In your best prose, describe being eaten

In your best prose, describe being eaten.

I charge $5 commissions for my vore stories, user.

The victim saw too late that he had unwittingly run out into a species of carnivorous plant: and that, with every step, but particularly with a panicked step, he sank sank several inches more into constricting vines!--and was so dazed at the suddenness, and queerness, of the danger, he could not think how to proceed. To hasten forward seemed altogether unadvisable: to retreat, purposeless: yet to stay in one position, a fatal decision, as, even unmoving, he felt himself being tugged downward, by hideous, implacable, sucking degrees. Casting his eyes wildly overhead, where a meager patch of August sky peeped through a confused lacework of leaves, branches, and sinewy vines, the victim murmured aloud: "but to die here, and now,--and in so degrading a manner!"

slime shops open and I'm a 2013 Honda Civic ready to have my oil changed, too bad I'm the oil and the slime shop is mommy's mouth read to masticate my machine muscles into mushy macronutrients to feed her 72' mustang baby who just opened his slime shop

nom nom nom oh no im being eaten now im dead

OW!

Jurassic Park has an excellent scene at the end.

He sighed deeply wishing he had lived a bit longer to see what way the world went and if she would regret marrying him.

If only I had loved

Did psychologist ever analyze vore fetishes? Where does it come from? Mother bit them when they were children? The drive to completely submit to a woman? The desire to completely disappear, but not die?

Getting back to the womb afaik

Just because I enjoy some art that might be seen as "weird" to you...

>if she would regret marrying him.
Probably would, if his fag posts on Veeky Forums are anything to go by

wow this is pretty bad my dude

CRASH
What is this?
It jumped in my bedroom
from my broken window.

PANCAKE
This is what I am now
I cannot move
I cannot scream

GOLDEN RETRIEVER
He will eat me
Is this how it ends?

and with large bear teeth the bear ate me! i was like "fukk"

...

It now lately sometimes seemed a black miracle to me that people could actually care deeply about a subject or pursuit, and could go on caring this way for years on end. Could dedicate their entire lives to it. It seemed admirable and at the same time pathetic. We are all dying to give our lives away to something, maybe.

Is this some kind of fetish?

vore

jesus christ dude

I was a donut. Not a stereotypical American donut, I was the "Berliner" type, without a hole, all covered in sugar and my fat body filled with apricot marmalade. I was the "negress" of the pile, I was slightly burnt in the stove, which resulted in that bitterish black crust on my surface. But such things didn't worry me or make me feel insecure. I maybe wasn't an ideal donut, but men of discerning taste know that perfection isn't what they need. True beauty lies not in the total submission to our senses, desires and fixed ideas, but in the conflict with them. We are enriched by such encounters. And there was my discerning man, oh yes. He picked me so, so delicately, to not spill any sugar around. I saw a wedding ring on his finger... Then he opened his mouth widely... and I was closer and closer and... and then he bit me. His teeth cut through me, he bit off with control but decisively. And I was in ecstasy, yes, I was out of my mind, enamored with the sight of chewing, of the wet slime being dragged around his mouth and swallowed. And again!... he bit again and I didn't know you could bite this deeply. My marmalade was dripping, I was covered with saliva and the mouth was covered with marmalade. Ah! I wanted to moan, I wanted to scream in the senseless erotic ecstasy... But I couldn't... Because I was a donut.