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Soft vore mini stories

Dragon Devouring

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

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It could have been just any other furry convention – but it was not. In fact, it was far from that. The dance hall was packed, crowded shoulder to shoulder, but that only made it the perfect space for the macro dragon to strike.

The ceiling cracked, bodies scattering, screams cutting through the air. The laser light show flashed, set to a pre-determined program, manic and frantic, as if it had been perfectly designed for the show that was to commence. But all Mack could do, yanking his blue wolf fursuit head from where it had sat over his face, was reel from the horror, the ceiling ripped off, a giant gouge showing the night sky beyond.

Or, at least, that’s what it would have shown, if not for the macro dragon head blocking the way, an anthro that was far, far larger – and a lot more real – than what the people who had come to the convention to enjoy their vacation had expected to see there. Mack staggered backwards, hair plastered to his skull, terrified bodies all around him, shoving, pushing, yanking, everyone trying to get out, trying to save themselves. Could they really be blamed?

And yet there he was, frozen, his fursuit head clasped to his chest as if it would protect him, the dragon yawning, showing off a huge maw, a pink tongue with a forked tip flickering within. Drool strung out between his top and bottom rows of teeth, though his mouth was easily wide enough to fit four tall human bodies in comfortably, even if Mack could not see just how tall the dragon was.

No… All he could take in was the glistening blue-black scales, appearing as if they were wet, though he’d never find out if it was raining outside. It didn’t matter anyway, not at all, not as the dragon lunged for him with a gleam in its eyes, a beast beyond all imagining, its head framed by chunky, blocky horns.

Those eyes… They were almost as terrifying as the dripping maw, fixed on him, as if there was no one else down there in the dance hall with Mack at all.

A scream raked through his lungs, bursting into a cry.

“Fuck… Fuck!”

That was all he managed to get out, reeling from the monster, the beast that was set to change the course of his convention and all similar conventions forevermore, though Mack would not know about that. He wouldn’t need to know about that as the gaping maw of the dragon closed over him, lightning-quick, too quick for anyone, let alone him with his head sluggish with drink and horror.

And then all he saw was darkness, his shriek cut off in his throat, swallowed by horror. All around him there was damp wetness, slickness, saliva clinging to him as a thick, wriggly tongue sough to drag him down into the depths of its throat. He grasped at it, having dropped his fursuit head sometime in the course of being snapped up, but it wriggled right out of his grasp, slithering and slapping against him.

He wanted to cry out, wanted to plead for mercy, yet his chest heaved for much-needed breath far too heavily to spare time on words. He squirmed, caged in by teeth – but he didn’t want to get too close to them either! That would be the end of him, if one of them pierced his body in any way.

But the reek of the dragon’s maw… Oh, that sunk into him in a way that he could barely acknowledge, a rancid stench of meat and decay and death, even though the beast’s death were perfectly clean. Dimly, he was aware of the screams of the other furries at the convention, but he could no more help them out there than they could help him in there.

Maybe though, if it was him trapped within the putrid maw of the dragon, the others would be safe, perhaps for a little while longer. Maybe they could get away while he fought the slippery wrestle of the dragon’s tongue, too afraid to allow the true horror of the situation to grip him.

Yet it was irrevocable, saliva clinging to him, allowing him no grip at all. It pushed him further and further back, shoving Mack all the way to the back of the dragon’s maw. Fear clawed at his gut for how long the dragon’s mouth was, though the deeper darkness of the back of its throat begged further horror and fury, fighting, wriggling, slithering, squirming.

Sometimes, a mind could know that something was no use, but they would still fight anyway. It was like that with him, even as the maw around him tilted suddenly, the dragon throwing his head back with an almighty gulp. And then he was tumbled, sliding down a tight tube that pulsed around him, feeding him down and down and down the dragon’s throat.

He tried to cry out, putting his arms and legs out, trying to make himself a block, a bulge in the neck of the dragon, though the beast didn’t seem to have any trouble at all with him. He could not have said when he passed the neck of the dragon, gravity helping the dragon feed him down into his stomach, but he did know when his slide came to an end, landing in the grip of a belly that had no intention whatsoever of ever letting him go.

No… It was there that he would stay, weakening, fading, breath tight in his chest as the acidic aroma of the dragon’s belly, secreting digestive juices, filled his senses. He couldn’t stop it from happening, but, still, he didn’t stop fighting, instinct and fear, the will to survive ruling all else.

Yet not even he could survive a dragon devouring, swallowed down into the belly of a macro beast that only had its next feed on its mind.

Unconsciousness claimed him – and then Mack knew no more.