Preface

The Tongue Riders Association (Part 1?)

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at https://archiveofourown.org/works/83771921.

Rating:ExplicitArchive Warning:Creator Chose Not To Use Archive WarningsCategories:F/F, F/M, M/M, MultiFandom:Zootopia (Disney Movies)Character:Original CharactersAdditional Tags:Vore, Soft Vore, Short, Sports, Action, Sexual Content, POV Female Character, POV Multiple, Original Character(s), Furry, Anthropomorphic, Making Out, Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Bodily Fluids, Drama, Anxiety, Teasing, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Public Nudity, Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Kissing, Nipples, Violence, Intoxication, Self-Esteem, Consensual Non-Consent, Female Characters, Bisexual Female Character, Gay Male Character, Porn, Smut, Humor, Feelings, Not Beta Read, VomitingLanguage:EnglishSeries:Part 1 of The "Driven" CollectionStats: Published: 2026-04-26 Words: 6,846 Chapters: 1/1

The Tongue Riders Association (Part 1?)

by Jellyfish_Merchant_Of_Love

Summary

The lights are on and cameras are rolling at a terribly tasty underground sporting event. For one mouse, this isn't just a game... When personalities clash, who will rise and who will fall?

Notes

"The Chase" nightclub belongs to Amadose, referenced here with permission; Carys and Cerys (the twin rabbits in the Meatup) belong to Nebula1701, also used with permission; overall setting is very loosely inspired by the film Zootopia; all other material is an original creation by the author.

CONTENT WARNING:

This story contains depictions of vore, mortal peril, minor drug use, and implied death, all treated as acceptable within the setting—reader discretion is advised...

INCOMPLETE STORY WARNING:

Currently, I have no plans to finish this story, so please read the "part 1" in the title as more of a "hypothetical" than a promise. Thank you!

See the end of the work for more notes

The Tongue Riders Association (Part 1?)

The wooden gangway swayed and vibrated under the mouse's bare feet.

A huge rush of cool, clammy air from below ruffled the fur on her naked body.

She licked her dry lips and poked her head over the edge of the wood, where it met the center cross made of smooth steel grating, and beneath that...

"Oh gosh... Oh. Oh, wow..."

The mouse looked up embarrassedly at the rat and gecko who were observing her from the scaffolding with neutral expressions.

"Whenever you're ready," the rat called.

The mouse cautiously stepped down onto the crossbars dividing the grate, dropping into a careful crouch and wrapping her fingers around the first of three concentric rings surrounding it.

The drawbridge immediately began to be pulled back by the animals on the platform, leaving her stranded there.

From this position, she couldn't not look down.

Lights built into the bottom of the grate illuminated a deep pit of pink flesh that pulsed and squeezed. At their center, a pursed hole, too deep and dark to see into, with another, tinier pit just below it.

The flesh contracted, and another gust of damp air tickled her body.

The mouse tucked her tail tight between her thighs.

Her palms were sweating.

She steadied her grip on the curved bar, arched her back high, and swung down.

BEEEEEEP!

On the ceiling high, high above, huge red numbers began counting down from three minutes.

The mouse looked down as a black worm with two pointed heads erupted out of the tinier. It flickered hesitantly, then immediately darted for the mouse's legs.

Instantly the adrenaline pulsing through her tiny body doubled, and her grip on the bars tightened.

The tongue stretched higher, two slick little branches flickering up along her calves, tasting her scent; her body...

She grimaced and shook her head.

The tongue rose higher still and flickered between her legs, teasing a shocked "squeak" from her mouth.

The mouse twisted her legs tight against the squirming assailant, pulling her knees up higher; the black worm retreated, flickered, then plunged up into the exposed crevice of her ass.

"EEEP!"

The tongue slithered back into its cave.

The mouse looked up through the bars, panting and letting her weight sag from her shoulders.

2:41

2:40

The fleshy worm erupted from below, springing towards the mouse's face.

She winced and turned her face away as it wriggled wetly against her breasts, belly, and chin.

She slid her hand to the right, feeling along the cold steel, then inching along with her left.

Her blind assailant followed undeterred, plunging into her armpits now, triggering shrieking laughter and a desperate stretch for the crossbar.

Her fingers failed to grab on; her whole body's weight swung back onto one tickled arm.

The mouse grunted, trying to reach her arm back up, but she lacked the strength.

She got her hips into it, swinging with her legs to get her torso, her arm, her whole body higher.

The worm immediately dropped back down to invade her unguarded nethers again, and the mouse screamed: "NO! Hee hee! Stop! SQUEAK!"

Her grip slipped

falling

She reached up.

The soft, slick flesh pillowed around her as she fell down, deeper, and forever, away from the light...

"No no no NOOOOOO!"

Glup.

BZZZZZZZ!

A cacophony of cheers, whistles, and pounding feet shook dust off the warehouse rafters.

"Ohhh! And our first-timer is already gone with over two minutes still on the clock! Did anyone catch her name?"

"I'm sure it was on the release forms, Tom. Now, let's check out that instant replay!"

The televisions around the room transitioned to the throat cam which perfectly captured the shock seeping into the mouse's blushing face as she fell away in agonizing slow-motion, her floundering feet squishing against the plush walls and slipping down towards the center, her tiny, pink, outstretched hand the last to disappear into wet meat.

"Not much of a show from her_..."_

"Well, I hope she doesn't mind having company_: I've just been informed that_ this carnivorous constrictor is opening his jaws to all newcomers! So if any of you little ladies in the audience tonight want to take him on, or if any fans have an appropriately-sized friend that you want to go body-to-head with, come on down to our signup table in the next hour, and we'll get you on stage next!"

"Ech," the mouse in the prey locker room scoffed, watching the stagehands unharness the boa constrictor's muzzle from the head-cage on the monitor.

"Something wrong?" Taylor's boyfriend handed her refilled water bottle back to her.

"Just remembering why I hate doing these open events. They'll let any prey-brained idiot climb into a snake's mouth like that..."

The boa slithered off-camera, leaving the stage crew to wipe down the grating and check the cameras.

"Anyone looking at that girl should have known exactly how that was going to go..."

"Well, not everyone is into this for the athletics, hon," the other mouse said with a lecherous grin.

Taylor smirked back, then took a few angry gulps from her bottle.

Her cropped tank top revealed arms and abs that had, themselves, been sculpted right along with the parts of the city that they had helped build, albeit with much less professional care: a nick out of her left ear, a blunted tail tip, several waxy and furless burn marks along her right arm and shoulder...

Taylor mopped at her face with a towel and sighed. The warmup run had gotten her jazzed, but this open section was spoiling her mood.

As if to rub it in her face, the commentator kept pattering:

"Aaand to all of those who just joined our premium live-stream at home: Welcome! to the Tongue Riders Association's open section, made possible thanks to the generous support of our fans and tonight's co-sponsor, The Chase nightclub in beautiful downtown Zootopia!"

"Fuck it. I'm going to go take another lap. Watch my stuff?"

Alex nodded, and Taylor stepped out of the locker room into the bustling backstage alley, while the commentators continued jabbering through the arena's speakers:

"For those who don't already know, the rules of tongue-riding are simple_! Prey are paid for every full minute that they think they can touch tongues with a pernicious pred without taking a one-way trip through tonsil town! As long as they don't get thrown or throated, the money's theirs! Otherwise, that cash prize will be lining the pred's pockets just like the prey puffing their paunch."_

"You're a real 'alliter-gator', Tom. Now, today's exhibition is for fixed-head matches only_! That means that the timer doesn't_ start until the prey is completely below the bars. And a warning for our more modest competitors: all prey are required to compete naked_. Does that make them 'eye-candy', Tom?"_

"Right you are, Ken! And speaking of tasty tails, I've just been told that we have a triplicate lined up for our next match—is that right?"

"Yes, it seems that three girls from the audience are taking that boa up on his offer and are going to attempt a whopping twelve_-minute challenge against him..."_

Taylor followed a snarl of black cables down the corner of the alleyway, past the pred locker room and the closed door to the weigh-in room.

Around the bend was the path to the stadium floor's grand entrance, which funneled into a walk-out by black cloth drapes hanging on plastic pipes.

The drop cloths partially concealed stacks of empty equipment trunks as well as a dimly-lit folding table where the sound and tech team manipulated an array of laptops and soundboards.

Right then on the walk-out, a trio of mice were drunkenly pawing and groping at each other while stripping down to the fur while a chinchilla with a microphone tried and failed not to stare.

Taylor rolled her eyes and gave them all a wide berth, passing by just as the chinchilla's camera-man began counting down from five.

On the TV screens, the chyron on the bottom introduced the segment as as "Last Words with Jack the Snack".

"I'm here with our next three dishes—I mean, competitors. Ha ha! Girls, please! Tell us your names?"

"I'm 'Salty'," said the skinny mouse with a silver nose stud and a flowering black mandala tattooed on her inner left ear.

"I'm 'Sweet'," said a mouse still in possession of most of her clothing.

"And I'm 'Spicy'!" The curvy mouse shook her nipple-studded breasts at the camera and bared her teeth in a growl.

All three of them wore identical violet eye-paint that practically glowed in the dark.

"You three are looking very delicious this evening! Any Last Words for the audience?"

They looked to each other, giggling and grinning nervously.

Salty pulled the microphone to her mouth. "That snake is the one that's going down tonight!"

Spicy leaned in and shouted, "Yeah!" Then Salty tickled her side, and she doubled over laughing out of frame.

Sweet stepped in: "We're definitely walking out of here with that money, Jack. No problem."

Spicy and Salty crept up behind Sweet, grabbed her yellow top, and yanked it up over her head, flashing her mottled breasts and pink nipples to the camera while she shrieked at them from behind the fabric.

"Can't we make this a four-person match? I would love to go with you girls! Pleeease?" The chinchilla fake-sobbed into his microphone as the girls giggled and started stumbling out into the arena, shedding their clothes along the way. "Ahooo hooo... Over to you, Marty..."

A hulking salt-water crocodile identified as "Marty the Mouth" was hunched down next to the boa constrictor from the first match.

"And here is our predator for this match, 'I Brought My Own Fork'. That first girl went down pretty smooth for you, didn't she, 'Fork?"

The snake smiled and flickered his tongue. "Oh yeah... She was pretty hot for it."

"And how is she doing in there?"

The python swayed his belly from side to side. "Oh, I can still feel her wiggling around in there... If these girls lose fast enough, they might just get to meet her..."

"Well let's not waste any more time here! Get on that stage, and let's get riding!"

A tech in back tapped two buttons, flipping the T.R.A. logo across the screen and swapping from pre-tape to live footage of the stage, where "I Brought My Own Fork" was already strapped back into the match harness and cage, and the three mice were crawling unsteadily out onto the grating.

"That is exactly the kind of confidence I like to see in my preds, Ken."

"Same here, Tom. Now, for a group bout, all prey are given an equal share of the time and the prize money! That means that as long as all three of them are still in the game, the timer will be ticking down three seconds for every one, making this a four-minute match as long as no one 'drops out'."

"But if someone does 'take the plunge', whoever's left will have to shoulder the remaining time all by themselves..."

Salty and Sweet were already seated on the crossbars with their legs dangling below.

The breath blowing up their backsides set both girls shrieking.

Spicy clambered off the side of the plank and started crawling away from the others.

Salty shouted after her: "Amb! Where you goin'? Get over here, bitch!"

The shapely mouse waved back, but continued on until she arrived at the edge where the ring was latched under the snake's upper jaw. Spicy walked her hands up the roof of the snake's mouth until she was standing unsteadily with her feet on the bars. Then she kicked one leg up over the snake's lip and skooched forward, bringing her crotch directly over one of the snake's nostrils.

Spicy reached a flat palm down between her legs and rubbed it hard against her puffy lips, then grabbed the leathery edge of his nostril and rubbed her scent into it.

She barked a laugh as 'Fork's next inhale sucked on her body with erratic intensity.

Spicy peered over the edge and grinned at his widening pupils, giving his muzzle a parting smooch and dropping back onto the grating, scrabbling back over to her friends.

"I'm not sure if that counts as 'illegal roughness', Tom, but 'Fork doesn't seem to be complaining, and neither am I..."

Salty gave her friend a high four as she stumbled back into position, "Oh my gods Amber, you are such a skeeze."

"He's really flickering down there now," Anne cooed, looking down into the snake's pit where the tips of his large black tongue were waggling just outside their pocket, held back by the starting buzzer.

The three mice looked at each other with barely-contained glee.

They nodded, gripped the bars, and dropped in.

BEEEEEEP!

Sweet shrieked in surprise as the black tongue thrust right past her face and up through the bars.

It rattled against metal before retracting, then thrusting out again, this time straight for Spicy, who grunted as it caught her in the ribs.

In one quick movement, she wrapped her thighs around the tongue and squeezed, locking it in place.

Spicy grunted as the thrashing appendage vibrated on the gold piercing on her clit, but she refused to let it go.

Salty clambered over and swung her own feet out, snagging the tendril in the crook of her calf, locking it even tighter and letting out a victory whoop.

"Woo! You got him, girls," Sweet cheered, looking up at the clock.

11:18

11:15

11:12

The tongue jerked down, and Salty's knee-lock was pulled down with it, wrenching her right hand loose. "Shit!"

In the moment she let off the pressure with her calf to grab the bar again, the constrictor yanked back again, and this time Spicy let out a piercing shriek, her own fingertips barely clinging to the ring above her head.

From across the ring, Sweet watched Salty extend her leg, hooking one foot under Spicy's butt to lift her back up.

In the next moment, Spicy's tenuous grip failed, and suddenly she was falling, hands flailing for purchase, seizing on Salty's ankle, ripping Salty's own grip lose, and down they both fell, screaming.

Sweet shut her eyes tight and screamed: "AMB! RICKIIIII!"

Sweet's heart was pounding, and her whole world spun upside down, body shivering with arousal as the adrenaline flirted aggressively with the "experience-enhancing" chemicals already in her bloodstream.

She looked woozily up at the clock:

10:33

10:30

10:27

She looked down again and found Salty and Spicy slipping around on the slick cushions of the snake's pinched throat.

The two tried to crawl up the walls before a shift in the floor had them sliding back down into the middle, crashing into one-another with a loud shriek and giggling in a growing pool of saliva.

Salty pounced on Spicy, giving her fat tits a squeeze as she howled back.

The throbbing in Sweet's loins was only made worse watching the two of them frolicking on the edge of disaster. She closed her eyes tight again and focused on the clock counting down in her mind.

"Aaaaaneeeeeyyyyy!" Salty called from somewhere below, "Don't you want to come down here with uuuuus? It feels soooooo goooood down here... Ahahaha!" There was a splat as Salty fell back into the wet with another peal of laughter.

Sweet shook her head, trying to sober up.

"Yeek!" The snake's tongue, which had been flicking searchingly near the base of his throat, sprang up, stroking Sweet's bare asscheeks and the back of her ear on its way to the air outside.

Sweet tried not to think about words like "tight", "wet", or "digestion"... She just had to hold on.

Something hard smacked into Sweet's foot and her eyes flew open.

Below, Salty had managed to get half-way back up the snake's mouth by bracing herself with his tongue and was grabbing at Sweet's feet with a manical grin.

"Ricki, no! Stop it!" Sweet kicked ineffectually at her friend's hand.

At the bottom, Spicy had managed to shove her own head entirely into the snake's tight throat and was frantically rubbing one out.

"He wants alllll of us, Annneeeeey," Salty called out mockingly while snatching at the air. "Don't you want to come dooooown with uuuuuus, Aaaannneeeeey..."

Sweet inched her hand along the bar, trying to get further away from Salty's hand, but her fingertips found a thick sheen of snake spit that made it impossible to grip.

The mouse let out an agonized whimper and looked up, blinking away the purple eye-paint that was now running down her face. The clock slowly ticked down to eight minutes.

The thin black tongue smacked against her backside again.

Salty's fingertips were trying to tickle at the soles of her feet.

The crowd outside was chanting: "DROP! DROP! DROP! DROP!"

"Come get eaten with us Annnneeeeeey..."

The throbbing pulsed in Sweet's loins.

For just a moment, Sweet let her body hang limp from the bar—

"GOTCHA!"

Sweet screamed as her friend tackled into her calf, yanking her grip loose and bringing her splattering down against the snake's lower jaw. The two slid down into the ankle-deep pool of cool saliva gathering around Spicy's prone form.

Spicy's head popped up out of the snake's meat with a wet schlorp. "Hwah?" She blinked blearily at her friends flopping around in the slime. "Oh!" She grinned malevolently. "Uhhhhhhhh ohhhhhhhh...."

Sweet felt the throat muscles under her palm beginning to shift and contract. "Ohhh gods..." Terror and excitement flooded her body with a feverish heat she had never felt before.

Spicy dove at Sweet and Salty with a giggle as the fleshy floor beneath them began to open wide, the floor and walls getting steeper. She wrapped her arms around her struggling friends and shouted, "Heeeeere weeeeee gooooooo!"

"Yyyeeeeaaaahhhh!"

"AHHHHHHHHH!"

Ngllurp.

BZZZZZZZ!

"Aaand with eight minutes thirty-three on the clock, the girls take the plunge. Those sure were some wild ladies! Let's see their last moments!"

On the slow-motion camera, three mice with three delirious faces were lifted up, then began sliding down, a tangle of gleaming-wet limbs, tits, and tails: Sweet watched with fascination as her own legs disappeared down the snake's throat first; Spicy had her eyes shut tight, grinning from ear to ear; and Salty flashed her middle finger at the camera: the last thing to disappear down that hungry hole.

"You know, I hate that they're gone, but I loved watching them go!"

"While we wait for our next matchup, why don't we get a few words with the victor. Marty?"

"Thanks, Ken. I'm standing here with 'I Brought My Own Fork' who has just handily, or should I say, 'snakily', downed four girls this evening. Are you going to go for a fifth, sir?"

The microphone shoved into the startled boa's face caught a small "urp" before he composed himself.

"No, I'm pretty full. I'm taking my winnings and calling it a night. This has been incredible—thanks, guys!"

"And will you be...keeping your competitors?"

"Oh!" 'Fork shifted so that his belly was raised up closer to the camera. "I took something before the match so everyone's cozy... Feels like they're all having a very good time in there together. Urp. Mng... But I wouldn't say no if they decided to stay."

"Now that sounds like one fun afterparty," the gator said with a chuckle. "Back to you, Tom!"

"Well that was awful considerate of him. I sure hope they don't give him indigestion..."

"Quite right, Tom. Though, I should remind our viewers that tonight's preds are under no obligation to protect their prey from getting gurgled!"

Alex didn't notice as Taylor walked back into the locker room; he was focused on the mice on the replay with one hand stroking up and down in his pocket.

Taylor crept up behind him, reached around, and slipped her pink paw down the front of his pants, rewarded with a startled leap and a half-turgid shaft. She grinned and gave him a squeeze. "Enjoying the show so far, you little freak?"

"Mf! Yeahhh..."

"Aww," she cooed at him, grinding her thumb into his cock head, "Did you like watching those three little ditzes go bye-bye down a big 'ol snake's throat?"

"Nnfff... Yeah. But I think you get a lot more excited after a match..."

She swung a leg over his lap, straddling him face-to-face. "Shut up."

They shared a brief, deep kiss.

Taylor released her grip on her boyfriend's manhood and wiped her palm off on her sweats, while Alex tried to slow his breathing.

"Any of the others here yet?" Taylor asked, taking another a swig from her water bottle.

"Boxer was here a little bit ago...and so was Rusty."

"Yeesh," she hissed under her breath.

"I think Bruno was in the preds', but then he left again. Probably working the crowds. You know him."

She nodded and pecked Alex on the cheek, climbing off of his much-firmer bulge.

"Taking another lap?" Alex asked.

"Just a cooldown. You keep that thing on ice. Tonight, I'm going to suck the numbers right off your fuzzy little dice."

Taylor left Alex looking adorably flustered and turned right this time, heading towards the Meatup: a green-room-like zone that would be open to the audience to mingle with the pro riders and sign up for amateur bouts.

The payout table was over here as well, and a little ways off from it Taylor passed by the snake that had just gone 4-0 on stage. He was flicking his tongue excitedly while being pawed at by a striking-looking bunny with tri-color fur and gold piercings gleaming down the white bases of her ears.

"Sooo," the bunny said while caressing the underside of his jaw, "how long is your tongue...?"

A second, almost-identical-looking rabbit had her ear and cellphone pressed against the snake's full belly, shooting a selfie video while mugging into the camera.

Taylor curved around to head back into the stadium, but her way out was blocked by a thick cluster of rodents, lizards, and marsupials all around her height, interspersed with a few larger preds and prey.

Sure enough, at the center of them all, was Bruno.

The enormous grizzly was down on one knee and bending low, flashing his trademark big dumb smile.

In between poses for photos, he was chattering excitedly with a little orange-and-cream-furred stoat who was bouncing up and down and intermittently waving around a poster that he had brought with him.

Taylor leaned on one of the walls that wasn't made of fabric and studied the bear for a while.

His record wasn't particularly impressive. She had watched his more recent matches and come away confident that she could beat him, though he wouldn't make it easy.

To Taylor's side, Miss D., a degu with a clipboard, was chittering at high speed into her radio about the slate of matches, a cancellation, and getting the next two competitors into the signing room pronto.

A pair of grips maneuvered around her carrying satchels laden with spare batteries and memory cards, the shorter of the two scrambling to keep up with the taller.

As they waded through the crowd, a familiar flash of neon-red fur suddenly walked out of it, and Taylor immediately spun on her heel and started walking away just slow enough to not draw attention to herself.

"YOOO! MetalMouse!"

"Fuck..."

"Hey girl! How you been? It's me, Fireball!"

"Hey, 'Ball," she said, turning around with the best smile she could arrange her face into.

The squirrel's fuchsia-dyed ear tufts hurt to look at, but Taylor had already clocked that he was walking around in nothing but open silk robe and so refused to look down from his smarmy grin.

"Shit, if I knew you were coming, I'd have signed up sooner. Hey, you seen Terry around? I heard she was supposed to be coming tonight..."

"No. Thought I heard Miss D. say something about a no-show earlier..."

Taylor felt a little twinge of demonic joy at seeing Rusty's face deflate, even for just a moment.

"Psh. Nahhh, she'll be here. I'm sure of it."

Taylor shrugged. "Welp, I'm actually just heading back to the lockers, so—"

"Oh, sick! I'll come with."

Taylor's smile suffered a slight fracture. "Okay."

As they walked along, the squirrel flashed buck-toothed grins at passers-by and fired his finger guns at them.

"Hey, did'ja hear the rumor?"

"Rumor?" Taylor took another sip from her bottle.

"Kai might be coming tonight... Kai! Hohhh mannn!"

"So what?"

"Come on! It's fucking Kai, dude!"

"If he is here, it's just for a free lunch: collect an appearance fee, eat a fan or two, leave... That's it."

Though deep down, Taylor felt a little tingle at hearing his name. She had studied Kai as well. Intently.

"I mean, look at the big guns that are coming," she continued. "We've got Boxer—"

"Now that's a fuckin smokestack. I'd love to go toe-to-toe with her in the sheets, heh heh..."

Taylor smiled encouragingly at Rusty's crassness; her last opponent ended up eating through a straw for two weeks...

"...the only pros she can go up against are Killer-class, of which there will be none tonight. Which means she's out of the cards. And no one's going to challenge Terry, because you'd have to be insane to do that... And then Kai? Kai isn't going to risk his win streak and piss away a much bigger appearance fee risking everything in some tiny fan event..."

Rusty spun around to face her, hopping backwards with his arms outstretched and a huge grin on his face. "Then we've gotta make it a big event, Metal! You and me! We can get the folks hyped like Bruno does! After tonight? I'm gonna be up there on that big screen with you, them, and all the other greats. You wait and see."

Taylor had to roll her eyes at that. The two of them turned into the locker room, and Alex looked up with mild surprise. "Back already?"

"Yo! What's up Al?" Rusty ran in and clapped hands with Alex, dragging him into an uncomfortably-naked embrace while he and Taylor exchanged a look over his shoulder.

Taylor took her perch on one of the benches, abandoning her boyfriend to Rusty's charms. Her gaze drifted over the room. A newt who had recently joined the T.R.A. was putting his belongings away in one of the lockers. Past him, she spotted Boxer in the back row closest to the showers texting someone.

Somehow Boxer always looked like she had just stepped off a runway somewhere: the dwarf rabbit was manicured, sharply-dressed, with pristine white fur concealing a body chiseled from stone.

She caught Taylor's gaze and gave a slight nod; the mouse nodded back.

The bunny's eyes drifted to Rusty, who leaned back dramatically against the lockers, allowing his robe to fall open, waggling his eyebrows at her with his mouth screwed up in a smirk.

Boxer turned back to her locker.

"Well, folks, it looks like we'll be starting our pro matches a little early tonight! One of our pros just couldn't wait to get under the ring and show his stuff. From the professional Tongue Riders Association, introducing, the one, the only, Brunoooo!"

The locker room screen began displaying a montage of clips from Bruno's pro matches and various public appearances.

Taylor's sharp ears detected Miss D's voice in the alleyway, her words gushing like an angry firehose, the "Bruno"-shaped syllables carrying through in particularly foreboding tones.

"Oh shit!" Rusty hopped over to the entrance. "If we're starting now, I gotta get going. See you later, M.M.!"

Taylor made a vague gesture with her hand, then moved to sit next to Alex.

"You're not going yet?" the other mouse asked.

Taylor shrugged. "I'm not getting paid to start early, so I won't. Fuck Bruno."

On screen, Bruno's opponent, the little stoat that he had been talking to at the Meatup was being introduced as "Funsize". He looked adorably excited and nervous to give his Last Words, holding his tail crossed modestly over his bare crotch.

The match that followed was surprisingly engaging.

For an amateur, Funsize had good strategic thinking and deft movement. But around the one-minute mark Bruno managed to catch him in a rather compromising position that allowed him to drain the little guy's stamina and his balls...

Not long after that, the stoat slipped up on a cross-ring transition and ended up following his own semen down the satiny slide into Bruno's hot guts.

"Ohhh! and with only thirty-seven seconds to go, Bruno clinches the win. What a fantastic performance for a newcomer whose amateur career has just been tragically cut short! (Hey, can I get a copy of that one?)"

Marty and his camera crew were already closing in on Bruno, but the bear held up his huge paw at them. "Just a sec..."

The camera followed the grizzly over to the side bench where rows of identical paper cups were lined up beside a large padded plastic tub.

He grabbed one of the cups—tiny in his huge paws—and knocked it back.

The camera caught the bear's expression as it instantly soured, dark lips peeling back from rows of yellowish fangs into a wretched sneer.

"Umph. Glurrkkkk-GYAAAAHAAAAAACK!"

And a slimy stoat splattered down into the tub. Funsize blinked in a daze at all the lights and at Jack the Snack's microphone as it was thrust into his face.

"Funsize! Funsize! Can we get a word? How was it in there?"

"Wha...uhh...."

Back in the locker room, Taylor smirked. "Bruno really does love his fans..."

"You think they're going to fuck after all this is over?" Alex asked with a similar smirk.

"Definitely. Those are not the last of that bear's 'fluids' that he's going to be covered in tonight..."

While the cameras lingered on Bruno helping towel off his opponent, announcer Ken cut in:

"Sorry, Marty; I'm afraid we're going to have to cut our post-match interviews short, because we've got another match lined up, and this one is going official_! Pro-to-pro; head-to-body. One of our relative newcomers to the T.R.A. pro leagues, Fireball, has challenged one of the biggest, the baddest, the...well,_ biggest_, member of the T.R.A., the Treetop Terror herself, Terry Topps, to a three-minute bout!"_

"Shit my ass." Taylor spun around, shocked to hear profanity blurt from Boxer's usually reticent mouth. "Did he say Terry?"

Every prey player came rushing over to the television in various states of undress, crowding in around Alex and Taylor to watch as, on the screen, Rusty chatted with bounced around in his silk robe and shadow boxed in front of Jack's microphone.

"Fireball! Can we get your Last Words? Terry is one of the T.R.A.'s most dangerous preds; what makes you think you can win today?"

Rusty grinned cheekily at the chinchilla. "Jack, these big pros? They're a bunch of paper tigers. It's just like MetalMouse was saying backstage: they hide behind their records, but you get them under the ring? And they'll go down same as anybody. That big yellow bitch is easy pickings for a phenom on the rise..."

Everyone standing around the television turned to look at Taylor.

The mouse's ears were aflame and she could feel her eyes throbbing in the back of her skull. She sucked air through her nose and blew it out through pursed lips. "Fucking Rusty..."

She didn't want to imagine what look Boxer might be giving her right now; without another word, she got up and walked out of the locker, headed for the arena floor to watch the match, while the interview continued on-camera:

"Miss Topps! Miss Topps!"

A steady-cam chased Marty the Mouth over to a giraffe wearing a long black midi sun dress with a halter top. The enormous saltwater crocodile strained to hold his mic near her face.

"Miss Topps! You heard what Fireball said. Do you have a response for him?"

The microphone quivered with both anticipation and arm fatigue.

The giraffe's pearl-and-gold earrings swayed from her ears as she looked down at it disdainfully, then cocked her head to one side to peer down at the huffing and puffing squirrel near her feet.

The giraffe turned and sauntered away towards the main entrance.

"Straight down to business_! Well, let's hope her match lasts a little longer than her interview did!"_

"Ken, I would happily pay the entry fee to get her to look at me that way..."

"Youuuu might not like what happens after that, Tom."

"_You _might be surprised Ken. But now isn't the time for that. Introducing, for our first professional match of the evening, your predator, The Yellow Empress herself: Te-rrrrrryyyyyy! Topps!"

The crowd roared. The giraffe raised one hand in a graceful wave to the crowd amid the strobe flash of cellphone cameras, before proceeding on to the stand.

"And her opponent, the newcomer with nuclear energy! Scaling in at five inches and six ounces! Fiiiiiireeeeballlllll!"

The squirrel burst out into the spotlight, grinning and flapping his arms to the audience. He dropped to all fours on the walkway and snap-scurried, pivoted, and launched into a backflip, landing on one foot, setting the crowd howling.

Taylor found relative sanctuary along the arena wall standing next to the camera-ram filming wide shots.

Terry was already strapped in at starting position while Rusty made his short-legged way down the carpet. The grips were busy ratcheting up a secondary set of platforms following the downward slope of the giraffe's long, muscular neck.

"Now Tom, as we all know, Terry Topps' Tongue Riding career started with a meteoric rise with a seven-oh undefeated official record that she has defended to this day, though her last professional match was well over two years ago."

"Is it also true that she never_ gives back her prey, Ken?"_

"That's right, Tom. Well, we can rest assured that whatever the results are tonight, they will be definitive_."_

Atop the loading stand, Rusty bounced on the balls of his feet, swinging his arms from side to side and puffing and blowing in his cheeks. His robe fell to the stand, revealing a remarkably well-toned squirrel body covered in bright red fur.

Without warning, he leapt out over the grating and dropped onto the center cross without even touching the wooden gangway; again, the crowd roared for him.

"Three minutes on the clock... Our challengers are in position..."

Rusty dropped to all fours, gripping the first ring with his hands, and shaking his whole body loose down to the tip of his tail. The audience went silent.

The squirrel kicked up with his back legs, rising into a handstand, eliciting a few hushed "ooohs" from the crowd. Then his weight pivoted forward and his frame swished gracefully through the bars, feet arcing down and then back up to second ring, which he immediately latched onto and started bolting for the outer edge before the buzzer could even ring.

BEEEEEEEP!

Twelve seconds passed before the giraffe's three-foot-long, opposable black tongue snagged the tip of Rusty's tail, latching on with the ferocity you normally only expect see in carnivores.

Taylor startled as the camera-ram next to her shouted, "oh shit!" and took off sprinting towards the giraffe. A few moments later, he was hustling his camera rig up the platforms towards Terry's jawline.

"So," came a gruff and heavily-accented voice to Taylor's side, "You think we only rest on laurel."

The mouse turned to find a Bengal tiger in a suit standing a little ways off from where the camera-ram had been.

Taylor felt her pulse quicken.

Gods damn it, Rusty...

"Kai... I didn't say that, exactly."

"Squirrel say you did."

"He also said he could win."

In the short time they had been talking, Terry had easily wormed her tongue around the lower half of the struggling squirrel's body and pried him loose from the bars.

She was now letting the clock run down while she swung him around helplessly, occasionally lifting him within hand's reach of the bars before yanking him away again, to the laughter of the crowd.

"Squirrel could have won."

"Bullshit," Taylor snapped. "It's a miracle that he even took those twelve seconds off of her."

"Ohhh... Then you would give Empress good fight?"

"Fuck no! I'm not crazy. And that's not the point."

The tiger turned away from the screens to look down at her. "What is point?"

Taylor was getting pissed off now. She gestured towards the stage. "That is not a real match. I mean, just look at Terry for gods' sakes..."

The giraffe's left hand had risen to her chest, and she was idly running a finger around one of her nipples through the fabric, an expression of cold amusement somehow escaping through the metal bonds securing her mouth.

"She only picked on Rusty because he was running his fucking mouth, like always. He never had a chance, and she knew it. She wasn't risking anything."

Taylor could feel her blood was up; an unwise mixture of arousal and agitation. But she pressed on anyway: "And you're just as bad as her, Kai... You're just lucky that Boxer and Guinness are out of your size class, or that record of yours would have been demolished months ago."

The Bengal tiger narrowed his eyes at her. The mouse felt her haunches stirring, ready to run or to fight back—as agitated as she was, she wasn't sure which.

BZZZZZZZ!

The crowd roared deafeningly as Rusty's tongue-wrapped face vanished from the screens and down the giraffe's throat.

"Ohhhhh! And with one-oh-seven left on the clock, down_ he goes!"_

"And it certainly is a long_ way down, Ken!"_

The camera-ram started down the platforms with one hand on the railing. On the monitors, a close-up of a bulge that used to be Rusty slid sensuously down the curve of the giraffe's throat until it faded away under her breastbone.

Kai finally blinked, his expression softening. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I am simply coward... Then tell me what you risk, Metal Mouse? When do you go big?"

With his accent, that "Metal" sounded a lot more like "Little".

Then the tiger turned his back on her and started towards the back hallways.

Taylor watched him go, burning with shame and self-righteous anger while the arena's screen played a hastily-cut compilation of Rusty's last, terrified faces.

She stomped out of the arena, passing through the Meatup and banged her fist against the open weighing room door.

"Hey! Sangi! You got a minute?"

The yellow rat looked up, startled. "Oh! Sure, Tay. Whatcha need?"

A while later, Taylor reentered the locker room with her tail twitching.

"Hey, hon. You okay?"

"Fine."

She dropped down into the chair next to Alex with a sigh. A few of the other tinies side-eyed her, but didn't say anything. Thankfully, Boxer was away.

Alex stood up and walked around and started massaging her neck and shoulders.

Taylor closed her eyes and focused on her breathing and tried to ignore the announcer, Tom's, ramblings:

"...headed down the hot dog highway? The road to nowhere! The one way street to meat town! The crimson causeway; the red, red river... Into the pit that just don't quit! Down in the black for snacks; the pool for fools; the swamp for suckers! The last stop on the way to Digestion. The fiber freeway. The place where you can only prey to get out... The dinner dumpster. The Heartburn Hotel. The olllllld lunchbox! Snack food solitary! The only prison where you are_ the last meal! Down the gurgling gulch; the saliva slid-ah. The home of the—oh thank gods, Ken is back."_

"Yes, and I have some exciting news, Tom! One of our established champions, MetalMouse, has just waived her right of refusal tonight on a three-minute match!"

Alex's kneading grip stopped. "Uh. Are you sure about this, Tay?"

Taylor breathed out slowly. "It's already done. It's fine. The fan queue is totally full right now. I just want to get my casuals out of the way and then we can head home..."

"...And in even more_ exciting news, it looks like we already have a matchup for her! Yet another T.R.A. legend is making his first professional return to the ring after two long seasons—"_

Taylor's shoulders suddenly tensed under her boyfriend's hands. "Tay?"

She shook Alex's hands off her and went sprinting out of the locker room.

"Tay!"

Taylor couldn't answer him; she was too busy muttering to herself: "He didn't. He fucking didn't..."

"...The King of the Ring..."

Taylor rounded the corner and spotted the tiger smiling and shaking hands with the pred contract coordinator at the signup room entrance.

"...KAAAAAIIII!"

Kai scanned the hall and spotted Taylor standing there, and his eyes narrowed.

"Fuck."

Afterword

End Notes

THANK YOU FOR READING!

This story started off as a fun idea, but my spark went out before I made to through final bout, and because dragging it across the finish line felt like such a nightmare I decided to cut it short—apologies for the cliff- (or fang-)-hanger ending. :(

I think part of it was a handful of process mistakes that resulted in me trying to write, edit, AND research, all at the same time...

My other big issue was the limitations of the concept and the character arc I was working with: the only ending would be a simple win-or-lose binary between two characters who are too self-serious to have any the kind of vore-ny fun I like, which drained all the excitement and flavor out of the process for me.

(You live and you learn! (Unless you're Fireball...))

I did have a finale sketched out where we see how MetalMouse fares against Kai, but I doubt it will ever get produced in full. Sorry again!

* * *

As with Driven, shout out to Amadose whose "The Chase" was tangentially mentioned as a local co-sponsor/supporter for this event; if you want to see more of that, go back and read my previous story, "Driven".

Additionally, those two gorgeous bunnies—Carys and Cerys—were very kindly loaned to me by Nebula1701; thank you! (This probably isn't the last we've seen of them—more on that below...)

I'd also like to keep shouting out other vore artists whose work inspired me as these stories go on, so a special thanks to Bobbydando/Eldrik Aethervial for their "Grim Fate" comic series; their peril-vs-pleasure-based fantasy adventuring undoubtedly provided the fertilizer for the tone of this story's setting.

Music-wise, probably the best tonal match I could find for this story was AC/DC's "Shoot To Thrill"; sadly it only runs for a little over five minutes, which left it unsuitable for background tunes while writing. (Another unfortunate issue this time around...)

* * *

Right now, I think I'm also going to shake up my original release plans.

Rather than jumping back to Lili, I'd like to start on a spinoff from Tongue Riders, following Carys and Cerys and that "I Brought My Own Fork" fella that they were flirting with in the Meatup.

I have a lot of fun ideas for Driven 2, but they haven't coalesced into a complete image in my head yet, so rather than trying to rush things (as I fear I did here), I'm just going to let it stew until the idea totally thrills me. (Learning!)

Also, I had a massive brainstorm for a new stand-alone story idea that might also get bumped up over Driven 2... Expect something darker in tone, highly dangerous, and very aggressive (with a direct sequel already sketched out). Getting shivers just thinking about it... :)

Until next time!

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