It was an even-numbered Friday night, so Alexa knew her plans for the evening far in advance. She wasn’t a goth but she shimmied into her black jeans, slid her black jacket over her black top, and headed out the door of her small apartment. She was going to spend a few hours in a dank, bustling, subterranean subway platform trying to convince strangers to not abuse animals. It was in some sense a break from the hard work she was doing as a graduate student, meaningful in a different way from the physics she was working on at her prestigious university. She was an activist with Unseen for the Unvoiced. Maybe you’ve seen them at one of their quiet protests. Wearing all black, some of them hold television screens showing real videos of animal cruelty taken surreptitiously at factory farms, slaughterhouses, and the like. Those holding the screens wear black, domino masks, but there are others like Alexa who stay in the crowd, waiting for when a passer-by takes notice of what is being shown, waiting to engage and have a conversation. You couldn’t have missed them, and you certainly wouldn’t have missed her, a tall, thin young woman with dark eyes, chestnut hair, with round, golden glasses over dark eyes, and a face that turned heads.

She always felt nervous before going out. Some conversations were great, most were middling, but some were awful. She hated the way people made her feel sometimes when they shouted at her or insulted her, but most of all she hated the way people acted so callously toward the animals she was working to defend. Steeling herself, she walked toward her subway stop, paid the BTA their $1.26, waited on the platform, and spent 20 or so minutes listening to music while being squished against various people on the bumpy ride, and found herself on the platform she’d be on for the next few hours. She was a little early, but not so early that some of her fellow volunteers weren’t already there. She recognized many of them. She was happy to see her friend Sara, a slightly shorter redhead with piercing blue eyes who immediately ran over to give her a boisterous hug, as was her custom. She felt a little nervous that her ex, Kyle might be there, but they ended on a cordial note months ago. Her actual nervousness about Kyle stemmed from the fact that she knew Ira was coming, and she was really excited to see him. They’d bonded over, well, so many things the past few times they’d seen each other, but had never exchanged numbers for some reason. Well, if he wasn’t going to ask her out, she was going to do it. Maybe. Probably not, honestly. She wanted to be more agentic about things like that, but it was haaaard.

Anyway, neither was there yet, so she and Sara continued to hang out. “Got any plans? Well, you do now. You’re coming to Roxie’s party tomorrow, right?” Sara was always plugged into parties, despite being a bit older than Alexa. “I guess so, but what’s it for this time?” Alexa inquired.

“For? What’s it for? Parties aren’t always for something. Other than fun. And ‘fun.’” Sara had a boyfriend, but was kind of a stereotype of polyamorous people. “Speaking of which, now that we’ve passed the Bechdel test, has Ira asked you out yet?”

“What? Why would he ask me out?” Alexa asked, playing a bit dumb.

“Oh, come off it, I know you’re both interested in each other. I see it in the way you’ve been looking at each other every other week for the past few months. I think he’s too worried about making you uncomfortable by hitting on you in a space like this where we’re very obviously here for a different purpose to actually ask you, so if you want something to happen, you’re going to have to do something drastic yourself.”

“That’s–” Alexa started speaking, but was cut off by the triple realization that (1) Sara was right, (2) Ira was here, and (3) Penelope, the leader of their UftU chapter was gathering everyone together. She gave them a little reminder about what they were there to do, helped four people into their masks and screens, and then everyone was on their own. For the next few hours, there wouldn’t be much conversation among the volunteers as they were constantly searching the crowd of people moving through the station, looking for anyone who was actually taking a second to notice the imagery. After not too long, Alexa noticed an older woman who was watching a video of a calf being kicked in the face and dragged away while her mother was being held down. Alexa walked over to the woman and started talking.

“Hi there, I noticed you watching for a while. What do you think of this?”

“I’m not sure, but it looks awful. Cruel.”

“Yeah. Would you say you’re against animal cruelty?”

“Oh, yes, very much. I have a dog that I love waiting for me at home, actually.”

“I’m glad to hear that. So, you don’t eat animals then, right?”

“Well… I’m not going to lie to you, I’m not a vegetarian.”

Alexa laughed a little. “So in that case can you see how your actions say something very different from what you say, right?”

“I’m trying to eat less meat! But yes, of course.”

“It’s not just meat, actually. For example, what we’re watching right now is cruelty for milk.”

“Milk? What do you mean?”

“Why do cows make milk?” Alexa asked the woman.

“...For us to drink. Oh, you mean why in the first place. Hm. They just make it, don’t they?” she said uncertainly.

Alexa shifted on her feet. “Okay, well, why would you make milk, if you were going to?”, she pressed.

“Well, for a baby…”

“Yes, so, it’s the same for cows. They make it for their babies. Tell me, what happens if they get to keep their babies?”

“I’m not sure, what do you mean?” the woman faltered and was visibly confused.

“I mean ‘what happens to the milk?’”

“Oh. Oh! We don’t get the milk,” understanding writing itself across the woman’s face.

“Exactly. So we take away their babies just for a piece of cheese. We take them away to be killed for veal or to grow up in the same conditions as their mothers. But tell me, do we keep making milk all the time once we’ve had kids?”

“No, just for a little while usually, until they’re weaned. I actually had to use formula myself at the end for my second.”

“Right again, so we have to keep raping them over and over to keep them continuously pregnant, which is of course really hard on their bodies–” Alexa was cut off.

“I’m sorry dear, but I’ve got to be going” the woman said. The corners of her mouth had twitched down when Alexa used the word ‘raping.’”

“Ok,” Alexa said, downtrodden. “But please consider going vegan,” she said plaintively as the woman hurriedly shuffled off.

________________

Alexa had a number of conversations after that. Some went better, some went worse, but the evening marched ever onward. Sometimes the station was almost empty, sometimes it was jam-packed with people disgorged from recently-arrived subways. It was at one of these busy times that Alexa had her most unpleasant conversation of the night, soon before their volunteer work was done for that day. A short man in his mid 40s sporting a bulging belly and leather cowboy boots wandered over to watch a screen showing some tiny chicks, just hatched, riding a conveyor belt. Alexa saw him move his hand into view, holding a bag of Bluto’s Fried Chicken. He pulled out a piece of a chicken and bit into it, laughing at the moment when the helpless chicks reached the end of the conveyor belt and were plunged onto a floor made of spinning blades that shredded their bodies into a pulp. Against her better judgment, she went up to the man and asked him “what do you think about this?”

He snorted, a crumb of breading making its way onto the corner of his mouth. “What do I think? I think it looks delicious.”
“You think that looks delicious?” she said, incredulous.

“Yeah. Or great or whatever. Look, little lady, I’m at the top of the food chain, see? I’m the top predator. The big d-o-g. So I. Can eat. Whatever. I want,” he said, punctuating each sentence fragment at the end with a flick of another piece of a chicken he’d pulled out of his bag while he looked slightly upward to meet her eyes, and then maneuvered the chicken into his mouth.

“You’re no predator, this isn’t the savanna, you’re just choosing to torture them to death so you can have something you think is tasty. What’s more important? A second of pleasure for you or their entire lives?” she asked.

“Uhh, let me think for a sec. Ding! I’m more important than a chicken. I’m bigger than it and smarter than it. If you’ve got a problem with that, deal with it. It’s a free country, Sugartits!” he said with his mouth full, smiling at the end.

Something in her broke there and then. She felt a seething anger bubbling up from her core and a vibration deep within her, a power urging to be used. A power she was familiar with, but had never used against someone before. Without thinking much about it she grabbed for that power and flung it out invisibly through her forehead at him. He withered quickly, but not instantaneously, to an inch or so tall and found himself falling through space since his center of mass had only barely changed position: he was in the air just behind where his navel had been a few moments before. Of course, he couldn’t really appraise his situation well enough to figure this out–from his perspective a moment before he’d been talking to a hot idiot, and now he was falling. Screaming seemed like the best option at hand, and he took it. A third of a second passed, and he was on the ground, still screaming, but unharmed, despite falling a distance that looked to him like 30 feet or so. He was on the ground, dazed. Thick, black rubber soles were the closest thing to him, but as he craned his neck upward he saw first black, vinyl shoes, then long legs, arms and a glorious chest, and then reddish brown hair framing the face he’d just had the pleasure of chatting with, but far away and magnified and looking like a goddess. A goddess that was getting closer. Her shapely legs were folding and the shadow of one of her hands draped itself over him.

Soon after, he felt her hand grab him, warm and damp with perspiration. It dominated him, powerful muscles flexing and confining him. He was caught fast, held tightly enough to hurt, but only a little.

Alexa couldn’t believe what she’d done. As if on autopilot she swiftly reached down, grabbed the tiny man, and stuffed him into her too-small jean pocket. When she got back up she looked around to see if anyone had noticed anything. It didn’t look like anyone had given how busy it was at the time. She wanted to get out of there and figure out what to do. Her heart raced in her chest: she’d just shrunken and kidnapped someone!

You were looking forward to going out tonight to the UU event, not just because it was something that filled you with a bit of purpose, but also because you knew you’d get to see Alexa there. She was clever, beautiful, and driven in a way you always wanted to be, but weren’t. You’d only moved to the city a few months ago, but she’d been on your mind most of that time. She was tall, though unfortunately not taller than you as few women were, but her substantial height was such a nice bonus given your… interests. Having met her at another UU “Square of Truth,” you now looked eagerly to Friday nights where you might get to see her during the Square or after, when some people went out for a meal after.

You wanted to ask her out, but felt like it would be wrong to do it there, in a place that was meant for something more “pure” in some sense. You could have asked for her number or her Swiftpic, but that was the same thing with extra steps. Luckily you knew Sara through a friend from your old town, and she knew Alexa. Maybe you could ask her to help somehow? It’d been a long while since you met anyone through something other than the apps.

Well, now you were there, and so was she. Unfortunately, you got there exactly on time, so there wasn’t any time to chit chat before getting started. In any case, like always, you had a hard time not glancing over at her every two seconds, though you were pretty engaged with your outreach. Time passed quickly, and then you noticed it was already almost time to go–either home or to the restaurant you all usually went to after, Greenspeace. You decided that you’d ask her out there, that very night. No more waiting.

You looked over and saw through a pretty thick crowd that Alexa was busy having a heated conversation with some slovenly cowboy wannabe. You kept watching as she looked angrier and angrier until she got this weird look on her face and you could have sworn, no, that couldn’t be, could it? It looked like the man she was debating shrunk! Wait, there was something on the ground now, something that was unmistakably human, but much smaller, at the very lower limit of what you could see from a few paces away. But it was moving and–and she was on it in a flash, scooping it up. You looked away quickly, not wanting to be seen staring.

But, like, what the actual fuck? Did you go crazy? Nothing else looked out of the ordinary, not even any visual disturbances. No voices, no sense of disorientation. You even felt pretty well-rested, if physically tired from standing for a few hours and debating people in a subway station after a full day of working from home doing aerospace engineering. That was something you and Alexa bonded over: being interested in “space stuff.” Alexa. The woman who apparently could do magic or something, but specifically the kind that you were interested in. Or would be interested in, if it were real. Which it apparently was. What.

You stuffed down the heady feeling washing through you, the feeling that your entire world-model was as wrong as Aristotle’s, that every single one of your beliefs had to be reexamined closely, and focused on not falling over or doing something silly like that. You did still need to look cool around Alexa, after all. The woman who could make your dreams come true. The woman–wait. You were doing it again: letting your incredulity and amazement and everything else get the better of you. You clamped down, hard this time and felt a bit more grounded.

Well, the meal at Greenspeace was going to be especially interesting today. You were going to ask her some very probing questions.

_____________

Penelope wound down the Square and asked everyone who planned on eating out together to raise their hands so the restaurant would know how many people to expect. You started to raise your hand, but noticed that Alexa didn’t raise hers, and in fact darted away, racing to just barely catch a train. A feeling of social pressure kept you from running after her, and then you finished raising your hand when you saw that it would be impossible to catch up to her.

You had a pretty nice time, but were definitely distracted. At one point Sara snapped her fingers in your face. “Earth to Ira,” she quipped. “Oh, sorry, I was thinking about something else,” you replied. “Clearly,” she dryly noted.

“Ira, what you need is to come out to a party. Loosen up. Not that you’re not already plenty loose, but you could always do with a bit of loosening.”

You thought that was fair, but it was also coming from someone who pregamed wine in her reusable water bottle when she went out, so perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to go as far as her, and you said as much in a good-natured, if teasing way. “That’s also fair,” she said, reasonably. “But you should definitely come out anyway. It’s tomorrow and it’s at Roxie’s. Alexa will be there…” You hated that you were this readable. In any case, it would probably be the soonest you’d be able to corner her and find out what on Earth was going on.

______________

Alexa gripped her knees the whole ride home, knuckles white. What was she going to do? She’d kidnapped someone. There’s no going back from that. She was going to finish grad school, join NASA, she was going to do so many things, but this guy ruined that all for her. She’d have to take care of him. She’d either need to have a forever pet or she’d have to kill him in a way that left no evidence. No, she couldn’t keep him as a pet, then he’d BE evidence. What was she thinking? She couldn’t kill someone. Maybe she could get him to promise not to get back at her. But what if he came back and tried to hurt her while she was sleeping or something?

Well, what was done was done. Maybe he’d have some way of convincing her not to do what she really, really didn’t want to do anyway. Some kind of assurance or guarantee. She was at her apartment now. Ugh! She could feel him in her pocket, as small as he was. He felt like he weighed a million pounds. A dumpy albatross around her neck. She knew the cube-square law meant he wouldn’t get hurt falling, so she couldn’t chance letting him loose on a table or any surface where he might be able to escape. She went to her cupboard, got out a glass, walked to her bedroom, and set it down. She took a moment to collect herself. She wanted to present a cool, calm, and collected image to the man even though her mind was reeling and a thousand emotions were boiling up under the surface. And for some reason, one of them was arousal. She pulled him out of her pocket and plopped him into the glass.

You were pretty disoriented, but it was obvious you were trapped against some sort of coarse cloth, squeezed tightly enough sometimes that breathing was a challenge. It felt like a roller coaster, and you had no hope of being able to scream with the fabric being as tight as it was. You heard the mantra: “stand clear of the closing doors, please” over and over, felt the roller coaster get bumpy again, and then it got quiet for a while. You felt the fabric loosen a bit, and then you felt it again, flesh. White hot panic set in again as you realized you were being grabbed again. Some primal instinct to flee, to escape took hold of you and you bucked and flailed to no avail. She had caught hold of you, and you felt a sensation of going up, before going down, and finding yourself dropping without injury into some large, clear glass cell. You felt the cold, smooth surface and realized where you were. You were in a gigantic bedroom, on a desk, inside a cup, and looking down on you like the face of the almighty was her. The girl from the subway platform. Against your better judgment you screamed again.

“Hm, how odd. I can hear you screaming, and you’re quiet, but you’re at your normal pitch. Try saying something,” the girl said to you, her voice booming yet flat and emotionless.

You listen to her request and muster up your courage, but that makes your fear turn to anger. No one kidnaps you! Who does this bitch think she is? “Let me go, you fucking cunt! I’ll tear you to pieces when I’m free and then I’ll sic my lawyer on you when I’m good and done!” You spat on the ground, on the glass “floor.”

She shifted above you, strands of her wavy hair cascading down her shoulder like a great waterfall. “Well, that’s, um, definitely ‘something,’ so fair enough. I did ask you to say something, after all, so I guess that’s on me. But what you’re suggesting is what we’d call a ‘bad incentive structure.’ You see, if you want to be let go, then you’re going to have to behave and promise not to come after me, not punish me for helping you,” Alexa said with a lofty air.

Was she taunting you there? No one taunts you. You were captain of your football team and are the best damn salesman on your entire floor. Women loved you. Well, not Carla. She was a whore and everyone knew it. And not this oversized bitch who reminded you a bit of Carla, nag nag nag. “Fuck off,” you say. Not your best insult, but it’s how you felt, and your therapist was always telling you to be yourself and let your feelings be known. Or something. She was honestly kind of a bitch too. Great tits, though.

“Hm, I don’t think I will. I also don’t think you’re the kind of person to turn the other cheek. So here’s the thing. I’ve been trying to come up with a reason not to kill you, a reason not to just make you, my little problem go away.“

Kill me? The fuck was she thinking? Sure she was big, there was no question of that, but she was a girl. Not like she could hurt me. Right? You gulped hard and jumped a bit as her enormous hand slammed on the table next to you while you were busy mulling that over. Her trunk-like fingers bowed a bit, nails scraping on the wood as they came closer to her wrist. She began slowly tapping her fingers. Each tap made your “floor” shake, but not enough to make you stumble.

“Well? I’m waiting. If you don’t say anything in the next ten seconds, you’re done,” she threatened.

You looked into her dark eyes and felt like a butterfly pinned to a, well, whatever it was that butterflies got pinned to. Fuck. You didn’t see any mercy or pity there in those eyes, just a coldness that grabbed at your heart and made you fall to your knees.

“Please! Please don’t hu-don’t kill me! I dunno why you’ve done this but I–I didn’t do anything to you! We was just talking! I’ve got a life, I’ve got feelings!” You saw no reaction from her other than a barely perceptible shift even at her scale, a slight twitch of the side of her upper lip. “What? What did I say? Oh, God!”

She took in a breath and let it out. You felt the warm, muggy air wash over you a little though you were mostly shielded by your glass prison. She shifted back a little, and now you could only see her face through the glass, distorted slightly. “You brought up that you have a life and feelings. Since when does that matter to you?”

What did she mean? You were confused, and that was plainly evident to her because once you shook your head slightly, she raised her hand off the table and slammed her fist down. This time your world shook enough to topple you from your knees. Splayed on the bottom of the glass, you shakily got to your feet. She remained quiet for a time, moving her head back into direct view, then spoke comparatively softly, like a high whisper.

“The animals you love to eat had lives and feelings, too. I’ll bet you have little bits of them with you still.” You actually had lost the bag you carried with you to the station earlier at some point, but didn’t know where. “You’ve made your body their tomb, and I’ll bet you don’t think about that for a second.”

This again? “Look, it’s food. They’re animals, I’m not. Please, you gotta see you’re crazy, right? We gotta eat. I’m not gonna eat broccoli or whatever, or–or tofu or whatever it is you eat. I gotta have my protein. Please! Let me go, I won’t be a problem for you. Make me normal, this ain’t right. You can’t keep me here!”

She actually looked like she was thinking it over. When you shouted “please” at her, you even saw her look concerned for a second, but when you told her she couldn’t keep you there her expression snapped back to the icy dispassion you’d seen earlier. Then she smiled, straight, white teeth flashing behind smooth lips. “You’re not convincing me, buddy,” she said all sing-song. “You’re barely the size of a piece of tofu, yourself. I can definitely keep you here. Or do whatever I want with you, which really isn’t keeping you. Anyway, I skipped dinner tonight and am pretty hungry, Little Tofu. Why shouldn’t I just eat you?”

Your heart flutters in your chest at this, stomach churning with fear. She continues. “You are an animal after all, despite what you said. And I’m not crazy, just tired of dealing with assholes like you, tired of them–of you–hurting others time after time. An ex of mine used to say that every death the Joker caused, once Batman realized what kind of monster he was and didn’t kill him, was on Batman’s hands. I’m not really into comics myself, but I do want to stop the monsters.”

With that, she nodded her head a little, and grabbed the glass, banging your head into the wall and flinging your body around. You were disoriented and began sliding down the length of the glass, which was now upturned slightly. You clawed at its unyielding surface, not finding any purchase as you slid toward her now waiting hand at the open bottom (top?) of the glass. She grabbed you yet again, but much more gently this time. “What did you call me?” she asked. “Oh, yes. It was ‘sugartits,’ I believe. Well, let’s see yours.”

You felt the pressure around your legs increase as she maneuvered you into the other hand, holding you upside down by them only. Your phone fell out of your pocket, and then you felt like you were being hugged for a moment as her fingers pinched at you, at your shirt and jacket. The shirt tugged against your skin, biting into your armpits and stomach, and then began ripping, tearing painfully a bit at your skin before both it and the jacket slid up and off your body, hitting your chin on the way off, which kicked your head back. It hurt enough that you let out a yelp. She flipped you right-side-up again and switched her grip to clamping your chest between her first finger and thumb. Your legs dangled seemingly 40 feet or so in the air. It was hard to breathe like this and you reflexively batted at her thumb with your one free hand. You heard a giggle rumble above you.

She deposited you on her hand. The small motions of her hand, even as she tried to keep it steady, were enough to prevent you from rising to your feet, and you remained on your ass with your arms pushing your torso up a bit. “I’d suggest you take off your pants on your own if you don’t want your belt to rip your legs off when I pull off those pants,” she cautioned.

You were shocked by all this, by her sudden change. “The fuck are you doing?”

“I’m making you strip, obviously. If you don’t, I’ll smash you to a pulp. You’re going to take a bath.”

You silently do as she asks, first taking off your boots, fumbling with the laces a bit. You loved those boots, but once they were off, she flicked them off her warm palm like they were nothing, a display of raw power that terrified you. The wind from her middle finger as it flicked made a deep whoosh what felt like inches from your body. You flinched and got back to taking off your belt, unbuckling it and then shimmying out of your pants. You felt her hand moisten a little below you, pinpricks of sweat beading up. You were now wearing only your socks and underwear.

“Those too,” she said.

Scared and humiliated, you took off your socks, then paused. She gave you an angry look and raised her other hand above you, flat. It was clearly a threat. Shakily, you removed your underwear as well. You felt a shiver go through you. If it was fear or the chill in the air, you couldn’t say. She bent down, pursed her lips, and blew. The resulting gale scattered the clothes in her hand and flung them off, plunging them into the depths. It was now just you on there, buffeted as well and flipped prone. Her breath had a pleasantly earthy scent, not particularly strong. You were glad to be on your front because even in this insanity you retained your modesty and didn’t want her seeing your private area.

“Gross. You’re pathetic, aren’t you? Well, let’s get you cleaned off,” she said as she wrapped her fingers around you once more. You felt yourself swaying, and with each of her steps you felt a shake and a slight tightening and releasing of her fingers. You tried to wriggle a bit, but as before it did nothing. You saw her fingers raise again, and saw that you were in a bathroom. You heard her turn on a tap and then saw that you were getting close to the shower area. She grabbed something and then you were back in the main area, near the tap. She set down whatever it was that she got, and then brought you close to the rushing stream of water, before jerking you away right before you would have entered. A few small (even to you) droplets hit you, and the wind from the water’s flow evinced that the torrent was extremely hot. She felt it with her fingers, then adjusted the tap, reducing the quantity and temperature of water flowing out.

How odd, you thought. She’s making the water nicer for me. Maybe she’s just trying to scare me. I think she’s realizing that she’s gotta let me go.

She plunged you under the stream of water, moving her fingers all over you. You sputtered and gasped as temperate water got in your nose, your mouth, your eyes. You realized what she picked up from the shower area was when a cold, girly-scented slime covered you. It was her body soap, and she was lathering you up. You could occasionally hear her humming a little to herself, but mostly what you heard was the rushing of water. After what felt like an eternity of being waterboarded, the water stopped, and you saw a towel coming for you. It was the corner of her body towel. It assaulted you, its terry cloth loops grabbing at you somewhat roughly. It smelled a bit musty this close up, like it needed a wash. Finally, you were pretty dry.

“There, looking good. Anyway, like I said, I skipped dinner. Let’s go have something.”

You nodded mutely, but she wasn’t even looking at you. Instead, she closed her hand again, and you found yourself in a bowl in an eat-in kitchen after some time and turbulence. “Say, do you like Japanese food?” she asked.

You took a bit to get your bearings, feeling briefly overjoyed that she was clearly going to let you go. She was buttering you up. You then replied “sure. I’ve spent some time over there on a business trip. Great food. Even had some stuff that you people’d like,” you said, trying to endear yourself to her.

“Mn,” she said. “Looks like you know a lot. Have you heard of ‘odori ebi’?” Seeing you shake your head, she continued. Well, I’m going to make my take on it. No shrimp, obviously, but there will be a shrimp substitute.”
“...Okay, thank you ma’am,” you say. “So, are you going to let me go after dinner? And could I have my clothes back, please?”

“Still deciding, and no. They’re dirty.”

“Well, I think you should let me go. I won’t say anything. I’ll give you a bunch of money. Ten grand. It’s a good offer, Alexa.” He’d heard her name at some point in her pocket when some woman asked for her help taking down something in the station.

“You know my name, my face, where I go…” Alexa spoke quietly, too quietly for you to hear even magnified to her scale, and then trailed off. She went over to a cupboard and produced a bulk bag with some yellow stuff in it. “Do you know what this is?” she asked you.

“I’m sorry, once again I’m at a loss.”

“Oh, it’s delicious. It’s ‘nooch’: nutritional yeast. I put the stuff on everything. Here, try some.”

With that, she pulled out a sizeable pinch of it, and dropped it on you, yellow particles coating you like snow on a lawn gnome. You breathed in a little and coughed.

“Sorry about that,” she said, snorting. “Try it.” You did, licking the back of your hand which had some on it. It wasn’t really to your liking, reminding you a bit of marmite you tried once on a trip to London.

“Mmm,” you lied. “Pretty good stuff. Thanks for that.”

“Not a problem. Here, have some more,” she said with a mischievous lilt, and then poked you with her finger. You fell to the bottom of the bowl, and then she pressed you hard into it, rolling you around. Your shoulders, arms, and hips were bruised and you howled in pain. “Argh! Stop, please stop!” you shouted, and she did eventually, when she plucked you from the bowl, holding you up to her face at about chin level.

“Odori ebi is a delicacy in Japan. Sometimes it’s known as ‘dancing shrimp’.” Realization dawned on you as you remembered a wild dinner you had once while out on the town in Himeshima.

“People take baby shrimp, dunk them in some sauces, and then chew them up alive. Don’t worry. I won’t bite you. I’ll swallow you whole. Of course that will be a lot slower and more painful for you, but I don’t think your blood would taste that great, to be honest. I feel badly, but can’t let you leave here knowing who I am.” She snapped her teeth at him, then. “When you’re sliding down my throat, I want you to think about all the defenseless animals you consigned to death.”

You were openly weeping now, trying with all your might to free yourself from her vice-like grip. You couldn’t form coherent words, but through your tears you saw her mouth opening, but not even that widely. You felt yourself moving upward slightly, but mostly she moved toward you. Thick strands of saliva stretched from her tongue to her teeth and the roof of her mouth. There was an echoey, wet click as she moved the great beast that was her tongue out toward you. It glistened wetly. Some part of your mind thought she looked so hot, like she was about to lick your cock, and in fact she did. Her tongue slid over the front of your body from your ankles to the top of your head. Slimy and strong, it removed some of the yellow powder that was coating you, but some remained since it was now gluelike having been hydrated by her saliva. Eyes closed, you felt the touch everywhere at once, your cock pushed to the side in a not unpleasant way. You wiped your eyes and were able to see her smile.

“Well, this is it. I really am sorry about this. Any last requests or anything? I can’t contact anyone for you, but…”

“Go to Hell!” you shout, recovering some of your fire.

Her lips, lips thicker than your torso pursed, then parted. You gazed down the dark chasm that awaited and let out a small whimper. You didn’t even struggle as her mouth neared again. You were like a mouse, exhausted by your previous efforts to escape the clutches of a much larger cat, motionless in horror, helplessly and inexorably ferried to your doom. “Ahhhh,” you heard her say, her epiglottis dancing above you. Her hot breath caressed your body, almost feeling nice, but you barely noticed it.

Slowly, so slowly, she moved her head down. Less and less light made it to you, and more and more of your world was the dim cavern of her mouth. Teeth, gums, tongue, wet cheeks, hard roof. You felt yourself tilting sideways and then her fingers which had been pinching most of your body loosened their grip and you found yourself falling the infinitesimal distance making contact for the second time in the evening with her tongue. You let out another scream once you felt her tongue twitching below you. You were in a pool of her saliva, sliding a bit, unable to orient yourself properly. It was almost pitch black now as she’d closed her lips, sealing you in. As she slightly changed the configuration of her mouth you felt your ears pop as if you were on an airplane changing its altitude. Your eyes adjusted a little and you could see vague outlines of hulking shapes in the deep, crimson glow. You felt yourself rising, and in moments you were squished between her tongue and the roof of her mouth. Her tongue yielded enough to keep this from being too painful, but you breathed in a bit of saliva and reflexively coughed, but weren’t able to draw in any breath. As you flailed, she rubbed you around a little, spinning you slightly with the friction from the hard palate. A moan boomed around you, louder than any concert. She was enjoying your flavor, savoring it. She pulled her tongue away quickly and your ears popped again, but this time your left eardrum burst. It was one of the most painful experiences you’d ever had, and now that there was some air to breathe, you screamed. Disoriented and in pain, you barely registered it as she slid you again. You were between her tongue and her soft palate, and at last she gulped.

Her spit flooded your mouth, forcing itself down your throat as you were pressed down hers. The undulating waves of her strong muscles propelled you downward. You felt very little pressure at all on the swift trip, peristalsis holding you in a relaxed pocket, slippery surfaces pressing above and below, but you were spared their crushing force. After barely any time at all, you found yourself with more space. You did not fall into her stomach juices, instead caught by the slime at the junction between her esophagus and your new home.

You coughed again, trying to clear the saliva out again, and were rewarded with a putrid, caustic breath. She must have swallowed again because enough saliva poured out from above to finally dislodge you, and you plunged into the wetness of her stomach. Your strength was almost gone now, but you desperately fought to get to the surface. Acids and enzymes burned your eyes, the tip of your penis, your anus, your nose, your burst ear. Her gastric juices churned around you from the motion imparted by her stride. You didn’t know this, but she was walking to her bedroom and slipping into her bed.

You were disoriented enough that you spent some time swimming mostly sideways and down a bit, and you contacted the slippery wall of her stomach lining. You lucked out a bit as you kicked off and found yourself on the top of the awful liquid. You weren’t really thinking much, just acting on instinct. Suddenly, you felt the pressure increase again, hurting your ears once more, but not much. You heard something strange as you breached the muck, like air rushing or the sound of a drum. You were able to take in a breath which felt “clearer” in some way before. Less acidic. Were you to pay attention, you would have been able to hear the deep thump-thump thump-thump of your murderer’s heartbeat in your one good ear, to make out the sound of breath rushing and catching occasionally, and occasional, throaty feminine tones. However, you were preoccupied with the effort of maintaining your head above the thick liquid all around. For a time you tried holding onto the stomach wall, but it was too slippery and mobile to help much. It was like treading molasses. Oddly the viscosity didn’t affect your ability to tread much, though it did slow down your kicks and arm swishes, but the thickness meant that each movement you did manage to make pushed you more than mere water would have. That said, occasionally waves would emerge, slapping at your face, burning you, sending you choking.

You were more tired than you’d ever been. You weren’t big on exercise and your body was being tested beyond the limits of what any human had evolved to handle. Wheezing and panting, you found yourself failing once in a while to get your head back in the air. Once in a while became often. The burning sensation you’d felt before in a few choice areas was magnifying, warping into something unbearable. Another minute and you breathed your last breath. Still, you fought for the surface, but you were too weak. Spent. Another minute of agony and you felt your chest spasm, forcing her juices into your lungs. You were beyond agony now, your nervous system shouting at you to fight, to flee, fully coordinated. Every last iota of energy available to you was focused on the singular task of living just one second longer! To escape the predator! To be! But that only lasted a short moment of white-hot terror. Entirely depleted now, you were drifting. Drifting into the nothingness.

Your predator claimed her first kill.