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His name was Jemiah and he was a thief. A burglar, a mugger, call him what you will. He travelled around the Wild Coast with caravans, claiming to be on his way to visit a made-up relative in a distant town. Travelling as a caravan guard meant he might have to fight and saying he was a tradesman meant he might have to actually work, so he was always “just on his way somewhere.” He spent as little money as possible and looked for his next easy mark. Tonight he thought he'd found one.

For some reason that escaped Jemiah the place was called Three Points. He got there on a wagon but expected to leave on foot, pouch full of loot. He'd wait for another caravan to pass by and claim to be a rider whose horse died on the trail. A small bribe to the caravan master and he'd be on his way. It took careful selection of targets in places dangerous enough for caravans but not so dangerous he couldn't disappear into the woods, but it had worked many times at different caravan stops.

Three Points was a small town. Not even a town, really. Just a tiny caravansary with lookout posts for guards above the walled wagon and draft animal enclosure. In the caravansary there was a blacksmith, a couple of kiosks for travelling merchants to set up temporary sales booths, and a corner where local farmers sold vegetables during the day. It was a self contained little operation and easily defended. There was even a little kitchen so travellers could prepare their meals, and a common room to sleep.

What made the "town" stand out was that across the road and outside the walls was a two-story inn called Shorty's. It is pretty unusual to find a business outside caravansary walls this far from civilization. The inn's selling point seemed to be that it was the only place around here that had running water. "Indoor plumbing," it said at the bottom of the hanging sign outside the door. "Hot baths." Which to be fair, was also pretty unusual this far from civilization.

One robber is not much of a threat to a crowd. Not an armed crowd, anyway, and people who travel in areas that need a caravansary tend to be armed. That was why Jemiah waited until the caravan travellers and guards bedded down for the night and the inn was about to close before poking his nose in. He'd be in and out before anyone woke up.

He was in luck. No customers were in view, and even the cook and manager, or whatever combination the inn had, were not in sight. There was just two small waitresses tidying up.

One of them was a praka raccoon-lady, chubby and buxom and small even by that race's standards. With white whiskers, a ringed tail, fur all over (or he assumed, every part of her he could see around her smock was furry) and a raccoon's face she was very cute and not threatening at all. Maybe if she topped four feet, but she didn't.

The other waitress was even shorter and he wasn't sure what he was looking at. She too was furry, with a naked pink tail, clawed pink hands and feet (neither she nor the raccoon wore shoes), grey-white fur and naked purple ears. Jemiah realized she was a more or less anthropomorphic opossum.

He'd never heard of possum-people. Probably the work of some crazy wizard. The so-called Maker alone was responsible for at least three animal people races, people said the Khardaki were made by some wizardress who liked lions a little too much, and he'd even heard of otter people. He wasn't sure why anyone would make opossum people but the "crazy wizard" stereotype existed for a reason.

It was as unusual to find two uncommon humanoids working in an inn as it was to find an inn all the way out here. Luckily, Jemiah was a broad-minded thief. He'd steal from anyone.

One of the opossum girl's purple ears flicked and she turned to look at him. "Oh, sorry, sir," she said, her voice a low purr, "I'm afraid all our rooms are full. We do have some stew and bread left, and ale, but you'll have to sleep across the street in the common room."

"Well, I'd heard there's always a spot to sleep here, if I don't mind company," Jemiah said.

He hadn't heard that, but at a lot of inns the waitresses - and sometimes the waiters - supplemented their income by tending to lonely travellers.

The raccoon lady leaned on her broom and smiled. She had a very nice smile accentuated by the way her ears tilted and her eyes squinched up. She looked at the opossum and nodded to give her friend the first shot.

The opossum lady wasn't as cute. She had a naked pink nose, whiteless black eyes, and an awful lot of sharp teeth, some of which hung out when she smiled. They hung out now. "Oh, I'm sure I could find room in my chamber for a handsome traveller The rates are higher than the other rooms, though."

Jemiah didn't want to spend the night with either, not being into small furry ladies, and especially not with a freakish little opossum-woman. They thought he did, though, and that let him get close enough to grab her.

She was just as plump as her raccoon friend, and just as well endowed in the chest area, but she was two feet shorter than Jemiah and he spun her around and put his dagger to her cheek. He was careful to keep his wrist up under her muzzle so she couldn't bite him.

"Quiet," he said to the raccoon waitress. "Keep this simple. Give me the evening's till and I'll be on my way, no harm done."

"Oh, sir," the raccoon said in a tone of quiet disappointment. "I"m afraid the room rates go up very high if you behave like that."

Despite her tone, she was still smiling, and the opossum he had pulled in against his hip was relaxed even with a dagger at her throat.

Jemiah wasn't going to be bluffed. He shot a look around the room to make sure he hadn't missed anyone who might get in the way, then he slashed the opossum's cheek to show he wasn't kidding.

It was when the razor-sharp tip of his dagger glided over the opossum's fur without drawing blood that he knew something was very wrong. He cursed and tried again. The animal-woman's fur dimpled inward as the blade slid along, but sprang right back into shape. With a sudden movement she had his wrist in both hands, twisted, and threw him over her shoulder.

Shit, she was strong! Jemiah slammed into the plank floor - she still had his wrist and wasn't letting go - and as he tried to wrench free so he could run, the raccoon dropped her broom and stepped forward.

"Sorry sir," she purred as she picked up a heavy bronze spittoon. "You paid for the room already, now you have to stay."

She too was a lot stronger than she ought to be. With his wrist still gripped by the opossum there was no dodging the spittoon when she swung it at his head.

Jemiah blinked back into consciousness and realized he was in trouble. His hands were bound behind his back and his ankles were tied together just as firmly. He played possum for a moment, for the two little women were talking.

"You didn't have to hit him that hard, Ria," said the possum. She was standing next to Jemiah where he was stretched out on the floor. He felt her check the bindings on his wrists.

"Yes I did," chittered the raccoon. "He might have gotten away if I didn't knock him out."

"Just as well," said a third voice. This voice was male and came from higher up than either of the stocky little furries. "From what you said, this is a bad one."

"Went right for me, Will," said the possum. Her voice was deeper than the raccoon's. "He had a magic dagger too. If it'd been silver I'd have a scar now, at least."

Silver. That explained it. The little possum woman was a Were. He'd heard of lycanthropes who stayed in animal-person form all the time. Never a possum, though. Lycanthropy was a curse, they said, and there were ways to get it besides being bitten. Maybe her mother liked opossums the way the wizardess who made the khardaki liked lions. A dire opossum and a human or halfling woman getting it on, that sounded like a good way to end up with a possum-woman.

"He's awake," the possum purred, "And he has a dirty, dirty mind."

A strong hand grabbed his shoulder and rolled him over. With nothing else to be gained by playing dead Jemiah opened his eyes. He was looking up at the two furry ladies, one standing on either side of him, and a tall bearded man with a caravansary surcoat. One of the guards, probably the commander from the captain's pin on his collar.

"So dirty," the opossum said with a grin. "Why couldn't it be my dad who fucked the possum?"

The bearded man flipped through a sheaf of papers. Jemiah saw they were wanted posters printed from woodcuts. "Don't see him. He tried to knife you, Priscilla?"

"That's right." The little possum rubbed her cheek. "He thought we weren't handing over the till fast enough."

Jemiah opened his mouth to defend himself and realized he was gagged, too. And nearly naked. They had stripped him while he was out and all he had on was a loincloth.

The bearded man shook his head. "I don't know how you do it. They just keep showing up."

"Looking small and harmless helps," the raccoon purred. "Brings the bad ones right out of their shell."

"That's useful," said the bearded man. "There's no poster for him. I can only offer the minimum. Sorry, Priscilla, all I have is silver."

Jemiah glared up at them as the bearded man passed over a handful of heavy silver coins. The raccoon took them and separated them into two stacks by touch. She popped one stack into a small suede pouch and handed it to the opossum. The little Were must not like even touching silver.

As the bearded man turned to leave he paused. "I assume it'll be the usual thing."

The raccoon nodded. "Priscilla gets him this time. He tried to knife her. And she's off tomorrow anyway, she'll get a good start on digesting him before she is back on shift."

Digesting?! Jemiah looked back and forth between the two little women. The raccoon laughed, the opossum just grinned. Her lips went worryingly far back along the sides of her oversized head, and she probably had a nasty bite with all those teeth. But "digesting"?

"Digesting," Priscilla said brightly, and touched a medallion that hung between her furry breasts. He hadn't really noticed how her furry cleavage bulged out of her tight-fitting smock. Little furry ladies weren't his thing, even ones with breasts this fat.

He found out that her pink-purple tail turned was prehensile when she wrapped it around his ankles and proceeded to drag him across the floor. She leaned forward and pulled, and along he went. She really was a strong little thing, at least as strong as he was despite being maybe half as heavy.

With his wrists bound behind his back and his ankles tied with leather and then opossum tail, Jemiah didn't put up much resistance. There wasn't far to go anyway. The raccoon went on ahead into a nook under the stairs. There were doors on both sides plus one at the end and she opened the right side one.

"Thank you Ria," the opossum purred, and dragged him feet-first into a space under the stairs no bigger than a deep closet. It was a privy at one point but now it had a small dresser on one side, a narrow bed on the other and some hooks on the walls from which hung an assortment of items. Everything was sized for a little opossum woman except for the bench privy that still occupied the end. Her feet must dangle when she used it.

The raccoon paused at the door. "He doesn't look very interesting, or I'd ask you to share before you eat him."

Priscilla giggled. "Not furry enough for you?"

"You know me," the raccoon said with a smile. "I like them big."

The door clicked shut behind them and Priscilla sat on the bed to look him over. "The walls are very thick here," she said. "And the door keeps in almost all the sound too. Don't bother yelling."

Her feet were the same color as her hands, with fur on top but naked and wrinkly below. They turned out to be as prehensile as her tail when she reached out with one and pulled the gag out of his mouth.

"That's right," she purred. "This lets me read minds." She touched a claw against the medallion again. "Magic. It's useful when I need to know if someone is an asshole, like you."

Jemiah watched her take the thing off and hang it on a hook, then pull her smock off over her head. Under that was a linen winding that covered her loins but nothing to cover her furry breasts. Her fur was gray-black over much of her body, fading to gray-white around her face and on her wrists and ankles. Even under the fur he could see she was muscular. Fat around the torso and with heavy globular breasts, but thick-limbed and strong.

She was still only half his size, and when she turned to hang the smock up he drew up his feet and kicked her with all his strength. He smashed her against the wall between the door and the dresser and held her there, doing his best to crush her.

It would have worked if she weren't so tough. He caught her looking away and felt the breath rush out of her. By all rights the kick should break ribs and he felt her torso compress between his feet and the wall. Hard as he pushed, though, she didn't break. She managed to turn enough to get her elbow past the dresser, hooked it against the front and used that to lever herself out of the corner. Suddenly she popped free into the space between dresser and bed and before he could pull his feet back she dropped her ample bottom right on his knees. A hundred pounds of plump opossum woman pinned his legs firmly to the wooden floor.

"We could have talked, you know," she said. "Maybe even played a little." Her strong prehensile tail wound itself once more around Jemiah's ankles. About all he had left is maybe sitting up and head-butting her, but he was sure sure that wouldn't work either. The little Were was as tough as old boots under her harmless looks. He'd probably just get bitten.

"I wouldn't have killed you," Jemiah said. "I just wanted money."

"Shouldn't have tried to cut me then," Priscilla purred. "Didn't you wonder why there was no guard at the bar? Ria and I have a deal with the caravansary. They look the other way when we catch thugs like you."

A thin pink tongue traced her equally pink lips, all the way around the rim of her long muzzle. "It's a good deal for everyone. A troublemaker disappears and the guards don't have to worry about disposing of the body, because when we're done there isn't one. Does make it hard to keep the weight off, though."

"You can't possibly eat me. I'm twice your size. You'd need days even if you cut me up, and I don't see blood on this floor."

"I've heard that before," she purrs. "Many, many times."

With a sudden movement she reached out and put the gag back in Jemiah's mouth. Then she yawned.

Gods, the gape! He'd seen how oversized her head was, almost as wide as her shoulders, and how far back her thin pink lips ran. Now a vast maw ratcheted open. Pink fleshy folds stretch at the back of a forest of sharp opossum teeth and he was looking into a slick purple gullet as wide as his face. If she just leaned forward there would be nowhere for his head to go but down her throat.

Instead she snapped her jaws shut. Droplets of saliva went flying as the ratcheting process works in reverse. It had to be -

"Were," she confirms, without reading Jemiah's mind this time. "Been one my whole life. Once I found places that didn't mind beast people there was no reason to go human again. Weres are tough, and stretchy, because we have to be to change form. Experienced Weres can learn to do all sorts of things. I can swallow a centaur's whole cock, for a coin or two. Other things I swallow for free. Sometimes I even get paid."

She looked him over. "If you'd been nice I'd eat you head first. That way you'd suffocate before things got bad."

But he hadn't been nice, and she flopped on her side with his legs under her. She turned away, and there was the stab and scrape of dozens of little teeth. When she rolled the rest of the way over his naked feet were in her huge mouth.

Remembering how wide her jaws were at the back and the yawning gulf of her gullet Jemiah pulled his knees up against his chest. She followed along smoothly, walking on hands and knees, and when her ink-dark eyes appeared above him there was nowhere left to run. His back was on the smooth wooden floor and the top of his head touched the door. She blinked at him, her inky eyes flickering as though she were inviting him to her bed, and then she swallowed.

She hadn't been joking. Her tongue bunched up under his naked heels and pushed, and his feet slid easily into a smooth tunnel of wet flesh. Another gulp and a muscular contraction in the surrounding walls sucked him in to the knees. His toes encountered a fleshy obstruction that parted to let them past and his feet slid into the hot sloshing space of the opossum's stomach.

He didn't know what opossums ate. Since they were normally small and scavenging he assumed they ate pretty much anything. For this little opossum woman that included whole humans, as there was an immediate sting of acid on his naked feet.

Even if she was bluffing and couldn't swallow all of him, she could just lie there and digest his feet. Her stomach juices already hurt and it was only going to get worse. All he could think to do was thrust his knees away from his chest. Maybe he could straighten out his legs and kick her away. Even a tough Were wouldn't enjoy having her insides kicked.

She was waiting for him to try it. She'd reacted smoothly when he pulled his feet back and she knew what to do this time too. As his knees slammed forward she tilted her muzzle upward, letting them slip in, and then hooked her nose downward. A grotesque bulge moved through her neckfur and her whole torso deformed as she somehow swallowed his thighs without ever letting his legs straighten.

The recoil from his knee thrust slammed Jemiah's head against the door and when he recovered he looked down and found his nearly naked rump in an opossum's distended maw. She blinked at him again and twisted her muzzle one way, then the other, gradually working her jaws farther over him. A forest of sharp opossum teeth scraped his skin as he was swallowed whole. The loincloth that was his only clothing now kept the fangs out of his groin but it didn't keep the loincloth, and what it covered, from disappearing into her jaws.

The real problem wasn't the teeth, of course. The real problem was what followed, the slow slide down a slimy gullet to where her stomach had somehow stretched to accommodate his legs. Her stomach acids were getting a good start on digesting him and moment by moment the burning sensation got worse.

"Hold on," Jemiah mumbled through the gag. "I can tell where robbers go to sell their stuff. You'd get a big bounty."

Her purple-skinned ears, one gold earring in the left and two that looked like silver but weren't in her right, twitched, and her inky eyes flickered again. Then she swallowed and there was a horrible sinking sensation as her throat took hold of his ass and sucked him in.

She already had him folded more or less in half and he'd seen how stretchy her body was when she performed the magic trick of swallowing his thighs. There was no doubt any more that his entire body would fit inside hers.

At that moment he remembered that his hands were bound at the wrists but could still grip. His arms were numbed from lying on them but -

“Nope,” she managed to mumble. Just as he flexed his fingers, hoping to grab her lower jaw and stop the slide, she grabbed his wrists and stuffed his hands in. He couldn't see it happen but he felt the scrape of her front teeth over his forearms. He must have dozens of bleeding scratches stretching from his feet to his upper body now. Some of those scratches were already starting to dissolve down inside her, her stomach juices eating steadily deeper into these openings in his skin.

His hands slid into her throat and if it weren't for the gag he would scream. He tried, he really did, as she grabbed the great bulge of her body and rocked backward. His own weight sent him past her fangs into a pit of gullet. The sphincter between her throat and stomach finally popped past his knees, which it had stretched over her for minutes now, and he looked down to find her pink nose sliding up his chest toward his chin. There was a tickle of fangs through his hair as lower jaw slid up his neck, and just like that her pink lips took in his shoulders. His face was in her maw now and all she had to do was swallow one more time.

She didn't, not at first. From the maw stretched around him came a chuckle and she turned, maneuvering herself on hands and knees to drag the vast bulge of her gut. She ate him facing the door and turned laboriously around in place. His face, peeking out of her maw, turned with her and he watched her clawed hand reach out.

Next to the closed seat of the privy was a lever and she pushed it. From under the lid came the sound of water rushing.

Indoor plumbing, the sign outside the inn said. Hot baths. Now he knew why the first part was important. Maybe it was even why the opossum and raccoon settled here. There was no need for chamber pots or waddling to outhouses. They just flushed their monstrous meals away when they were done. It probably took a dozen or more bowel movements to get rid of a whole man and they didn't even need to leave their rooms to do it. No wonder the two furry little ladies were so chubby.

The opossum tilted her muzzle up and Jemiah got his last look outside. It was a little room under the inn stairs, but it was big enough for her even with twice her weight in man on its way down her throat. She'd probably sleep on the floor as she digested him, as the bed was too narrow for her and the bulge he made. Sure enough, one of the last things he saw was her hand pulling a quilt out from under the bed.

Teeth slid past Jemiah face as she lifted her head. Her tongue bunched up beneath his chin and he knew it was almost over. Priscilla swallowed, her throat gripping down and the last light he saw was past strings of saliva linking her many sharp teeth. Her jaws closed, there was a brief sense of slimy gullet sliding past, and it was over.

Almost over. He was folded up inside the little opossum, his knees against his chest. His scratched-up skin was coated with a thick layer of the throat mucus that lubricated him for easy swallowing, where her stomach acids hadn't displaced it. His head was at the top of the bulge and that was the problem. The sphincter at the top of her stomach had squeezed in around Jemiah's neck and seemed in no hurry to let his face past. That meant his face was in her throat, and as she breathed, air made it to him too.

Jemiah sucked in a breath, not wanting to. Below the sphincter her stomach sloshed with hot juices and he burned all over. Farthest down was the worst. He was sure his feet were skinless, dissolving in the pool of gastric juices. It had taken her a good while to swallow him and all that time her stomach had pumped in acid to meet its meal.

Once more he wanted to scream. He could be here for hours before the acids burned away something vital. He might still he alive in here as she lifted the lid on the privy, lifted her tail to match and expelled the fastest-digesting parts of her meal. He didn't want to be. He wanted this to be over.

"I'm sorry," Jemiah mumbled around the gag, there in the slimy darkness of her throat. "I shouldn't have tried to cut you."

There was a moment of silence, unless you counted the pulse thrumming through the meat wrapped around him, and the warm gurgle of digestion from below.

"Please," he mumbled, louder now. As loud as he could manage without a scream bursting out.

He heard muscles creak as she lifted her muzzle, felt the clawed hands squeezing in. She knew exactly where to push to reposition him ever so slightly, to make room down below. Priscilla swallowed, and Jemiah felt only gratitude as his face slipped into her stomach. There was acid waiting, and he exhaled bubbles and happily sucked it in.

There was a last twitch inside Priscilla's swollen gut, then nothing. Just the gurgle as the slow process of digestion proceeded. Jemiah was dead when she pushed her belly to squeeze out the air and let out a long belch. She rolled over onto the quilt, resting on her side so the great bulge of man had room, and settled down to digest her meal.

Jemiah rode a caravan into town, and expected to leave it on his own two feet. But he didn't. As soon as Ria and Priscilla saw him, they knew he'd leave via a different route, and that plumbing would be involved. They didn't know whose plumbing at that point, but it would be someone's.

It was a useful service they provide the trade caravans, but very few people knew they provided it. All the traders knew was that for some reason thieves and bandits were scarce on this trail. The inn owner and Will the caravansary head knew about it, of course, but they kept their mouths firmly shut on the subject. The two fuzzy ladies, on the other hand, were always willing to open their mouths - or in Ria's case, any of several orifices - and make the world a little better.

The anecdote they shared between themselves was that some people are more useful after being digested than before. Fertilizer, after all, was something people actually wanted to have around. Thieves, not so much.