"Okay, I think I'm willing to give it a shot,” Josh says, a modicum of hesitancy in his voice. He’d thought it over, originally being propositioned a few weeks ago. Spurred on by a drunken moment of oversharing about a fantasy he’d always found fascinating. However, bringing it to the real world, beyond text, makes him relatively uneasy, to say the least.

Emma and Josh sit precariously at the wooden dining table. Respectfully, she takes off her cute black frames, silently sliding them underneath the book. Her cheeks flush red every time she has to pull them out. It's adorable in a dorky way. Despite their niche charm, requiring reading glasses has always been a rather sore spot for her.

Emma decides to push her homework to the side after your last comment. The green gemstones encasing her pupils light up while her eyelids narrow. Centering her attention on the nervous friend sitting across from her.

"Oh yeah? What made you change your mind?" She says with only the faintest of interest. How could he possibly put into words what he's feeling? Josh wants to be sloshed around, ravaged in her mouth, and tasted by that uneven tongue...

"Guess it doesn't matter much," Emma says, catching his eyes lingering across her mouth. She smiles knowingly before standing up and taking several steps over to the counter. "So, let's go over it again, okay?" She glances back at Josh, and he nods eagerly, leaning closer to Emma from his spot at the table. "So, first thing first, this'll just be a test, like we talked about the other day." She pulls out the drawer, producing a small white egg timer.

CrkCrkCrkCrkCrk

She cranks the dial, placing it firmly on the counter. The metal-plastic clinks against the granite, its dinky noise penetrating the otherwise quiet kitchen. "One hour. That's how long you'll have before turning back into plain old Josh. Now, how about you make me a sandwich, huh? I'm getting kinda hungry." She teases but finds herself hesitating. “Does he even realize how dangerous this is?” She wonders. Regret snakes its way into her thoughts.

Emma reaches over and unwraps the standard cellophane loaf of store-bought white bread, and Josh looks on, transfixed. She grabs a piece, running a finger along with it subtly. Josh feels as if she was saying, ‘Soon, that'll be you.’ She glances back, the severity of the situation prevalent in her eyes. "So just to be clear, you can't manifest back into, well, you until this timer goes ding!" She explains, imitating the timer rather awkwardly.

Josh simply nods, unable to take his eyes off the spongy white bread in her hand. He's mesmerized by the idea that it could soon be him.  His brain is stuck on the possible sensations he'll be experiencing only moments from now. Taking that as a confirmation, Emma puts her tongue up against the back of her teeth in concentration. Envisioning the transformation. Picturing Josh and the sandwich interlocking together.

You blink into consciousness, already able to feel every porous hole and downy tendril encompassing the slice you've become. It's absolutely incredible how unique it feels. Everything from the gaps in your beautifully white dough, all the way to the delicately flaking crust of your sides. Such invigorating sensations! But, something is wrong. You aren't being held by Emma's delicate, soft hands. No, your flaking crust touches the edges of slick cellophane. Emma smirks through the plastic wrap.

Vrrrrrrrr… Vrrrrrrrrr…

Your friend's side vibrates, making her momentarily drop the slice. You feel consciousness tug away, only to snap back into your puffy form like a rubber band. What was that? Did it have something to do with the brunette's shock? Clearly, powers can be fickle. Almost as if you no longer existed, she folds the end of the cellophane, keeping air from reaching your prison as she walks into the other room, seemingly annoyed.

"Um, no, I'm not going to go in any sooner than eight! Madeline! No, I don't want to hear it!" Emma says, practically stomping out of the room, the phone clenched roughly between her tense fingers.

Silence permeates the well-lit kitchen, bright white bulbs burning down overhead. It's such a peculiar feeling being inside the loaf; the very perception of time seems woefully inaccurate. All you can really do is wait patiently, huddled in your cellophane home. Startlingly, a head pops around the corner. Long blonde hair. Brushed, but not well. Emma's older sister, Brittany, strolls casually inside. Her demeanor is vastly different from that of her younger, who's far more laid back than she'll ever be. You note that she hasn't even bothered changing out of her pajamas yet, fluffy pink pants spotted with occasional polar bears running down the side.

Reaching underneath the silky pants, Brit lazily scratches her butt before letting loose a wide yawn. She looks exhausted, a restless night still holding power over her. On cue, her stomach growls, and you're able to hear it all the way from within your flimsy covering.

G'rrrrrrrrrrk

"Ugh." A simple grunt of annoyance is the closest you'll probably get to a conversation with the impossibly large lady. She meanders over to the bread, head held low. She decides what to eat for her first meal of the day. Her eyes scan the countertop, making you quake in discomfort. Being just another piece of bread in a pile makes you feel utterly powerless. You're a fly in Brittany's ever-looming web. And consequently, her presence, along with the danger she represents, encroaches on you.

After several moments of pondering and checking cupboards, she shrugs and grabs at your cellophane while you sit idly. You're utterly helpless to stop her as she takes you and one other piece. Whisking the two of you away almost whimsically. You feel infinitesimally tiny pieces crumbing up the counter, each and every one of them a part of your whole. She promptly grabs a plate, dropping you down flat. Another piece of bread follows right behind.

She starts to hum a vaguely off-key tune as she reaches for the fridge. Bending down, she gathers up all the materials for a turkey sandwich. You can see everything from your spot on the ledge, her round pajama-clad butt wriggling around left and right as she scours for the proper ingredients. Your eyes drift briefly towards what lies beneath, but you quickly pull back, feeling it's some sort of violation to ogle a good friend's sister like this. Her ass has you in some kind of grain-fueled trance. If she eats you, is that where you’re destined to end up? You shake the thought; an hour isn't nearly long enough for her to completely digest you.

Finally gathering everything she needs, Brittany slams the refrigerator door shut with her butt, hands chock full of her ingredients that she lazily dumps across the counter. Gradually, she starts the process, picking you up with a soft hand. You feel the light oil of lotion on her hands, as well. Seems she’s too lazy to bother washing her hands first. Gross. 

Reaching into the drawer, she grabs out a spreading knife and uses the very tips of the fingers on her hand to unscrew the lid to the mayo. She stops humming now, instead letting out a sigh as her stomach decides it’ll talk back again.

G’rrrrrrrrrk, it roars. Informing Brittany of info she’s already painfully aware of.

“Yeah yeah…” She says in response, readying the metallic utensil. You’re repulsed as she dips it into the moderately sized jar of Hellmann's mayonnaise she’d silently produced from the cold only moments earlier. Chunks of egg paste adhere to the metal surface, propelled by an impossible amount of force. It hits, forcing an immense disdain to run through your consciousness. Utterly repulsed by the chunky slop assaulting you. It doesn’t relent, smearing it repeatedly across, applying the gunk into an even coat of white.

You feel downright sick but lack the proper faculties to vent it. The relentless spread of condiments stops, but Brittany doesn’t yet relent, placing several slices of turkey over you. Moist and slimy, it mixes in, adding to your revulsion. “O-oh! Brit? What are you up to?” She says shakily, the shock fading as she starts to regain her chill disposition.

"Hmm? Oh, hey, Em. Nothing much, just making lunch." Brittany remarks without much thought or concern. Emma, for her part, looks only mildly bothered. Yet she hovers nearby, causing her sister to scoff at the lack of personal space.

"What's your deal?" Brittany says with a raised eyebrow as she drops two slimy pieces of tomato across you, feeling them slide against the other ingredients. Brit affixes a slice of cheese to you, continuing her lunch preparation. It isn’t much longer before the other piece of processed grain goes right on top, finishing your artificial burial. 

The parts mush together, leaving you sloppy and damp.

"Uhhh, Sorry. It's just looking so good! Could I... have it? "Her hand's fiddle back and forth, nervous energy about her that Brittany can’t figure out

It's at this point that your sensations get thrown into overdrive. Suddenly you can feel so much more. The tomato, the mayo, even the turkey resting on your very surface. It's no longer resting on top of you but is a lesser part of your whole. You can feel it all so distinctly that it's outright overwhelming. Like a new dimension had just poofed into existence. No doubt, Emma is the one to blame. Or, more specifically, the lack of control she has with her powers.

Struggling to cope with all the feelings, you only pick up snippets of the conversation as a weirded-out Brittany gradually agrees to just make a new sandwich, much to your childhood friend's relief. But before she makes another, Brit smugly decides to take a bite. It happens in slow motion, Brittany lifting you up to her face, ingredients that made up parts of your greater whole sliding and bending with her hand. Her mouth opens up, ready to receive you, the heat wafting out the red carpet for your arrival.

She tears into you without hesitation, taking a large bite right down the middle, separating your consciousness. Observing yourself ripped apart is the most indescribable feeling, yet the pain that should be accompanying it is absent. Her mouth is relatively dry, the tang of last night's energy drinks embedded deeply into the essence of the cavern. You're helpless as the teeth mash into your easily chewed chunks, tasting every part of you with the individual taste buds on her tongue.

"Aaaaaaaaaa" Light pours in as Brittany opens her mouth, taunting her sister. Emma can only look away in disgust at what her sister's relentless mouth turned you into. Revulsion splayed tellingly across her face. 

"Ew, seriously, Brit? Stop being gross!" Your friend says, looking away, repulsed at seeing you reduced to a chewed mess.

The blonde unceremoniously closes and swallows with the satisfaction of knowing she won this little engagement. Immediately, powerful muscles pull you down into Brittany's uncaring body. A mighty tug before being sent over a mucus-filled waterfall. It's a slow yet comforting ride down; as you simultaneously watch Brittany start on another sandwich. Emma looks almost torn between laughing or gagging in disgust.

Your remains squeeze rather slowly down her throat in a lumpy mass. It's oddly calming, like a hug, except slimier. You travel down and down, working your way further inside Emma's sister over a few seconds. Finally, the muscles let go of you, and you’re sent into freefall. You can feel the heat, the ever-encroaching bile beneath you. But just before you can hit the churning surface…

Diiiiiing

You're ripped back with a jarring amount of speed.

Josh's hands sweat, unable to meet Emma's gaze. She scoffs in disbelief at the request as they sit across from each other at the same table they had yesterday afternoon. Luckily, Brittany wasn’t around, leaving the house just as Josh arrived. It’s awkward, to say the least. Finding himself unable to properly look either sister in the eyes. “Are you for real? You want to do it again?” Genuinely annoyed, some humor at Josh's expense begins.

“So, tell me again what you thought of being inside my sister?" She chuckles; last night's mishap is already something she's ready to relentlessly tease Josh about. "Come on, Em, can we just move on?" He says uncomfortably, fiddling with his fingernails.

Emma lets out a sigh, "Fiiiine! I'll let it go for right now. It's just crazy, you know? You were totally inside Brit! And you liked it!" She makes a gross-out face, sticking the very tip of her tongue outside her mouth. "You know she doesn't even brush her tongue, right?" Emma giggles one more time to herself before letting the subject finally drop. Much to Josh's relief. 

She heads over to the counter, towards the same loaf that had started all the commotion yesterday."I don’t get this weird thing you have for mouths and being eaten or whatever," She says, casually removing two pieces and placing them down on the plate. “Sounds pretty gross, but if you’re going to keep bothering me, I guess you can be my lunch.” She states flatly.

There's another familiar jump. Your stomach drops before the sensation cuts out entirely. In the blink of an eye, you're simply a piece of bread on your friend's smooth ceramic plate. It’s intimidating watching her stare down at you with a lazy, almost apathetic glare. Underlying anxiety starts to creep into your consciousness; the size of her lording over you like this starts to worry you.

Emma checks her watch, "Shoot, I'm going to be late." She notes, hurrying to put together lunch. She grabs some peanut butter from the cabinet above and flings open the fridge door somewhat recklessly, reaching for the glass jar of Smucker's strawberry jelly. Not eager to be late for work yet again, she grabs a butter knife hastily from the drawer below and screws open both jars in a rather rushed manner.

Emma is far more worried about work than having some fun. You assumed, perhaps incorrectly, that she'd have fun with it. Flirty advances, maybe a few playful teases, but all those fantasies built up in your head are absent. It's as if you're just another piece of bread to her. The playful attitude she’d had only moments ago is out the window; the second added stress of being late was brought into the equation. You’re just something Emma will inevitably forget about until lunchtime.

She wastes no time whipping up the inside of the creamy peanut butter jar, getting a considerable swirl lathered onto the edge of the dull utensil before unceremoniously slathering it across you. Every pass she makes is felt in detail, gradually smoothing the generous sticky chunks across you.

It's terrifying to realize the knife’s coming back for you, if only because of its sheer speed. Without even bothering to wipe it off, she dips it right into the jar of Smuckers, something you find sort of gross. Emma swirls it around in a similar motion, breaking up the chunks of jelly into easily spreadable pieces, jello-like in their consistency. Ready to slather you up in a fresh set of fruit-flavored goop. 

It lands on top of you, covering what little of your top surface hasn't been smoothly caked on, as Emma hums, dressed nicely in her best business casual. She applies it evenly, coating you thoroughly in a gluey mess of tastiness. You have the urge to recoil as the slick spread splatters across you, mixing in seamlessly with the already buffed-out smattering of peanut butter.

Disgusted, you almost feel like you'd just finished an intense workout. The closest possible descriptor that grabs you is sticky, yet, you feel complete. Like every part of you is exactly where it should be. It’s all-encompassing, but the worst is yet to come as Emma takes another piece from the loaf, pressing it all against you. You’re smeared with the compressed condiments, a mixture of warm and cold assaulting you with their unique sensations.

Suddenly, your perspective shifts, a feeling you're almost getting used to. Emma's soft hand presses down on you, carelessly finishing the sandwich. The individual strokes of peanut butter lining your bottom are a part of your very being now, as is the jelly. Each swirl, each jellied chunk, all tangible. The awful feelings are suddenly gone. You’d seen them as condiments previously, ingredients to enhance and add to the flavor. However, you find yourself unable to view them as separate anymore. They're simply you.

Emma throws her purse beside you, zipping it up as she reaches towards the back of the counter for a baggie. Opening it wide, she gently cuts you in half diagonally, producing two neat triangle slices from you. It creates a split in your conscious space, expanding what you know of awareness. It's almost like there are two of you, two halves making up one Josh. It's an odd feeling, one you have trouble even quantifying yourself.

Neatly, your friend stuffs you away with one hand, checking her phone with the other, and typing what you can only assume is a hasty apology to her superior for being late before zipping up the clear plastic bag containing you. She places you on the counter as the phone she'd only just put away starts to ring. "Ugh!" Emma grunts in annoyance, shoving her hand back inside and answering the call.

"Hello? Yeah, I'm on my way." You catch a brief eye roll meant for nobody but Emma herself. "Mhm." She continues talking to a voice you can't hear, tapping a foot impatiently against the ground. As Emma deals with the consequences of being late, you can't help but notice a similarly packaged ziplock right next to you. It's different enough, but what's to stop her from grabbing the other one and rushing out? 

More importantly, what would happen if somebody else found you? Would Em even be able to turn you back if she didn't know where you had ended up? There wasn't a time limit this time, so if you were eaten by Brit, maybe even Emma’s mom… it's a chilling thought, one that you have zero intention of taking any further. However, all the worrying is naught as Emma heads for the correct bag. "Okay, be there soon." Emma hangs up, letting out a sigh before grabbing the correct baggie and throwing it into her purse.

Ziiiiiip, you find yourself steeped in darkness.

You hear Emma's soft footfalls and the denim of her jeans wear as she walks. Her purse sways, crinkling your plastic confines as it brushes up against a small bottle of moisturizer. The larger-than-life office worker hums to herself, the stride of her step unchanging until you hear the loose wobble of an old doorknob.

"Hey, Kate!" Emma says, muted from your position in her purse. The conversation continues; your presence is thrown to the back of the brunette's mind as she greets friends and acquaintances alike. "Oh, not too much. Just surviving." Emma laughs faintly, the fabric walls around you distorting her speech, making whoever she's greeting wholly inaudible.

"Maybe we'll have a chance to catch up at lunch?" And with that, light invades. You see Emma's extraordinary face. She's looking so pretty today! A light pass of makeup was expertly applied as always. But she doesn't pay you much mind.

Instead, she takes a sharpie from the drawer nearby and scrawls across the very corner of the ziplock bag. 'EM' is what she writes, marking your easily accessible container in case of prying eyes. Letting out a cute yawn, you’re tossed towards the back of the fridge, a warm soda can placed right beside you as Emma gets ready to start the workday.

The breakroom refrigerator closes with an almost ominous shudder as the fan kicks back on, leaving you to contemplate your choices up until this point. Hopefully, you hadn’t pushed it too far, pestering her about this junk again. She’d never been the most direct when it came to telling you off, so it's a worry.

A few hours pass in the chilly environment of the refrigerator, several of Emma’s coworkers coming and going, grabbing their marked lunches. It's business as usual until a redhead opens the door, freckles lining the bridge of her nose. Her actions are distinctly different from the others. Instead, she looks carefully over the assortment of lunch boxes and bags, her eyes settling on you.

Your currently non-existent heart skips a beat, fear consuming you as her shadow swallows your immobile form. Her warm hands run along the plastic of the ziplock bag, heating up your chilly exterior. She grumbles something to herself, making you fear the worst. She’d eat you, and Emma would have no possible way to return you. You’d be stuck forever, fated to be eaten and flushed away with some random girls' breakfast. No method of knowing who even stole you. Your consciousness races, but she puts the baggie down, opting to steal a rather plump apple from the shelf below.

A close call! You could almost laugh, excitable and nervous. The redhead had been powerfully attractive. Lacking stimuli in this cold icebox, it's hard not to think of her. What it would be like in her mouth, tasted by her tongue. You even wonder what her breath may have smelled like. Probably coffee, you wager. It is early morning, after all.

Some more time passes. How much precisely is up in the air. Time becomes meaningless quickly, and thoughts get less coherent the longer you sit in place. There’s only so long you can play ‘pass one down’ in your head. Eventually, just as you suspect she’s forgotten you and went home for the day, a familiar face greets you. Emma! She throws the door open, her once beautifully brushed hair far more frazzled than it had been the last time you’d seen her.

You could practically kiss her. Though you figure what’s soon to come is probably close enough. Her eyes briefly scan the fridge, stopping as she spots your baggie! She lets out a cute yawn, already mentally at her limit of shit to take. You wonder if she even remembers you’re in here. The way she’s been acting, there isn’t any indication you’re anything other than a sandwich to her, the light excitement she had the other day entirely gone, as the workday has already worn her down. She shuts the door and heads over to one of only a couple tables in the relatively small break room.

              You’re tossed next to a tuna sandwich and watch helplessly as a fair-haired coworker takes a large bite, swallowing the fishy substance with a gulp. “Carol, you seriously cannot be eating another one of those god-awful sandwiches!” Emma says with playful disgust, only partially in jest.

               Carol chuckles, eyeing you up and down, “Hey, at least I bring some variety. Better than a boring PB&J!” Emma rolls her eyes, sitting down and taking you carefully out of the bag. Warm air rushes to you, making the doughy insides of your bread expand, and the stiffening jelly within begins to flow again. Life feels like it's been breathed back into you, just in time for Em’s rapidly approaching mouth.

               It relentlessly rips at you, her white enamel tearing inquisitively into your top half, not bothering to chew before taking another more significant bite. The remainder of you sits idly in her manicured hand as she smooshes you into bits. Each tooth that falls further tears you into a colorful amalgamation of mash, her tongue probing each lump for hidden sweetness.

              “Dang girl!” Carol remarks, surprised by the sheer speed at which Emma has started to devour you.

“‘hat? ‘m h’ngy’” She blurts out, mouth still full of you. The vibrations from her tongue reverberate through your core like a full-body motorboat, electrifying your senses. Carol laughs as Emma stuffs the rest of you into her mouth, chewing greedily and gulping significant parts down whole. Piece after piece tumbles down the warm squeezing muscles in her throat, colliding with the bile in her otherwise empty stomach.

Splish Splish Splish… SPLASH

Parts of you continue to be devoured gluttonously while pieces funnel continuously down Emma's throat. Occasionally, washing you down with coca-cola. It's hard to keep track even with a light omnipresence across the portions. So many views and differing sensations contrast across your state of consciousness. It's uncomfortable, making you yearn to be reunited in Em’s warm stomach.

Apathetic and downright oblivious to your presence, you wonder if she's doing this out of hostility, or an obligation to fulfill your ultimate fantasy. It worries you, tugging loosely on your many insecurities. But Emma wouldn't have offered to satisfy such a bizarre request otherwise, right? You try to put it out of your mind, the last piece of you falling and hitting the gross slop in her bubbling stomach. 

Floating around in several disgusting balls of chopped-up food, you start to feel a little sick. The stomach itself is dark, groaning like a monster you'd see in the ocean's deepest depths.

G'rrkkkkl

It speaks to you, confirming the start of its process to suck you dry of everything the bread holds. It's so uncomfortably hot; a part of you wants to call out and stop this, hit the eject button on the whole thing. But it's too late to do anything but endure the constantly shifting seas of chyme and the maddeningly high temperature of Emma's gut.

The world shifts, your friend assumedly going about her day as you’re tortured in uncomfortable heat. The whole stomach shifts back and forth, your contents molding, sliding, and ultimately, breaking apart. Eventually, the waves settle, and you've pushed through the lower chamber of her stomach into a waiting room where her body processes you. Enzymes and mucus coat you in a unique brand of slime before slowly pushing you towards the rest of her intestines.

You shift within Emma countless times during the journey through her digestive tract. Your consciousness fades in and out now, flickering as you travel slowly across an alien landscape. It's surreal, thoughts scattered like a thickening bowl of soup as you're sucked dry of everything you are. Your entire world flipping upside down as she casually, and sometimes in a rush, goes about her day like any other. Likely running papers and various documents back and forth between coworkers. But eventually, it all starts to calm down; Emma is likely off work now. Ready to waste the remainder of the night at home, probably watching some baking show if you knew her.

It's hard to keep track of the goings-on outside now. How long has it even been? You aren't sure of anything anymore. Yet, despite the fog, your consciousness remains intact, albeit frighteningly unclear. Until you finally, and most unfortunately, reach the large intestine.

Something is deeply unsettling about your friend's total lack of care, yet you don’t have long to linger on it. You’re quickly assaulted by the area itself, offensive and rank. Disgusted as you start to realize exactly what you’ve become. Wet and loosely colored bits of you writhe along the undulating walls. Emma’s body has long since sucked you dry of any and all beneficial substances, leaving you as clumped waste. A food item that has long since served its purpose and has been left with nothing. You’d done everything possible for Emma, given her all you have.

Although, it had come at a high cost. You’re filth, no different than the rest of the bacteria and fetid mess around you. It's a nightmare you have no chance of escaping from. Helpless as her bowels churn you, slurping greedily at the water and mucus that coats you. Regret had been circulating for hours within your mind, absolutely wearing on your very being. Finally, it takes its last bite, the hope for enjoyment suddenly gone, letting the horror fully flood your conscious mind.

A strong sense of dysphoria rocks you almost immediately. It feels dense, no longer your comfortable bread-like self. It's far more empty. Almost as if you’re missing a part of your identity.

Shwick

Bzzzzzzt-Bzzzt-Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz-

An utterly baffling noise sounds from the muted world outside, which isn’t right. Emma should be heading to bed soon. Could it be an electric toothbrush, maybe? It's unclear, the noise too vague and muted to tell definitively. Though you aren’t in the dark on her activities for much longer, you catch the faint sound playing from her laptop. There’s a variety of digitally compressed groans originating beyond her body, the audio making everything explicitly clear.

You’re embarrassed, completely ashamed that you’re listening in on such a lewd act from your friend. Sure, you’d thought about her this way plenty of times, but in your current state, you hardly feel worthy of being privy to such a personal act. But, what can you do? Helpless to avert any eyes or plug any ears, you slosh around the fetid tunnel. Pushing your way deep within Emma’s bowels while she uses the energy you provided earlier as fuel for cheap pleasure. It almost makes you sad, picturing how much power her magnificent body is burning. Likely terrible, low-quality porn, too. At least, if the audio is any indicator. The whole situation simply adds to your feeling of general uselessness.

There isn't any gratuitous display, no moaning from your host, or putting on a show. It’s just a natural urge, one Emma is in dire need to relieve. Eventually, there's one final shudder and a deep click as Emma shuts off her vibrator. Its purpose, like you, had already been achieved. Although, unlike you, the vibrator still has plenty of uses left. You're left to contemplate this, sliding through the foulest part of her insides as she falls into a deep slumber.

But not you. There's no sleep in your future. Left to stagnate in filth and general grime, gradually losing your moisture as you get pushed along her unyielding digestive tract. You can't observe the valve you entered from anymore, sitting somewhere in the very middle of Emma's dark insides.

To make matters worse, it's still uncomfortably hot, to sweltering extremes. You so badly want to come out the other side. Even the gross imagery of dropping down into that porcelain bowl as a disgusting waste pile feels preferable to even a second longer inside. How would you even look Emma in the eye after this? Being quite literally shit out. As wonderfully perfect as you’re sure her butt is from the view in that porcelain bowl, the embarrassment afterward wasn’t something you’d seriously considered.

More regret piles up inside as you realize you’d failed to think of how humiliating this would be. Maybe the young brunette planned it like this. Is that why Emma’s been ignoring you? Some kind of sick lesson? If it was, you can't say it's very well appreciated. You certainly won’t be doing this again, though, her body is uncaring of these objections, and you continue to move along the dark slimy depths as Emma tosses and turns in her sleep. Cute whimpers of restlessness escape her mouth, astounding you by far away it feels and sounds. The two of you are a world apart.

Lacking the ability to sleep, you focus more on the sounds of her body, which seem to function as an unchanging constant in her beautiful world. It's almost unreal. So loud, raw, and powerful. It speaks to you with various noises, each more guttural than the last.

G'rrrrkle 

G'rrrrkkkk

G'uuurrrk

It talks loudly for the rest of the night. Continuing to process whatever she’d eaten for dinner. Moving you further and further along the process that Emma’s body goes through each day. Forced to endure sights and sensations with no way to cope, you want nothing more than to close your eyes tight. Yet even that essential human function is missing from your putrid form.

Before long, the hours governed by moonlight come to a thankful close, and you find yourself pressed against an immovable exit. If you had lungs, you'd let out a sigh of relief. Now, the only thing left is for Emma to pass you. You could get back to your body! Hands, eyes, mouth, nose. All the mundane pieces that you'd taken for granted. You sorely miss having hands.

Soon, there's the creak of bedsprings as Emma lets out a decidedly cute yawn, restrained and dainty. She rises with a stretch before starting off toward the bathroom. You can feel each lazy and tired footfall, your friend still in the dreary process of waking up. You'd long since brushed aside the embarrassment you're about to go through, much more excited to return to normalcy.

"Ugh, I need some coffee." She grumbles, cluing you in on the sound of a door snapping shut. Suddenly, there's a sigh of relief as everything is thrown around, your sense of direction harshly skewed. Muscle relax, letting your solid form through, squeezed out, only to abruptly tumble as Emma lets out a sigh of relief.

Sploooosh

You hit the cold water with a splash, entering into the sterile pool of still water without any pomp or circumstance. Like any other waste Emma would pass. The water's freezing, the contrast between two extreme temperatures shocks your newly reunited mind.

Excreted in a solid log, you bob above the surface, the parts her body never needed. You watch her butthole close before neatly wiping away any traces, treating you to a beautiful view of her butt. It's hard to imagine you just popped out of there.

You wait to be turned back, the anticipation killing you slowly. You want nothing to do with this form anymore; a trip through Emma's inner workings is a total eye-opener. A lesson that you'll take with you to the grave. But she takes her time, clearly in no hurry as she plays with some app on her phone, your gigantic friend letting out another cute yawn before a yellow stream releases with a jet of power. Her body wastes no time pelting you with hot and sticky liquid. Helpless in the bowl, you're forced to take it, the early morning release of urine not sparing you any shame as the bowl's water turns a light yellow.

Emma wipes one more time before glancing back toward the bowl. Her brow lowers in a twist of revulsion, disgust at what her own body has made you into. Her nose wrinkling at your repulsive sight, she lets out a tired, "Um, ew." And pushes the switch, watching water fill the bowl, much to your surprise. Nononono! if you were flushed…

You want to scream out, thrash, fight for what must be an honest mistake! There'd be no way to ever turn back! Both sadness and confusion fill your shape, Emma’s betrayal twisting coldly into you. You want to fight for your humanity! To do anything but lay down and die! It's pointless, though; unable to move, you’re sucked under and dragged down the copper pipes to the depths below.

Emma shudders, still grossed out by what her body was able to produce. But with flushing the neat mess in the bowl, a sense of freedom overtakes her. Pressing down on that chromed fixing and watching her annoyance get carried away is a rush of adrenaline! Josh is finally gone, her worries quite literally flushed out with the nasty off-color water.

Josh had been fairly chill, or so she thought. The second she'd made the mistake of revealing her hand, it's all he'd talked about since! She felt so… objectified and used. But more than anything, Emma was tired of hearing about it. So, she went along with it, hoping to sate his weird desire. At first, it was even fun in a goofy way. Being able to tease a boy with her mouth alone? Even if she didn’t harbor any romantic interest, it's too easy to pass up.

Though, the whole Brittany situation had made things decidedly more awkward. The enjoyment he got out of being eaten by Britt? It was too much. She knew it was time to distance herself. But, hell, why not give him what he wanted? So, she'd gone along with it anyway. All the problems of kicking a toxic element out of the group were wrapped up tidily. And with no more stress than making lunch! Part of her feels a little guilty, but it was his fantasy. It couldn’t be all that bad, she reasons. Yeah, if anything, he probably loved the ride!

She places her phone across the porcelain rim of the sink. The brunette sighs, hoping for a short week and stripping for the shower. She couldn't be late for work again, not this week. Plus, Emma still had to make something for lunch! Maybe she'd go with turkey today. The cogs in her head get stuck on it for a moment before turning the faucet head to life with a squeak.