Well, of course, I’m a good boy, so I’ll follow my orders. If I’m digesting him for good, I want it to take long enough for him to experience all five stages of grief. It starts out as expected; I assume they he wants to die inside my gut, not out it, so the roughest things are ruled out. I might still tenderise him a bit first — enough to make it harder for him to struggle. Maybe just some scratches or some small breaks before we get to the real business.

Getting him down my throat shouldn’t be too hard. After all, he asked for this. Getting him trapped in my gut is the first key step. That’s when the cruelty can really begin.

It would be kind to let him down quickly. There’re too many easy ways out. I need to make sure it takes a long, long time for him to finally succumb. In fact, that’s part of the reason I’d consider roughing him up. So that he can’t provoke my gut into crushing him out of existence, and he can’t squirm his way below the waterline to drown on acids. He’s going to have to endure.

Most of the time, I think prey don’t realise just how bad hours and hours of slow digestion can be. They consider the normal things, yes, like then horrid heat and the presence of acid and the stale air. They probably don’t consider what they will entail for them. For example, the heat — enough to make you sweat. That doesn’t sound too bad at first but remember that this process is going to take a while. Dehydration will be a serious problem, and there’s no way to replenish lost fluids. Not that it will matter to me; from the moment he gave his last order, my former owner will be nothing more than meat for me.

I expect him to try and change his mind. Maybe it will be when a clench snaps a limb, maybe it will be when the acid burns of his skin and starts eroding the exposed nerve endings. When he wants me to let him go, give me a new order. Except I’m not listening. I was told to be as cruel as I want, and he’s getting it now.

As the indignant cries turn into angry, pain yelps, which turn into begs and sobs, I’ll just sit there and keep rubbing at my stuffed gut. Or, if I really want to make him suffer, start humping the bulge. Each thrust will just help crush his weakened body. It’s always a fun dichotomy — my pleasure, and his pain. I could even be too wrapped up in the sensation of grinding away at my own belly that I don’t notice the exact moment when he stops breathing and becomes nothing more than a lump of meat, literally. Over the next minute or so I’ll keep going, churning the body away. A symphony of crackling will fill the air while I turn him into a smooth sludge, each thrust mashing the meat a bit more.

In the end, I’ll be left with a lovely stuffed gut, gurgling intestines with chyme sloshing through them, and a vacancy for a new onwner~