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First you hear the rumors, and dismiss them as fantasy. Then an evening news piece which showed little and talked around the subject. Despite the efforts of the newscaster to not say as much out loud, you quickly got the gist of it. People go to this beach to fuck animals and get eaten.

Get eaten? Why do the authorities let that go on? You turn to the Internet and discover why. For unknown reasons, people who are eaten at one particular beach reappear an hour or so later, in exactly the same condition as when they became food for some lucky animal.

The Wikipedia article uses carefully clean language, but the details are there. There are at least half a dozen beaches with Friendly Animals and the number is growing as various sea beasts learn that fucking people is fun and swim off to do the same thing elsewhere. People occasionally get eaten there too, mostly by accident.

How does someone 'accidentally' get eaten, you wonder. You shake your head and read on. When that sort of thing happens they are just dead. But at the one beach, not so much.

So when you decide to visit such a beach you make sure you're going to that one. You've no intention of sticking your head in anyone's mouth, but just in case.

You get to the beach and nothing weird is happening. People are swimming, sunbathing, playing volleyball, making sand castles, beachcombing. You're looking around for the kinky stuff when someone coughs to get your attention.

You look up the ladder of the lifeguard tower and instead of feet overhead you see flippers. The lifeguard is half man and half sea lion, wears a shirt that says LIFEGOD, shorts and black sunglass goggles. He smiles sharp-toothed down at you as you stare wide-eyed back.

He points a flipper-hand toward the nearby pier. "Read the sign." Then he goes back to scanning the beach and water for trouble.

FRIENDLY BEACH RULES AND GUIDELINES, the sign says. Below that is a list.

1. USE PROTECTION.

Presumably an absence of such resulted in the half-sea-lion lifeguard and the other anthros you've heard about. The Wiki article said interspecies pregnancy is extremely rare, but that's not the same as impossible.

1. PLAN HOW YOU'RE GOING TO GET AROUND A "THAT'S NEVER GOING TO FIT" or "I DIDN'T BRING THE RIGHT TOOL FOR THIS JOB" SITUATION.

Since you want to be doing the giving, not the receiving, it shouldn't be hard to find the right size animal.

You read down the list. It's mostly common sense stuff. Get to know your prospective lover, that sort of thing, mixed in with more disturbing stuff such as:

1. DON'T EXPECT TO GET YOUR STUFF BACK IF IT GETS SWALLOWED.

If nothing else the sign confirms you're at the right beach. The Rules wouldn't dwell on getting your stuff or talk about storage lockers to hold it if a trip down a gullet was a one time thing.

You look around. No one's paying attention and you slip into the shadows under the pier. It's as wide as a freeway and a forest of mussel-covered pilings rooted in sand and rocks surrounds you.

Yes indeed, this is a friendly beach. Your first clue is a little ways under the pier. A big otter who is either entirely feral or only slightly humanoid is stretched out on the sand with his whiskery muzzle between a woman's thighs and his cock down her throat.

You stare for a moment and the woman waves. She can't talk with a mouthful of otter cock but she gestures you closer. The otter lets go of her thigh with one webby hand and points at her butt.

Not a word is exchanged in the whole encounter. The woman's throat is full of otter, the otter is busy licking pussy and, politely, your balls as you thrust. You for your part don't think talking to the back of a woman's head is good manners, not when the only thing she can say in reply is slurping noises.

You hear the otter growl and feel his hot breath on your balls as he shudders, but they still don't say a word. The woman is busy swallowing cum and the otter hasn't stopped licking. They are still going at it when you finish and leave.

That's how you meet Beachcomber and Sandy, though you don't learn their names until later. Beachcomber is another one-in-a-million result of unprotected sex on the beach. You make a mental note to bring condoms when you learn that.

Your first visit to the Friendly Beach and ten minutes after getting there boom, threesome with an otter and woman. You wave your thanks, pull your shorts back up and see what else is going on under the pier.

You learn later that this pier is twice as wide as most thanks to a jogging track along the edge that runs down to the end and back around the other side. The middle section of the pier is full of kiosks which helpfully sell things like the condoms you were considering. The result is a broad, shaded area with lots of rocky nooks and crannies where the animals and their admirers hang out. The track was added as much to help keep the goings-on out of public view as for any practical reason.

You happen across a secluded tide pool where a male dolphin lies belly-up. A sort of water-filled canal in the sand must be how it got them this far under the pier. Not everyone likes the cold sea water and this is presumably where they visit with those people. At the moment the dolphin is undulating in the pool as it fucks a fat man's ass with its weird bendy penis. Another dolphin lies in the canal waiting its turn.

A little further along an enormous sea lion waves a flipper at you and then at its lower body. A mottled pink cocktip the size of your fist is hanging out. It's much too thick to fit into any part of your anatomy, assuming you were interested. As you watch, a woman appears from between the rocks and uses both hands to rub. The rest of it unsheathes and when you turn away she's rubbing herself against a cock the size of her lower leg.

The animals here seem equally happy to visit with men or women. The people, on the other hand, sometimes have preferences. If you're going to stick your dick in something you want it to be female.

That brings you to a smallish sea lion - not more than twice your weight, probably - who rolls over and spreads her lower flippers invitingly as you approach. You look around to make sure no one is watching. Not that anyone would care, but still. You pull down your shorts and for the first time slide into an animal.

You later learn the little sea lion's name is Tiny. At least, that's what Beachcomber calls her. Tiny wraps her flexible lower flippers around you and invites you to fuck her. You do.

Tiny rapidly becomes your favorite animal on the beach. It's so cute how her dark eyes squinch up in pleasure as you thrust. You hold her foreflippers and lean into the sex. Some of the animals you've seen here are so big it'd be like a hot dog down a hallway. Not Tiny. She is snug and warm and wet around your cock.

In the middle of it all you look up past the rocks and into the ocean. A dolphin's head and beak - you think that's the right word - protrudes from the water and a kicking set of human legs is hanging out.

You freeze in place as the person is eaten whole. The dolphin thrusts its wide-open beak out of the water once, twice, and a third time. Intertia holds the legs in place and each thrust lets more of its meal slide in, the dolphin's little peg teeth not getting in the way of the gulps. The fourth heave out of the water takes in the person's naked feet and the dolphin disappears beneath the waves. You get just a glimpse of the bulge moving through its thick neck as it swallows.

Tiny's foreflippers reach up to remind you what you're supposed to be doing and you look at her as they wrap around your upper body. She smiles cutely, then she yawns.

Jesus! The sudden gape would take in your whole head. Yellowed fangs and pink tongue part and you stare into a purple gullet you could slide your arm down without touching the sides. She's only twice your size, but you know now that she could swallow you whole.

One pull of her foreflippers and your face would be in her throat, and the rest of you would follow if she chose. Under her blubber is three hundred pounds of muscle built up from chasing fish through the water. You'd get cut by her fangs and scratched by her foreflippers if you struggled, but struggle or not it would end with a burp.

But she doesn't pull. Tiny waits a long moment then closes her mouth, lets go with her foreflippers and looks pointedly down her body to where your cock is still embedded in sea lion pussy.

That's right. That's why you are here. The two of you go back at it and a couple of minutes later you provide her with a one-in-a-million chance of a hybrid baby. She groans and thrusts back against you as you cum. Tiny likes human men. You're just the right size.

A million to one, you think. Assuming she's in heat or whatever the sea lion equivalent is. And if she were, she'd probably be fucking other sea lions. The odds are probably a lot worse than that.

"They said there would be no math," you say to Tiny as you sit beside her on the sand. She grunts and blows air through her whiskers. You stroke her thick neck - sea lions have fur, it turns out, it is just hard to see it when they are wet - and think about what happened just now.

She would have eaten you if you stuck your head in her mouth, but she didn't try to force it. That was on the sign too. The animals aren't supposed to eat you unless you want it, but some will yawn suggestively or even start to swallow you if you seem interested. If they get far enough, they take that as a "yes" and down you go. So don't let anyone swallow your head unless you're sure.

You're not sure, so you don't stick your head in her mouth. You pet Tiny and leave to see what else is happening under the pier.

You see the enormous sea lion again, but not the woman. It grunts at you, or maybe burps, and it's so huge she might be there under the blubber and you'd never know it. Or maybe she just jacked it off and left, the way you fucked Tiny and went on your way.

You make your way out from under the pier and find the storage lockers you read about. They are code operated and the smaller ones are free to use.

Somewhere around here is the place people reform. That really must happen, or else this place would be shut down. You shake your head. It's hard to believe. Maybe someone up on the pier will know.

"Oh yeah," says the guy at the mask rental kiosk. "This one." He holds up a clear-faced rebreather mask with fittings that were once black like the others. These are discolored, reddish in some places and copper colored in others. "This one has been through a dozen animals. When someone wants to go out with a mask and get eaten I give them this one. The animal brings it back when it comes out. I'll have to replace it soon, it holds up to the acid but getting bent out of shape over and over is bad for them."

You blink at the thing. It's in remarkably good shape for something that's been through a dozen intestinal tracts. "Really?"

"Really." The vendor points down off the pier to the lifeguard stand. The half-seal-lion is still at his post. "Jeff there eats people. So do the other two anthros that come here. They wouldn't do that if people didn't come back. They would end up in jail. The animals wouldn't but they are smart enough to know it would fuck things up for them if people disappeared for good. Even the ones who can't come up on the beach stay inside the buoys that mark the limit until whoever they ate dies."

"And then the person reappears?"

"About an hour later," the vendor said. "None the worse for wear. People tried to use it to fix health problems they had but you come back exactly as you were."

"Like a clone or something?"

"No one knows," the vendor says. "But I know people who have been eaten a bunch of times and they're just the same."

"Have you been eaten?"

"I have," says a thin man within earshot. He slides a hundred dollar bill to the vendor and takes the discolored mask. Fifty bucks an hour, the things cost to rent. Not cheap, but the things were pretty amazing. Underwater breathing and talk to most of the animals too.

"A few times," the man said. "Dolphin, seal and sea lion. No otter yet except Beachcomber. I've been inside all three of the anthros here. Callie twice," he said with a smile. "They gotta make a card for being eaten like they have for sex."

"Card?" But the man headed for the stairs down to the beach and didn't answer. The mask vendor points to the next kiosk.

EVERY CONDOM YOU NEED, said the sign above that vendor. A poster helpfully shows how to put a condom on a dolphin, among other animals.

"Here you go," the vendor there says, and slides you a card for five bucks. You buy some condoms as an afterthought. People ones, because they sell those too.

The card is a laminated thing with a grease pencil slid into a sleeve on one side. On it is a grid with labels, animal names on the side and M/M, M/F and so on along the top.

"Seal, sea lion, river otter, sea otter, walrus, dolphin, orca," you read. "Orca?!"

"There are a couple of friendly ones that come by," the vendor says. "One's a female you can crawl inside. See." He points at the Orca Club spot on the card. "That's if you have sex inside her. You'd need masks, obviously, so you don't suffocate."

"No sharks?"

"The mammals chase them away," the vendor says. "I hear there's one at a different beach that fucks people though."

No one in earshot even raises an eyebrow when they hear that. No wonder this place is adults only.

Down on the sand are volleyball nets with all men at one and a mix of the sexes at the other. Among the women is the third of the three anthros you heard about, a slender and athletic cheetah with a long tail that balances her as she leaps after the ball. From what the man said, even the cheetah eats people. You imagine the huge bulge in her middle after such a meal and shake your head.

You don't understand the appeal of getting eaten. That's all right. You understand the appeal of fucking animals just fine.

The beach is an hour away from your apartment. You'd like to visit every day, but work and traffic means you only get to go on weekends. One week later, you're back.

This time you find a female dolphin waiting in the tide pool and put an X in another spot on your card. The week after than, you visit with a friendly and very vocal she-otter. You get scratches on your back from her claws and a dynamite hicky on your neck.

It seems that under the pier ten people are fucking the animals in perfect safety for every one who wants to get eaten, but it does happen. The second time you visit you happen across a big harbor seal dozing on the sand with a slowly squirming bulge of a human stretched out in its long body. That's as close as you want to get to someone being eaten. A few visits later you get a closer look than that.

Each time you visit the beach you look for Tiny and you usually find her. She's your favorite lover to lie with under the pier and she only yawned in invitation the one time. She's friendly, eager and unthreatening...until the day you find her with a bulge in her middle that is all too obviously a curled up human.

Tiny grunts amiably as you stroke her neck. She doesn't object when your hands make their way onto the bulge. From the contours and size it's a woman. Was a woman. The pressure of her your fingers forces a long belch out of her but just the same she spreads her hind flippers for you.

You take a long look at the swollen sea lion, ready to be horrified, but she's just as cute and friendly full of woman. You're fucking her when someone appears from between the rocks.

"Oops," she says. She has a towel wrapped around herself, presumably from the CLOTHES box next to the reformation spot that you've heard about.

"Sorry," she says as she grabs something from the rocks a few yards away. "Left my bikini here when, well, you know." She shoots a look at the bulge in Tiny's middle and is gone before you can say anything.

When you are done you sit next to your lover and stroke the bulge of swallowed woman. If you needed any more proof that people come back here, you just got it. There is a slow gurgle from Tiny's guts as they begin to break down her meal.

You take a nap on the sand with a fat sea lion as a pillow and fuck her again when you wake up. In just a couple of hours her meal has begun to soften. The bones will take a lot longer but her guts slosh when you knead them now. That pretty girl you saw is just sea lion food. The previous version of her, anyway. And she didn't care, she just smiled and left when she saw you fucking the animal that ate her.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe you'll try it, just once. And if anyone gets to eat you, it's going to be Tiny.

Focused on your favorite animal lover, you don't think it through. You don't consider that Tiny is only twice your size and that the woman she swallowed was a head shorter than you are. You don't know much about being eaten, after all.

A week later you're back, and you've made your decision. You put your phone and car keys in a locker, make sure you know where the "reform" spot is and how to get to the locker from there. You put an extra set of shorts and a T-shirt in as well, just in case your present stuff ends up inside Tiny. Then you go to find your lover.

Tiny is always in the same section of rocks under the pier and today is no different. She's stretched out like a blubbery torpedo and there's no sign of the bulge from last week. Everything that used to be that woman has long since digested and passed, or turned into fat. Your sea lion lover hears you coming, rolls over and spreads her hind flippers. You are already stepping out of your shorts.

You know what she likes and she knows what you like. She undulates on the sand, pushing back against you as you thrust, and soon enough achieve a mutually satisfactory conclusion to the meeting. You groan, cum in her for something like the twelfth time, and she squinches up her inky eyes in pleasure. Sea lion cows can orgasm too, you've learned. You're made it happen enough times to know the feel when she tenses and shudders beneath you.

Everything has so far proceeded just as it has a dozen times before. She relaxes on the sand, stretched out like a furry throw pillow, and yawns. Not to suggest you stick your head in, but just because she's sleepy.

Only Tiny is surprised when you sit down next to her and slide your bare feet into that yawn.

Tiny freezes, inky marble eyes turning toward you. She's smart enough to remember how you pulled away when she yawned that first time. She leaves your feet where they are and looks at you.

"It's all right," you say, and slide your toes to the back of her mouth.

That's all the invitation she needs. Tiny closes her mouth around your feet and swallows.

Oh, wow. The sucking tightness of her throat is something else. It grips and pulls as the bulge of your feet moves down her thick neck and she rolls onto her side as her nose approaches your knees. You see she's aligning herself so your legs will bend the right way as she swallows you. It's your first time, but Tiny knows what she is doing. You match her movements by rolling onto your side on the sand just as your knees slip into her maw.

Propping yourself up on your elbow, you watch as she squirms forward. A fang scrapes your thigh despite her best efforts and you take a moment to throw your shorts up onto the rock where the bikini was. She tenses and swallows, and strong throat muscles grab your lower legs and sucks them deeper. At the same time she pushes her jaws over your thighs.

It is hot and slimy inside Tiny. You feel a muscular obstruction in front of your toes and it expands like a rubbery valve as she swallows again. Warm folds of stomach take in your feet. Her neck swells to twice its usual diameter as with a rocking motion she works her jaws over your butt. Her fangs can't help but scrape your hips and you distract yourself by peeling off your T-shirt before it's too late.

You toss the shirt up onto the rock with your shorts and look down at Tiny. Half your body is down her throat and the two of you resemble a bizarre seal-taur, human from the waist up, sea lion from the waist down. Inky eyes blink up at you as with a side to side motion of her jaws she engulfs your hips.

"Good girl." Tiny swallows again and with half of you down her throat her gullet takes a firm grip and sucks you deeper. There is a slow inevitability to the slide of her jaws now. Her throat has such a grip on you that you're not sure you could escape if you wanted to. Your knees slip through the rubbery valve and her stomach expands to take them in, as well.

It occurs to you that Tiny isn't much longer than you are tall. Unlike the seal you saw with the long lumpy bulge, her body isn't long enough for you to lie stretched out in her stomach. She's going to have to roll you up into a ball the way she did the woman she digested last weekend. Luckily the loose folds of her stomach give you just enough room to bend your knees. Before the length of her meal becomes a problem you've already folded your legs double inside her and are ready to put your knees against your chest when the time comes.

A thick layer of slime coats you from the hips down, slicking you down for easy swallowing. It coats every inch of your skin and even though you just fucked her, the slippery throat pressed against your cock has given you a raging hard-on. Tiny blinks as you reach down and slide a hand carefully into her jaws, past the tongue that's been helping push you down her throat, and grab your cock.

Before you can start to pump Tiny rolls onto her belly, digs her foreflippers into the sand and with a groan of effort lifts you into the air. You feel her tense, then swallow with all her might. Her throat squeezes in around your hips and the undulations of her swallowing muscles pull you deeper. So much of you is inside now that her gullet finally has a firm grip and suddenly you're sliding down her throat. It took several minutes for her to get to your hips and yet that one gulp slides her jaws all the way to your armpits.

"Oh wow," you groan. Your hand keeps your cock pressed against her throat as you slide deeper. It's like a huge tongue rolling over your tip. By the time the slide stops your knuckles are pressed against the muscular ring that separates her throat and stomach. The next gulp will send your dick into her stomach and she's already gathering her strength. She sucks a wheezing breath in through her nostrils and lifts her head, turning her gullet into a smooth slick slide.

Fangs scrape as your shoulders slowly slip into her jaws and you take your last look outside. A vast bulge is making its way down her body as she swallows you, swelling her already thick neck. You've already seen what she will look like after her meal. You'll be curled up inside her, a lumpy bulge in her middle just like the woman.

Her throat ripples as she tenses and your hand moves as if by itself, rubbing your cock against the slimy walls. With a groan you go off all over her insides, spraying cum that mixes with the thick layer of slime. It only adds a little more lubrication when she swallows.

Tiny rocks her jaws forward, popping them past the shoulder of the arm that is down her throat, and swallows once more. It is the last gulp that is needed. Her tongue presses back against your breastbone, her gullet grips down, and the undulations of her swallowing muscles finish the job. Suddenly you're looking at her fangs from the back and sliding feetfirst down her throat.

There is a last look at the outside world, a view of mussel-covered rocks and your T-shirt draped over one, a brief glimpse of her wrinkly palate, and then her thick wet tongue presses against your forehead and the light goes out. There is a sense of glistening wet gullet rolling past and for a moment you see the pink slimy flesh, but you feel the bulge of your head moving down her neck and the light is quickly cut off. There is a last scrape of teeth as your outstretched arm slides into her jaws and your slide comes to a stop as you reach her stomach. Tiny has done it. She's swallowed you whole.

But there is a problem. Very quickly you realize it is a very big problem indeed. You slide ass-first into her stomach, the folds of which stretch out and flatten as half her weight of man becomes a meal. It stretches tight and your slide stops. There has for some time been the tingle of stomach juices on your feet and legs, as the slime coating her belly is not harmless like the stuff in her throat. You knew she'd digest you once you were swallowed.

But you expected to be dead when it happened. When the bulge finishes its slide down her neck and she settles down with a groan of relief, her work done, the rubbery valve between her throat and stomach still hasn't closed. It is stretched beneath the armpit of your outstretched arm and then up around your neck. Your arm is still in her throat and so is your face. Tiny settles down to digest her meal and sucks in a breath. Your arm makes it tough for her to breathe but not impossible. She is still able to suck in a lungful of air...and so are you, as the air makes its way all the way to your face.

Thick droplets of stomach acid trickle down over your thighs and feet, gathering in the gaps between your limbs. The upper part of Tiny's stomach is clear of acid, probably due to a natural mechanism that keeps it out of her throat, but further down more and more of the caustic fluids are accumulating. You grit your teeth as you realize what is happening. To consume all of you, her stomach will dissolve your lower parts first, only working on your upper body and head when there is room for them to slip into her stomach. You're going to be digested alive.

"Stop. Stop!" You squirm inside her and feel the shape of the bulge in her midsection change. Tiny grunts as you interrupt her post-meal nap. She feels you wriggle inside her and makes an unhappy noise. She's got her meal and just wants to doze away its digestion. Instead her insides move in a disquieting way.

Tiny swallows, trying to clear her throat of the obstruction that makes it difficult to breathe. You're all for that as it would also push the rest of you into her belly, where you'd quickly suffocate.

But she fails. Between being considerable larger than the woman she ate last week and the way you were swallowed, she can't quite slip the last of you into her stomach. Strong throat muscles roll over your face and scalp, doing their best to send the rest of you into the waiting acids of her stomach, but the muscular ring wrapped around your armpit and neck stubbornly refuses to pop past your ears and seal shut above your head. Even if it did, your arm in her throat might let air in.

Tiny squirms on the sand, swallows again and fails once more to send the last bits of you into her stomach. Her gut tenses and rolls over you as your nauseating inner struggle almost makes her throw you back up. Instead she lets out a long belch as her stomach squeezes in tight around your body. Her throat fills with the stink of the acid that is slowly consuming you. You gag at the stench but it is soon replaced with the air she gasps in. You won't escape from the suffering that easily.

Every time you collapse inside her, exhausted by the struggle, the sting of acid wakes you back up. From the waist down you lie in a pool of stomach juices that are eating into your skin. Eventually it will send you into shock and your suffering will end. Tiny will be able to doze away the digestion of her meal and you will take the peaceful trip through her bowels you expected when this all started. But not yet. For now you lie in agony, alive and slowly dissolving inside the friendly little predator you fed yourself to.

Tiny lifts her head and makes a noise quite unlike the unhappy ones she's been making for the last few minutes. You feel the muscles around you shift as she turns to look at something. Then a sudden pressure on your shoulder, from the outside. Someone is feeling the bulge you make!

"Help!" You kick inside her, as best you can with your legs folded up against your chest, and try to communicate your distress through the thick layers of muscle and blubber between you and whoever it is.

Though your cry for help can't possibly make it past the flesh and fur around you, whoever it is works out what the problem is. The hand feeling the bulge is joined by another and grip the bulge your head makes at the base of Tiny's neck. They push downward just as the sea lion swallows with all her might.

It still doesn't work. The rubbery sphincter wrapped around your neck is stuck fast below your ear. You squirm, feeling how slimy your skin is after even a few minutes of exposure to her stomach acids. That's it then. For now you lie in agony, alive and slowly dissolving inside the friendly little predator you fed yourself to.

Suddenly there is light. You shut your eyes, used to the darkness of sea lion gullet. Tiny has yawned to her full jaw-cracking gape and her throat opens up around your arm. As you blink the gullet slime out of your eyes and get used to the blinding glare - in fact just the dimmest light makes it this far down her throat - you see a furry face just past her fangs.

"Dude," says the otter from the threesome. You've never actually talked to him but his name is Beachcomber. "You can't feed yourself to a small pred feet first. This can happen and they get that acid reflux thing."

You bite your tongue to keep from screaming. Tiny's stomach acids are busily dissolving your asshole and balls. You try to reach out of the sea lion's throat and punch Beachcomber in the nose, but your fingers only scrape through the gullet slime just shy of Tiny's tongue.

"Help," you say when that doesn't work. "Make her throw me up!"

"Can't do that dude," the otter says. "Against the rules. You'd end up in the hospital all acid burned and it'd be all over the news."

You remember that rule. 9. ONCE IT'S SWALLOWED, IT STAYS SWALLOWED.

"She could throw me up and then you could swallow me headfirst," you suggest.

"Dude, I'm not going to steal her meal."

"Do something," you beg. You don't know how long this has been going on but you want it to stop. It could take hours for Tiny to digest you to death.

"Okay dude," the otter says. A webby hand appears outside Tiny's fangs, then lowers. "You're too slimy to get a grip on, I bet. Probably couldn't break your neck with one hand and Tiny's too small to get both in that far."

He thinks for a minute while you consider the matter-of-fact way he suggested breaking your neck. You must not be the first person he's "helped" in a situation like this.

"Okay, let me try something," he purrs. He taps Tiny on the nose and the lights go out again.

You hear the faintest purr of otter voice as he says something to Tiny. There is a long rustle as she sucks in a great lungful of air and then holds her breath.

It's not going to work. The first thing you tried when you realized the horror of your situation was holding your breath. You can't hold your breath until you die. You tried.

You didn't consider how long a sea lion can hold -its- breath. When Tiny's jaws close her throat seals itself once more around your outstretched arm. The only air is the air in your lungs. As your body stews in the caustic juices that will turn you into sea lion fat and several bowel movements you decide to give it a try. You exhale until your lungs hurt and hope the air won't stay around to be inhaled again.

It doesn't. Tiny belches again as the last few pockets of air in her stomach are forced out by acid and the stinking fumes of sea lion burp carry your air with it when they go by. Wet gullet folds in against your face and arm and the pressure forces every last sip of air up her throat to be burped up.

Very soon the urge to suck in another breath becomes overwhelming. You gasp and squirm, but there is no air to be had.

Suffocating turns out to be an unpleasant way to die. It's much better than the alternative. The last thing you hear is Tiny's pulse, slowing now that the struggle inside her is ending, and the gurgle as he stomach goes to work.

*****

Blinding glare in your eyes, and for a second you think you're looking up Tiny's gullet and out of her mouth. But you're standing, not folded up in a sea lion's stomach, and you stumble and sit down on warm beach sand. When your eyes recover you see the CLOTHES box a few feet away.

With a pair of shorts from the box pulled on you sit back down for a few minutes to recover. You wondered how much you would remember. You remember all of it.

"Never again," you mutter. You get your stuff from the locker, drop the borrowed shorts back off at the box and head back under the pier. You ignore the seal enthusiastically fucking a woman spooned up against it on the sand, among other distractions, and make your way back to Tiny.

You didn't think she would go anywhere with a great bulge of you in her middle and she hasn't. She's stretched out asleep, snoring, and occasionally a warm gurgle emerges from her swollen midsection. The lump is gone from the base of her neck so she eventually managed to swallow your head the rest of the way into her stomach. It would have been nice if she'd managed it a bit sooner.

There is a note under a rock next to your T-shirt. It's from Beachcomber.

"Dude," you read. He manages to sound like a laid-back beach bum even in writing. "I'm going to tell the other animals what happened in case it happens to them too. Maybe it'll end up helping somebody. Don't be mad at Tiny, it's not her fault. You just got super unlucky, dude."

Tiny's swollen middle lets out a long gurgle and you watch your lifeless form shift inside her. The inward pressure of her fat and muscle squeezes your old body into a more compact curl. The softening meat and lack of struggle is probably also how she swallowed your head the rest of the way. Forcing someone's spine or neck into an unnatural bend is easier when they are dead and digesting.

She starts awake when you press your hand against her middle. Just as with the woman last week, there is an unnatural softness to the shape curled up inside her. Even in only a little more than an hour her stomach acids have softened your flesh to the point that her guts slosh when you push. You're not surprised. God knows her stomach juices hurt in just the few minutes you were alive in there. You don't know how long it will take her to digest and pass you, but her guts have made a good start.

Tiny blinks her inky marble eyes at you and smiles the cute whiskery smile you've come to love. Either she doesn't remember how much pain you were in earlier or she never knew. She's used to people kicking their last inside her, after all. You just kicked more vigorously than most.

She slaps a foreflipper against her side, sending a sloshing wave through her fat and the softening bulk of used-to-be-you, then rolls over. She spreads her hind flippers invitingly and just like last week, you look at her swollen middle and wonder if you should he horrified.

You are, just a little. It doesn't stop you from pulling your shorts down and sliding into her. Each thrust makes her fat belly jiggle and even gorged she pushes back against you. She wraps her lower flippers around your thighs and reaches her foreflippers down to meet your hands. If there weren't a swollen belly in the way you'd lie atop her and let her hug you as you fuck.

Of course, if you did that, you would be one yawn and gulp away from another trip down her throat. That should bother you, but you're starting to like fucking her when she's full. Something about watching a wave move through her fat and the softening flesh inside her each time you thrust. She's a fat torpedo at the best of times, even more so with half her weight of you softening in her stomach.

In a week you'll be back, and what used to be you will be gone, digested, turned into sea lion fat and poop. You'll find her again, there among the rocks under the pier, and once more have to decide.

Or, rather, you've already decided. "Headfirst next time," you murmer to your lover, and she blinks inky eyes and grins.