V0re - Blog Posts
cooking for a pred in hopes to keep them fed, so that they dont feel compelled to eat you
You made probably the biggest mistake an intern could make.
The CEO was still yelling. Muffled, furious, definitely still yelling.
<"You’re fired,"> they bark, their voice vibrating through your stomach walls. <"You hear me? Fired! The second I get out of here, I swear to god—">
You press both hands into the firm swell of your belly, trying to calm it, trying to calm yourself.
"Please," you say, voice tight, "can you—can you stop yelling?"
<"Stop yelling?"> they snap. <"You ate me, you little freak!">
you wince.
<"I am the leader of this company, I should not be sitting in some intern’s gut!">
You groan, curling further into yourself, shifting your weight on the supply closet floor.
It’s not comfortable—the CEO is heavy, far heavier than anything you’ve ever swallowed before. Your stomach is stretched to its absolute limit, packed full, groaning under the pressure.
"I panicked," you mutter, rubbing small circles over your middle, trying to ease the ache.
trying to will your stomach into speeding things up.
<"You panicked?"> The walls of your gut ripple as the CEO shoves against them, hard.
<"Spilling coffee on me is panicking. Forgetting your instructions is panicking. Eating me whole is--!">
Your stomach clenches down, cutting them off. You gasp.
The CEO swears, voice slipping-- nervous now, and you can feel their breathing- fast, shallow.
<"You need to let me out. Now.">
You swallow thickly. "I—I don’t think I can."
The CEO stills.
<"What?>
"I don’t—I don’t know how to... i dont know how to stop it."
You stomach gurgles.
There’s a moment of silence. Then the CEO kicks, hard enough that you yelp.
<"You little shit,"> they growl.
<"You’re going to regret this.">
"I already do," you groan, kneading into the firm swell of your belly.
The pressure inside won’t ease up, your gut is clenching. Relentlessly. Processing.
The CEO tries to push again, but it’s weaker this time. Your stomach is winning.
It always wins
<"Please,"> they say suddenly, softer now, less rage, more desperation. <"You don’t want to do this. I can fix this—I’ll—I won’t fire you, okay? I’ll promote you, even. You don’t have to—">
Your stomach groans, hot and heavy.
You shut your eyes, breathe in deep, and keep rubbing at your belly, feeling it settle.
---
You wake up to darkness.
For a disorienting moment, you don’t know where you are—only that the air is stale, your back is sore, and you must have had an extraordinary meal recently.
Then it clicks. The supply closet. The CEO.
The weight still pressing against your middle, no longer struggling, no longer yelling—only a warm, thick mass, settled deep in your gut.
You bolt upright, gasping, your belly sloshing with the movement.
Shit.
You went into a food coma.
You passed out in the middle of digesting your boss.
Panic shoots through you, and you scramble to your feet, wincing at the dull ache of your overworked stomach.
Your dress shirt is wrinkled, sticking to your skin, and when you press a hand against the swell of your gut, it’s still soft.
You push open the door, slipping into the dim hallway, blinking, bleary and disoriented. Still waking up.
Freezing as a voice calls out—
"Hey. Where’ve you been?"
Your head snaps up, eyes wide.
A coworker—one of the assistants, leans against the front desk, looking at you with mild curiosity.
You fumble for words. "I—I was just—”
"You look awful." They frown, eyes flicking over your disheveled form—mussed hair, flushed face... where your stomach pushes forward, heavy with its stolen meal.
Your gut shifts, contents pressing lower, and you have to bite back a groan.
"You should go home. It’s late." They say.
Your heart hammers. You nod quickly, very quickly.
"Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I—I should go."
You turn on your heel and walk—fast, stiff, legs fuzzy with pins and needles.
Forcing yourself not to clutch at your stomach, even as it groans with each step.
The office is empty, the halls quiet. No one else is here. Except for a few security guards who ignore you.
Your belly sways heavily with each movement, the remnants of the CEO being churned down into something useful.
you step out of the lobby doors, into the cool nighttime air. You breathe it in, deeply. You look up and you can't see any stars.
You don't know what tomorrow will look like for you. But at least you won't be needing breakfast.
petplay / g/t / vore
keeping your half sized pred as a pet. Making a luscious bed for them, a plush nest of ornate silks, thick furs, and pillows stuffed with downing feathers
Each night, completing a ritual of Feeding. Preparing tinies on a gold guilded dish, only thr most luxurious for your rare pet. Tiny after tiny, hand delivered to their waiting mouth until their stomach grows visibly round and plump.
Giving your pet a belly rub, pressing your comparatively massive hand onto their belly, feeling the restless little meals under your pets skin. Pressing down enough to make the pred jolt, their cheeks turning red as a small belch escapes them
saying "good pet," as the pred curls up around their full belly, their small palms kneading into the heavy, taut mass in their stomach.
Watching over them as they fall into a deep, digestive sleep. Their tummy continuing to squirm long after they fall into slumber. Watching as your pets belly eventually ceases all movement, and begins to grow smooth and round, softer, as their dinner of tinies gurgle away.
Your pet lounging much later, their paunch noticeably plumper after their most recent feeding. Pressing your hand into that squishy pouch, which annoys the pred slightly.
The proposition
Summary: you accidentally eat someone for the first time at your friends party. This may have been part of their plan all along
Content: vore, implied drugging, digestion, pred pov
The evening had started lavishly, as all of their gatherings did—crystal glasses clinking, laughter. Bubbling champagne, exclusivity, luxury.
You had known the guest list would be curated, each person had a reason why they were chosen. You didn't know what yours was.
You had expected fine dining. You had not expected what would happen.
You knew you had enjoyed a few glasses of that champagne. But. You could feel something was wrong.
With you.
At first, it had been a creeping sensation. The way your skin felt sensitive, your pulse a half-step too fast.
You felt like you had been drugged. But everyone else seemed fine.
The scent of human bodies became the only thing you could think about. Working on auto pilot, you had already cornered someone in the quiet, dim-lit hall beyond the party. Their voice had barely risen above a whisper—your name, a confused plea—before you had silenced them with your body
Mouth.
Throat.
Stomach.
By the time your mind caught up to the horror of it, the damage had been done. You staggered, hands pressing against the wide curve of your belly, the weight of another person inside you making you sway.
Panic roiled in your chest. You weren’t alone for long.
The host found you like this, your breath quick, struggling with the wrongness of what you had done.
But they weren’t horrified. They were’t even surprised. Instead, his eyes lit up, his expression softening into a glowing pride.
"Oh, love," he purred, stepping close, his hands ghosting over your trembling shoulders.
"I knew you had it in you."
Your stomach gurgled, and you let out a shallow, shuddering breath.
"I—I didn’t mean to—" He shushed you, stroking down your back, a handler might calm a restless predator.
"Of course you did. And look at you—you wear it well."
His hands skimmed the curve of your belly, pressing to make you aware of how impossibly full you were, how you may already be working through what you’d taken.
Your body clenched at the reminder. You shook your head, swallowing down the shame, the dread.
"I should—should let them out, I can’t just—"
They laughed, indulgent.
"Let them out? Oh, sweetheart." They crouched slightly, tilting your head, forcing you to meet their gaze. "Would that feel good? Would that make you happy?"
You faltered. You didn’t know. Everything in you was twisted in knots—fear, pleasure, satisfaction, disgust, all tied together so tightly you couldn’t--
you couldn’t--
The host hummed, tracing small circles against your back, steady, insistent.
"I think you’re just overwhelmed," rhey mused. "And that’s okay. It’s a lot, isn’t it? But I promise you, digestion is the right choice."
Their voice was honey, thick and cloying. "You want to be comfortable, don’t you? This will be very, very comfortable. And look at you—you’re already so good at this."
Your gut groaned. Eager. You could feel it. You bit your lip.
"But—"
They cupped your face, tilting your chin up slightly. Their smile was slow, warm, coaxing. "No pressure, love. It’s your choice. But… doesn’t it feel right?"
It did.
God help you, it did.
"Come,"
Their grip on your wrist is gentle, but firm. There’s an unspoken expectation in the way they guide you through the halls of their estate, past the long mirrors and velvet curtains, away the murmur of guests, who were getting more and more drunk.
There’s something in their eyes—bright, feverish—when they glance back at you, gaze flickering to the heavy swell of your stomach.
You’ve never seen them look at you quite like this before.
The private room they leads you to is predictably lavish, all dark wood and plush, forest green upholstery, a fire flickering low in the hearth.
They lower you onto a velvet chaise. Their hands are warm against your shoulders, then your belly. pressing lightly, feeling what you’ve eaten.
You shift uncomfortably, too full. You feel their eyes tracing every inch of your belly, but when you meet their gaze, they look away.
"You’re doing so well," they murmur smoothing a hand down your arm. "Just relax. Let your body do what it needs to do."
You let out a slow, shaking breath.
"I—"
They hush you, smiling. "I have to return to the party. My guests will notice if I’m gone too long."
They stand, smoothing their cuffs, their fingers twitch slightly.
Their gaze lingers, gaze dipping back down to you, to your middle, like they can’t help themself.
Then, finally, they step back.
"Be a good predator," they say voice low, warm. "Wait for me. Start digesting. I’ll be back once the party is over."
And then theyre gone, leaving you alone in the flickering firelight, stomach heavy, body thrumming.
Your hands go to your stomach. This was new. Your whole life, you never knew your stomach could stretch this far. You never had seen your body like this. There was a human, inside your stomach.
And you liked how it felt.
They did request it, didnt they?
You wriggled into the plush cushions. Savouring the thought of digesting this person.
It's a big decision. You werent thinking straight, your head was still fuzzy.
But the host, they gave you permission.
You felt a little trickle of warmth. You rubbed that area on your stomach where you felt it. And then it began to spread. Before you knew it, it was happening.
Digestion. It made you purr.
You kneaded your stomach, egging it on.
Time moved differently after that.
You got lost, all focus on what was happening inside you.
The fire in your private room had burned low, embers pulsing like a heartbeat.
You were still there, where they left you, feeling heavier now—your body staunchly in digestion mode.
They step inside quietly, shutting the door behind them with a soft click.
For a moment, they just look at you.
Their sharp suit is immaculate, their posture as poised as ever.
You are the opposite, disheveled and utterly relaxed. Your outfit skewed, you didnt expect to have to calculate this belly you acquired into your wardrobe.
They exhale, almost as if theyre relieved, and step toward you.
"You’re beautiful like this," they murmur, crouching beside the chaise, their hand ghosting over your belly.
"Softening. Good."
Your breath hitches at their touch—gentle, precise.
They feel along the curve, confirming your stomach’s progress, their fingers press in. They hum, pleased with what they feel.
"You’ve done so well," they murmur.
Then they reveal a small glass bottle from their pocket, turning it between their fingers. The firelight catches on the deep amber liquid inside.
You furrow your brows. "What is that?"
"A special oil," they say, pouring a few drops into their palm. "Good for the skin. Helps after a stretch like this."
They say it like you've done an extensive workout. Not that you've swallowed someone whole.
You swallow.
"I’ve never done this before," you admit.
"I know," the host says. They rub their hands together, warming the oil, then presses them to your stomach.
Their touch is slow, methodical, tracing circles over stretched, dry skin.
You shiver at the sensation, the firm, soothing pressure, the way their fingers glide over you with such focused care. The way the oil quickly warms up. And it makes the tautness feel easier.
"Predators should be well cared for." They whisper.
For a second, you think you imagined it. They continue working the oil into your skin.
"You’ll sleep well tonight," they murmur.
The oil sinks into your skin, rich and fragrant, sandal wood?
Its good, easing the stretch, soothing the strain.
Their youch is reverent, practiced—like they had done this before. Had they handled others like you before?
"You’re doing so well, predator" they murmur, they watch for your reaction. You stare up at them with trusting, trepid eyes.
They continue, "It’s my job to take care of you."
You swallow hard. Their job?
Their fingers knead gently against your middle, as if coaxing your body to relax further.
"In the past," they explain, their voice smooth, steady, "predators would always have patrons. Someone to provide for them, house them, ensure they had what they needed."
You had never heard that before. You dont say anything, you would rather listen.
"How is your prey settling?" They ask, focus back to your stomach, pressing down, eliciting a growl, feeling the way your body is working through the weight inside you.
You adjust slightly, feeling the fullness, the warmth, the slow, inexorable process happening inside you.
"They’re… settling fine, I think-" they pressed down on you stomach, "I uh--oouurp!" Your face heats, "haha, sorry."
They smile, pleased. Their hand lingers, fingers splaying wide.
"Good."
Their hands slide slowly down your sides, smoothing the oil into your skin with practiced care.
You feel the tension in your body begin to loosen as their touch works its way down, deeper into your middle, coaxing the stretched flesh to relax, the prey meal being tamed under their hands.
"I have a proposition," the host tells you. "When your belly is flat," they say, their voice a quiet promise, "you can live your own life. You can be your own person. But when there’s prey inside you—"
They pause and their hand rests firmly on your stomach, "When there’s prey in you, you belong to me."
The words hang in the air, pressing into you like the weight of your own full gut. You feel them sink deep.
"I take care of my belongings," the host continues, their hand holding the curve of your stomach, smooth from the oil treatment.
"It’s my responsibility to see to you, to make sure you’re comfortable. I’ll care for your every need." The host is heavy and serious in their tone, that should unsettle you but instead feels oddly appealing.
"Predators," the host muses, voice low, measured, "have certain needs."
The host watches you closely, fingers brushing lightly over your stomach again, enough to feel the pulse of your digestion beneath the surface.
"Needs that have to be met. And I will tend to those needs."
You inhale slowly, feeling your prey pressing on your diaphragm.
"I’ll provide you with good hunting. entertainment, to satisfy you, to keep your belly full." Their smile is sharp.
Your heart pounds in your chest, and though part of you wonders just what you’ve gotten yourself into, these promises sound very appealing.
"And in return," the host continues, their voice darkening, "you will give yourself to me."
Their hand settles against your side, firm, guiding. "When there’s prey inside you, when your hunger is satiated, you’ll stay at my estate. You will not contact the outside world unless completely necessary. You will remain here until you have finished with your prey."
"Additionally, you will not eat prey outside of these walls. I will give you all you need, you will never go hungry. But you must only receive prey from me"
Their smile widens, a trace of satisfaction curling on their lips. They have you. You want this.
The host pulls back a little, standing slowly, eyes never leaving you.
"But you can think this over more later, sweetheart. When you’re rested."
"For now, all you need to do is be a good pred and finish digesting for me." They give your stomach a neat couple of pats, and then leave, giving you privacy for the rest of the evening.
Prey who's fattened themself up to be more succulent and delicious for preds, but inadvertently has made it very difficult for anyone to even get their maw around the pred. Once the prey realizes this, they immediately try to lose weight, but they just can't, they've gotten so used to eating so much, they can't stop themselves when they go to order an extra burger. They cry to themself because now they'll never be eaten, it's just impossible now! But then they meet a particularly large pred who hears the prey's pitiful tears, and they decide to take on the challenge, and after a few greedy gulps the prey is inside the pred's stomach. It takes a few seconds for the prey to even realize what happened, but once they look around and see the fleshy walls pulsating and massaging them, they immediately cheer up and thank the pred, asking how they could ever repay them. The pred simply says that their deliciousness is payment enough, and they sit there while their prey basks in the warmth of their stomach.
Pred having headphones on their belly and a stranger goes up to them and are like,
"Are they listening to Mozart to make them smarter?"
"What? No, they hate classical music. They're listening to Lemon Demon right now,"
"Oh. Um... why are you making your baby listen to that?"
"What baby?"
Prey pinning a pred down to the floor, the pred nearly twice the size of them and still being unable to get up, the prey leaning in real close and telling them how good they're gonna look as a bulge inside the pred's stomach, how well they'll squirm like the good little meal they are, while the pred is just so confused they can't say anything, stuttering over and over until their prey tells them to hush up and open their mouth. The pred swallows their prey easily, and as the prey slides down their throat the pred is so embaresed that food managed to intimidate them like that.
Pred stuffing themselves with many many willing tinies. All gently worked into prey sludge.
A full pred free of guilt and a bunch of little friends enjoying melting toghether into a nutritious soup
Come morning they're all asleep on the preds stomach, listening to themselves digest. Bubbley sounds of the strange way they show love and affection.
The preds belly is still warm and loud, and truth be told some of their prey friends could go for a second round.
Scenario: Pred eats their intended target, but in a domino effect of eliminating witnesses, ends up terribly full~
Absolutely Not | Not My Thing Personally | Not Very Much | Neutral | Somewhat | Quite A Bit | Absolutely Adore
the ditzy pred slowly realizing that what they thought was the perfect ambush spot, no escape for the prey, also means there’s no easy escape for them, and people just keep coming in a gasping dramatically when they see the belly…
this is such a fun spot between willing and unwilling pred. yes, they fully intended on eating the first one, but good lord do they wish these idiots would stop coming~
the pred tries out a new lie/excuse with each witness, hoping against hope it’ll work, but the lie is spoiled by a uncontainable belch or a muffled shout for help, and the pred can only groan in consternation before stuffing yet another meal into their aching, crowded tummy
Is it necessary to toxicize? Is it necessary to be the first to call out literally everyone who doesn't like to consider vore as a kink and minors creating blogs for minors? What were you even thinking when you wrote this in a pinned post? Okay, taking into account the BPD, I can understand what you were thinking at the time of writing. The question is, what were you thinking about when you left it? And also in the most visible place, and not in an ordinary post that can get lost among other posts and fly out of memory. You literally signed the "I am the aggressor" pact. And considering how long it has been hanging there in the pinned post, no amount of BPD can justify it.
Literally has nothing to do with my BPD, I'm just not a creep who likes kids looking at the porn I draw. So sorry.
Pred pressing you into their belly because you keep complaining about being cold to give them a hint to eat you, and as you're blushing they don't even tease you, and you realize they aren't even trying to be sexy, they're genuinely trying to help you get warm. You tell them you're still cold and they grab some of the biggest, comfiest blankets they can find, and set you down on the couch asking if you want a cup of hot chocolate. You're a little disappointed they aren't taking the hint but it isn't the worst thing that could've happened. You don't feel like getting eaten anymore, so you just remind yourself to try a more obvious hint next time, since clearly they're not good at taking them.
Prey-sludge so thick it actually protects new prey from being digested.
Platonic noms from my fave
Platonic noms from my fave where they just continue to relax as normal. A hand on their belly perhaps, enjoying the fullness I provide.
Platonic noms from my fave were they get an ego boost from my vulnerability inside their belly.
That’s it that’s all I got I just want,,, it,,,
I love G/T vore where the tiny is just big enough to fill your tummy a little too much. You feel a little sick as they squirm inside you, stretching your tummy beyond what's meant to be its maximum capacity. Your middle bulges out just a bit, enough to be noticeable, but small enough to be covered by a sweater.
You have to walk around all day with your tummy just so *full*, futilely trying to ease the tension in your belly as you rub at your prey through your hoodie pocket, holding in a groan as your middle grumbles about the amount you've fed it <3
(i'm on a sleepy vore fix right now sorry)
a bunch of tinies sneaking their way into a pred's mouth as they sleep, slowly filling up their belly until they wake up absolutely stuffed with giggly preythings.
maybe they jerk awake suddenly just as the last tiny climbs into their mouth. they're still half-asleep though, so they don't fully process what's happening. they roll them around in their mouth. instead of spitting whatever it is in there out, the exhausted pred decides to act on instinct instead and just swallow whatever it is. it tasted good, after all, so it must be food...
Haven’t posted in awhile so I thought I would post a fella I made not to long ago.
He is a ice dragon fella with no name yet. His only personality trait is cocky ass dragon who has a massive hoard of those SpongeBob pops people ate as kids. He loves those things. He lives in a ice cave so they always stay ice cold. The last couple of photos where in a white board I did with a friend of mine
He isn’t warm in the slightest. Like even his tongue, mouth and belly are cold as all hell. His fur is ice cold. EVERYTHING IS COLD. Only thing warm about him is his heart, cuz he loves you. And would gladly give you a SpongeBob pop to make your day just a little bit better