Kopa drew his tongue up along the swollen flesh, careful not to catch her too tightly with his sandpaper tongue, then leaned in towards her muzzle…

…and stopped when she placed a finger against his mouth. He opened his eyes.

“No. Smelly."

“What? It's yours." He flicked his tongue over his lips. “I've put worse in your mouth."

Mo rolled her eyes, sighed, and then moved to meet him in that kiss, her arms coming up to drape around his shoulders. Kopa purred, tail lashing behind him – and felt the slick heat start to seep through his own fur where their chests met.

Rimming

North

Remi shifted his weight from his knees to his paws, trying to reduce the discomfort of the concrete as it scraped against him where he knelt. Just how he had ended up in this position and situation he wasn't quite sure, but the fact of the matter was, he was here now and he saw little he could do about that, here being, of course, in the back alley behind his apartment building, completely naked save for the collar affixed around his neck, tugged forward along a short leash.

And just who – or rather, what – it was pulling the other end of that leash but the feral dog he had intended to put it on. It had been such a simple thing, his friend coming over and asking him to watch his dog for the weekend, laying out his preferred food and walk schedule, all of that, then leaving him with his things; and then hardly two and a half hours later, as the Doberman moved to take the feral rottweiler out…

Another tug to the leash pulled him forward again, forcing him to crawl closer to the other canine's presented backside. Remi swallowed once more and looked straight forward at what he knew was his intended target, the feral's puckered tailhole showing bright and full beneath his hoisted tail, sleek and prim, curled at the end. Rich, glossy black fur all flowed down in along his haunches where it gave way to the expected chocolate-brown, then this too curled away around that ring of tight wrinkles, rhythmically pulsing and tightening up, again and again. He just couldn't look away, and knew from the look on the feral's face that he wasn't expected to.

Another tug on the leash pulled him even closer, the rottweiler turning his head up and to the side as he did so. “Come on," the feral growled around the thick material, “you heard my owner. Don't keep me waiting. You don't want me to get – uppity."

_ _

Remi whimpered a little bit with this last tug, head and chest lifting up as the distance between his front and the feral's backside finally closed. This close he could feel the humid heat emanating from that twitching tailhole, and though he tried his best to pull against the leash and regain control, the sleek Doberman just wasn't as strong as this stout, formidable rottweiler. One paw remained on the cement underneath him – he was fully aware that anyone passing by around the building would be able to see his own bared rump – while the other came up and braced against the dog's haunch for balance.

“See? That's a start." Words a little muffled, the feral shifted his stance and dropped his hind end a little bit, causing his hanging sack to bounce and jiggle underneath him. Remi looked down there, over the spot where thin fur gave way to warm wrinkled skin, then again back up to the puckered tailhole which seemed to come closer and closer to him. “So then keep on going. You thought you'd be taking care of me for the weekend, so – get to it. Take care of me." The tail lifted up again, shifting the upper rim of the tailhole with it. “Get a good whiff and taste. You'll come to learn every inch of me, inside and out, before this weekend is done."

There was nothing he could do against it, and Remi realized it. The Doberman swallowed yet again, licked his lips, grimaced, then grunted as another yank pulled him forward, leash curving up over the dog's rump – and this time felt his muzzle squish right in against those overlapping wrinkles of supple flesh, soft to the touch, a little bit dry around the edge, but with a distinct clinging moisture down in the center.

Already not wanting to disobey the feral's commands, Remi gulped, squeezed his eyes shut, then dug his nose right up into that pucker, waiting until he felt the slickness of the wrinkled skin pulling apart over his flesh before he drew in a slow, steady breath, drawing the dog's musk into his throat and lungs. High and dry, hardly noticeable but barely there; it made him shudder and squirm where he knelt, yet at the same time instilled a certain stir down in his own loins, just piling up with the humiliation of finding himself in this situation in the first place. He held that breath, licked his lips – which caught the back of the dog's hanging sack, again bouncing and jiggling against his chin – then let it out through his mouth, then sniffed again, and jumped when the feral spoke again.

“That's what I thought. Look at that; you're wagging. But you're not done yet – I told you, get a taste. I won't tell you again."

Yes, sir, Remi thought, tilting his muzzle up the inch and a half to do as told. He pursed his lips and pressed them forward into that pucker, another shudder running through his body when he felt the feral clench and tighten, then push out to make his tailhole press right back against his mouth in that kiss. The thought of it nearly turned his stomach, but the thought of going against someone who already held so much physical sway as well as mental pushed him right on through that nervous barrier, and before he could stop himself or put a second thought into what he was doing, the Doberman had let his tongue curl out to then drag up and over that puckered tailhole, then again, and again.

Each time he did so his tongue came back a little bit warmer, a little bit slicker, and the ring of muscle pursed against his lips loosened a little further. The feral loosened the tension through his leash, then tightened it again to pull him back in; Remi closed his eyes, the fur of the dog's tail tickling at his nose, and wriggled his tongue in along those wrinkles, pushing further, deeper… until the taste of that warm musk bloomed out, brightening and thickening as his tongue finally folded in past that outer rim and curled along interior flesh instead.

“Good," the dog growled, now looking back at Remi over his shoulder. “Keep on going. We're just getting started."