FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The woozle, the lion and the man

By Strega

Strega was stretched out in the dry grass, watching a rock python struggle to swallow a gazelle, when she met the lion.

Ambitious meals like the one the python was attempting were just the sort of thing to attract her attention. Her spy-eyes wandered the veldt, among other places, and were programmed to notify her if anything interesting was happening. A python making a meal of an nearly-too-large gazelle was enough for her to make a personal appearance.

The lion slunk up behind her, instinctively and half-playfully stalking her even though she was clearly a large and dangerous target. Sleek and strong, with six short legs each with four white claws (and two more sheathed in the outermost toes) plus a mouthful of evilly serrated teeth, she could more than hold her own against a single lion even without cheating.

A whole pride of lions would be a different story, but it was just the one, and when her ears flicked around to point at him, followed by her eyes, he gave up the pretense of hunting her. He too was sleek and powerful, his great brown-black mane rustling magnificently and his scarred face showing he was no stranger to conflict. He looked her over in turn, perhaps guessing she was some outlandishly oversized ratel. Her shape and color pattern were not so different from that badgery beast if you ignored her size, extra set of legs and six-toed paws.

When he'd had his look he turned his gaze to the object of her attention. The python had the gazelle half swallowed and it was obvious it could not defend itself if attacked. Only the very biggest rock pythons could threaten an adult lion. This one would be no challenge even were it not occupied by its meal.

His tongue moistened his chops at the thought of an easy meal, and he stepped forward.

"No," Strega hissed. "I'm watching it eat."

It was a rare lion that could talk, but she'd seen the intelligence in his eyes. He flicked an ear dismissively. "It's only a snake." Just the same, he did not take another step. Instead he looked at her again, gauging whether she would really fight over the python.

She showed him her mouthful of sharp fangs as she replied. "It is a snake taking a very large meal for its size. I like watching it try to get the gazelle down."

The lion shrugged, a rolling, inhuman motion suited to his feral frame. "It is not that impressive. I could swallow them both together."

Strega glanced from the snake, which was past the midpoint of the gazelle and about to make real progress as its swallowing muscles finally got a good grip, to the lion, who must weigh at least twice what the python and its meal weighed together.

"That gazelle is as heavy as the snake, or close. I could eat them easily, because like you, I am bigger than they are. To match what the snake is doing I would have to swallow -you.-"

"Hah," grunted the lion. "But seriously, now."

Strega, who over the years had coughed up several slimy masses of mane-fur from lions who'd been similarly confident that she couldn't manage them, smiled and hissed out a laugh in return. She was not in the mood for a huge meal, though, so she didn't set about tricking or trapping him.

"I have swallowed hyenas whole, and humans," the lion growled. "They kick and wriggle entertainingly before my stomach has its way with them."

Strega rubbed her chin with a forepaw, though she had to duck her head to reach even that far with her short thick legs. "I like the idea of a hyena disappearing into your jaws, but other than the broad shoulders on a man, again, that is not a large challenge. You are much bigger than either."

"Fine," said the lion, who was getting impatient with her skepticism. "What if I swallowed a man who was curled up in a ball? Would that impress you?"

"Hm," hissed the woozle. "It would. Headfirst or feetfirst it wouldn't, but already rolled up the way they get in the stomach? I'd be impressed." She looked the lion over again, and her opinion did not change. He was perhaps four-fifths her five hundred and fifty or so pounds, and broad though the mane made his head look the meal he was suggesting would be an heroic one.

"That would be entertaining. What do you get out of the deal besides a meal, though?"

He glanced at her hindquarters with a smirk, and she knew what he was going to say. Lions will be lions, after all.

"Let me guess," she hissed before he could open his mouth. "'It's been a while since the lionesses were in the right mood...'."

He was handsome, she'd give him that. And also confident to the point of arrogance. "You are sleek and pleasant to the eye, and not so different in shape from a lioness. I've never mounted a ratel, but if I win our wager, your company for the night will make us even."

I am not a ratel, she did not say, and also she did not say that the natural lustiness of males was how she'd scored many of her meals, back when she hunted more.

There was an endearing innocence to his single-minded lust, though, and she flicked her whiskers in a smile. She did like big feral males.

"The lump in your middle you'll have after your meal will make that awkward, won't it?"

"I'm sure we'll manage," the lion growled, and glanced at the python. Sure enough, once it got enough of the gazelle into its gullet for its throat muscles to get a good grip the feeding process accelerated greatly. Strega watched as it stretched out its neck, nothing but hind legs hanging from its jaws now and those quickly disappearing. The long, heavy bulge in its scaly body would soon make its way to the midsection. Another stretch and yawn, and just a pair of hooves remained. The seemingly impossible meal was nearly done. Two hours to get to the midpoint, and then just a few minutes from there to the end. Before longevity it would slither heavily away and find a safe place to digest its ponderous meal.

"So, where is this curled up man?"

Half an hour later he poked his nose from a bush and pointed with a paw. Luckily it was full dark now, for her black and white fur did not blend into the earthtones as his did. She followed his gaze and saw a small tent, a campfire, and in front of the fire, a man.

He was seated crosslegged in front of the fire, hands on his knees. Later she would learn it was a meditative posture. Often though she'd dealt with humans, their endless diversity meant they still puzzled her from time to time.

"He's been camped here for a week," the lion whispered in her ear. "Trying to find himself, or challenge the wilderness, or something like that. He won't be the first human I've helped become one with nature, or one with my body anyway. I was saving him in case the hunting was bad."

"Hm," she said again. "He is sort of in curled up. If you can really get your jaws around him and swallow him down, you can have your pleasure of me. Of course if you can't, I guess I'll just have to eat you instead. Fair's fair."

"Heh," growled the lion, who still thought she was joking. "Watch and learn."

It was doubtful the man would see them even were his eyes open, but the lion didn't advance just yet. Strega watched him work his lower jaw from side to side in an unmistakable preparation for swallowing large prey whole. Soft-footed as any cat, he left her side and disappeared into the grass. Minutes later he emerged from brush behind the man and approached with painstaking care.

Soon enough he sat himself behind the man, looked down at his meal, and smiled a feline smile. His prey still did not react, though from that distance she knew that the rustling of his mane alone should give him away. The man was oblivious of the fate about to befall him. He was about to leave a cool savannah evening for someplace wetter and much less hospitable.

The lion glanced past the meditating man to Strega, who nodded with a whisker-flick smile. A wet pink tongue made its circuit of the lion's chops, and suddenly his muzzle thrust downward.

"Hey! What the--" was all the man got out before his voice was muffled by slick feline throat. With a single long push of its jaws the lion enveloped his prey; the ground below anchored the man in place so the stretchy maw simply slid over and around until nothing stuck out but knees and a single hand. In one quick gobble the lion had gotten his jaws completely around his meal. His enormously bulged cheeks swelled out to each like like a chipmunk's full of nuts. Sure enough, he'd managed to stuff the entire balled-up man in.

There was a moment's pause as the lion lifted his muzzle and got his forepaws spread out wide, then with an upward toss of his head the next stage began. The enormous bulge in the lion's cheeks sagged down into his neck, his mane stretching thin, and as the weight of the man helped drop the curled-up meal past the back of the jaws the lion swallowed massively.

A terrified "Noooo!" emerged from the lion's lips as the man figured out was happening to him, but by then the cat's throat muscles had their grip. With a loud, wet gulp the lion started his meal on its way, and a second, equally heavy gulp kept the bulge moving. Gravity chipped in to help and a hundred and fifty or so pounds of unfortunate nature-seeker vanished down the cat's gullet in one big lump.

Strega watched, fascinated, as the huge bulge slipped down into the cat's mane. She would have bet it was impossible before seeing this; it was one thing to stretch jaws and ribcage around prey from one end. Getting a meal this size entirely into your mouth when it was already curled up was another matter. Somehow the lion was elastic enough to push the man past his jaws and into his throat while he was curled up in a ball. It was a feat more suited to a frog than a big cat, but he did it.

By all rights the bulge should stop when it got down into the neck and hit the entrance to the ribcage, but it kept right on moving into the cat's chest. She could actually hear the slither of gulletflesh over naked skin, mixed in with the groan of effort from the lion, as the man slid down the cat's throat. The cat's belly suddenly expanded as the meal reached it; so heavy and sudden was the arrival that the traveling bulge hit the ground with audible thump. The greedy lion, helped by gravity, had indeed managed to get the man down in one big lump. In all her years of eating people and watching them be eaten she couldn't remember seeing anything quite like this.

Before his swollen belly stopped rippling with the force of the fall the lion's cheeks bulged once more as he let out a mighty belch. Swallowing the man this way had sent a lot of air down his throat, and it promptly came back up. Sadly for the human, he didn't come back up with it.

The startled man, who ten seconds before had been outside the lion and was now very firmly inside, kicked and wriggled. A desperate cry made it through to open air, muffled to a mere whisper. There wasn't much between him and escape, an inch or two of thin-stretched muscle and fur, but the lion just grinned, clearly sure that his bulging flanks would contain the prey until his stomach did its work. "Man" had abruptly become "Meat."

"Told you," said the lion, and glanced disinterestedly at his twitching belly. He cared no more about this victim's hopeless efforts to escape than he had about any of his other meals, animal or man. With a lazy yawn he reset his jaws, and a creak and pop emerged from his torso as his ribs resumed their shape after the passage of the bulge.

"I think I will call you 'Frogmouth'," Strega said, considerably impressed. No just the mouth, either. The lion was impossibly stretchy from his lips to his belly. Even she would have struggled to swallow a human that way, and an awful lot of science had gone into modifying her jaws and body.

"Speaking of mouths," the lion said slyly, "Pay up." He sprawled out on his side and lifted his leg. He was already unsheathed and erect, aroused by his meal and the anticipation of what would come after.

She looked the little campsite over. What would the man's friends, if any, think when they found it? It wasn't the first time a man disappeared down a lion's throat, though most of the big cats ate slower and bloodier meals. Maybe they would suspect when they found the tracks. She shrugged and stepped forward.

"Of course," Strega hissed as she lowered her muzzle, and less than a minute thereafter the lion coughed out a roar. His outstretched leg kicked, the taste of big cat semen filled her mouth, and she flicked her sticky whiskers in a smile. Lions were quick on the trigger and not so well endowed for their size, but they made up for it with a seemingly endless reserve of lust. Well, that and a barbed shaft that could be fun in its own way.

Her ability to secrete toxins from her various orifices, including her mouth, made this an ideal opportunity to incapacitate the lion. He had no idea that his member could be licked with drugs that would leave him weak as a kitten. Once he was unable to resist it would be a simple matter to turn a handsome lion into a long bulge in her weaselly body. It wouldn't be the first time a tufted tail hung from her jaws before being slurped up.

She was fairly sure he could swallow her, having seen him eat, but she didn't need to guess at whether she could get him down her throat. He wouldn't be the biggest thing she'd ever eaten, even with a human filling his belly.

She'd always had a soft spot for large feral males, though. Especially predatory ones...and especially-especially ones willing to eat in such a flamboyant fashion. And, after all, he'd won the bet. If he had lost, that would be a different matter.

So swiftly had the lion's passion risen that the man in his belly was still wriggling even after he came. She gave the thin-stretched belly a nuzzle, admiring the curves that spelled out a human's form through the fur, then went back to licking the cat's balls. He was a lion, after all, and one orgasm barely blunted his desire. She figured she owed him at least half a dozen for the show he'd given her.

Maybe she'd stretch out next to him nose to tail and let him lick her in return. Cats have nicely raspy tongues, even ones too full to easily mount her.

She lowered her head and began to suck once more. Inches away from her nose the luckless man still twitched, but he wasn't getting out of that stomach the way he got in. By the time all was said and done he - or his spirit anyway, if there were such a thing - would have a thorough knowledge of the big cat's digestive tract, and the lion would have a few pounds of fat on his flanks that weren't there before.

If it were her, with all her technology, she'd remake the man once she'd enjoyed her meal. She would remake the lion too, if she chose to eat him. Not every predator could do that, though, and she didn't blame the lion for eating the human. He was just being true to his nature, and it was simply bad luck for the man on his way to becoming lion flesh and fertilizer.

As for herself, she passed on a full meal of proud and greedy lion, and settled for swallowing just a little bit of him, albeit a dozen times or so. She really did like her feral males.