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“Now,” Aldith said, her tone turning businesslike. “Let’s get you properly packaged. Seviper, be a dear. Take her. Head first. And take your time. I want to savor this.”
No. No no no no. Cynthia’s thoughts were a frantic prayer. Arceus, creator of all, why? Why this? Why here, with no dignity, no battle, just… this?
The massive head drew back, then lunged.
Cynthia screamed.
The world vanished into wet, suffocating heat. The Seviper’s jaws engulfed her head, her shoulders, with terrifying ease. The teeth didn’t pierce—they guided, the rows of them pressing against her coat, her hair, holding her in a slick, tight embrace. She could feel the powerful throat muscles already beginning to work, a rhythmic, pulsing pressure. The smell was overwhelming—musky, organic, like damp earth and digestive enzymes.
“Your title and history ends inside my pet’s gut,” Aldith’s final whisper slithered into her ear just before the world went dark.
Then the swallowing began in earnest.
It was a slow, inexorable pull. Cynthia felt herself being drawn deeper, the serpent’s throat stretching to accommodate her. She kicked wildly, her bare feet flailing in the open air, connecting with nothing. Aldith’s hands were there, not to stop her, but to help. She guided Cynthia’s shoulders, pushing firmly, ensuring the alignment was perfect.
“That’s it, good boy,” Aldith cooed. “Nice and slow. Feel her struggle. Make her last.”
Cynthia’s world was reduced to sensation. The incredible, tight heat. The slick, muscular walls massaging her entire front. The awful, gagging sounds of her own body being consumed. Her arms, pulled straight down by the swallowing motion, were now pinned tightly behind her back by the constricting esophageal walls. She was in a living, breathing straightjacket. She tried to scream again, but the sound was muffled, absorbed by the thick flesh surrounding her.
She
