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Author's Chapter Notes:

In which Aaron experiences his newest punishment, and I continue to succumb to the temptation of wasteful plot development. Only vore, with the illusion of unaware.

Coughing and gasping from the force with which his body had hit the ceramic, Aaron took a few long, crucial seconds to figure out what was going on. By rights, the force of his hit should have killed him, but he seemed to be immortal, at least for now, so he was cursed to survive whatever bullshit she thought to torture him with.

By the time he was able to regain his bearings and process his surroundings, Emma had finished speaking, and he could see a cereal box, of all things, lifting high above his head, slowly tilting down to pour its contents directly on top of him.

Fuck. He couldn't escape this. He just had to lie there, helpless, limbs trapped in a thin, sticky layer of human fluids, as lumpy whole-grain cereal poured down on top of him. 

The noise was deafening, the food clanking against the ceramic of the bowl. The appetizing brown color filled every corner of his vision, until a single kernel came plummeting down on top of his head. It bounced off like a kickball, but left him dazed and confused, unable to process what was really happening until he had been buried deep under an avalanche of food.

That wasn't it, he thought. Who ate cereal dry? 

The deluge of opaque, freezing-cold white milk came without warning. It came in from all directions, a flood that immediately dislodged him from the bowl and sent him twirling mercilessly through a dense field of cereal. He bounced painfully against grain after grain until he finally reached a resting point on the chilly surface of the milk.

Staring upwards, he saw Emma Watson from an incredible perspective. She didn't even seem to know he was there. Her bathtowel still wrapped around her body, another tied up in her hair, she sat over his bowl, a spoon held idly in one hand and her phone in the other. Whatever was on the phone, it captured her full attention, because she brought the spoon down to the bowl without even looking, and scooped up a gigantic volume of milk and cereal.

The action was cataclysmic to Aaron. He fought furiously to stay afloat, but it was useless. The moment her spoon sank into the bowl, he was dragged under, and it was only pure luck that he wasn't dragged out with the spoonful of cereal that she brought to her mouth. A few seconds  later, after suffering a seemingly endless bombardment of cereal bits, he finally surfaced, gasping for fresh air. 

He knew, deep down, that he could breathe the milk like air and he wouldn't die, but his body wouldn't acknowledge that fact. He swam around cereal grains twenty times larger than his body, he struggled against the insignificant wake made by the giantess' spoon, all to keep from being sucked under. That was all his body knew to do. 

There was no escaping, and he knew that, to be honest. How could you escape someone's breakfast when you were just barely larger than a grain of salt? He tried because instinct screamed at him, but it was ultimately meaningless.

It was Emma's fourth bite. Her spoon came down, and the massive wall of metal crashed into the frigid milk not ten feet from Aaron's face. Her wrist twisted, her arm lifted, and suddenly he was rocketing into the air, carried in a cold pool of milk straight to her mouth.

Her eyes didn't even see him; she was still looking at her phone. Her lips, yet untouched by makeup, parted wide, revealing the deep, dark hole of her mouth. In less time than it took to describe it, Aaron, along with the spoonful of ice-cold milk and cereal that carried him, were plunged deep into that cave, and her lips came slamming shut behind him. The spoon tilted, and suddenly he was spilled onto the burning heat and wet flesh of her tongue.

It was terrifying, beyond anything he had ever seen, but it was fascinating at the same time. Her tongue surged up to the roof of her mouth, forcing the milk and the food to the sides, and then her teeth began to work at it. Aaron was lucky enough to stay in the center of her tongue, pressed painfully against the roof of her mouth, as her teeth crunched mercilessly through the cereal.

He could see it, just barely, but he could definitely hear it. The hard grains crunching between the giantess' unyielding teeth sounded like a chorus of cannons. Milk washed over him, each wave stealing the breath from him in its abrupt wall of cold. Against the unbearable heat that came from Emma's tongue beneath him, and the roof of her mouth above him, even tiny flecks of the cold milk felt like being pelted with ice cubes.

Eventually, the giantess' tongue twisted and writhed underneath him, and Aaron was shoved to the back of her throat. For a moment, he floated amidst a lukewarm paste of half-chewed cereal and milk, no sound audible but Emma's steady heartbeat, and then she swallowed.

Aaron fell. So far, so fast. With a sudden squelching sound, her throat opened up, and Aaron was carried down in a lump of mushy fluid all the way down her esophagos and into her stomach. 

With a splash, he hit the bottom, falling straight through the thin layer of fluid at the bottom and hitting the flesh underneath. The impact was so hard that it drove the wind from him, and the breath he took afterwards was a hot mix of half-digested food and stomach acid.

The flesh of her stomach squirmed and heaved relentlessly under him, mixing food with acid and slowly guiding the mix towards her intestines. He tried to gain his feet and was tossed immediately onto his back, then onto his stomach. The fluids only really came up to his waist, but it was enough to drown in. And he would have drowned, acid burning his lungs from the inside-out, if he hadn't been cursed with immortality.

But still he fought. He would not spend another week inside Emma's digestive tract. Eventually, he managed to work his way to the side of her stomach, somewhere where brown-grey stew of food and fluids would not carry him helplessly further downwards. Her stomach continued to twitch and heave, but he was able to keep himself in his position, shoving feet and hands into the winkled folds of her stomach in an effort to keep from being thrown loose.

Once or twice every minute, another mushy brown offering came pouring down from the hole above him, plopping noisily into the mix below. It had been steadily draining down, but not as fast as she ate. The watermark crept slowly upwards, and he kept trying to climb away, until he was no longer sure of his footing, holding desperately onto a near-vertical wall of flesh as hot slime lapped at his shins.

This was his third time down here, and, goddammit, he was not going to rely on Emma's goodwill to survive it unscathed. He was a human being, not a morsel of food, not a toy to be discarded. He would fight with everything he had.

But she's just eating breakfast, a part of him said. She's not even trying to torture you. No matter what you do, her stomach will do what it was built to, and you will be carried down like the tiny snack you are.

Aaron stubbornly ignored that voice, holding on as spoonful after spoonful of chewed-up cereal came pouring down, as the half-digested mixture came up to his knees, to his waist, to his chest. Each one he hoped was the last, and he screamed and cursed in desperation as more and more came.

The heaving and tossing of her stomach was making him nauseous, but he held on for dear life. Eventually, with the chyme riding almost up to his neck, the deluge of food finally stopped, and the level finally started to come down.

Holy fuck, he thought. She's finally done. Now all he had to do was hold on, just like he had, and wait. He'd ride this shit out in her stomach.

And then what? She'll eat again, and again, and again. That's what people do. You can't survive every meal for the rest of her life, he told himself. Might as well let go and get it over with now. Sure, a trip through her intestines is unpleasant, but at least it's a break from her.

No. No. That was the mindset of a man defeated. He didn't wish for a brief reprieve from her sexual torture, he wanted to escape it forever. He wanted to see justice dealt for what she had done to him, and that meant fighting her with every breath. Submitting to her body was just the first step towards becoming the slave that she wanted.

That line of thought lasted until Emma finally stood up. Her body shifted so abruptly that the contents of her belly were tossed about in absolute chaos. A wave of hot slime washed over Aaron, and he was dragged helplessly from his 'safe' spot and straight into the pool that had settled at the bottom of her stomach.

He barely realized what was happening, but he instinctively started to fight for the surface. He barely made two strokes before Emma started to walk. Each and every step she took sent the fluids that surrounded him sloshing around, and, with each distant thump, he drifted further and further towards the bottom. He was the only thing not rendered into a foamy mess of half-digested matter, and the sheer force of gravity forced him further and further down into the pool of food in her stomach.

Fighting for his life, gasping desperately for air but only breathing slimy chyme, Aaron barely noticed that he had passed through the bottom of her stomach and into her intestines. It took almost ten minutes of tired fighting for him to realize that there was no end to the fluids, that a tight tube of hungry, squirming flesh surrounded him on all sides.

He screamed.


"I'm so sorry to waste your time, Dominique," Emma said, drawing the whistling kettle from the burner. "I watched it happen. He fell all the way down..." She patted her belly as she poured the steaming hot tea into Domonique's cup, "It's probably going to be a few days."

"Oh, hush, Emma," Dominique said, taking the cup of tea and swirling it around. Her accent sounded almost exactly like it did on the TV, with the rough touch of Cockney. Emma may have given it a bit of extra posh for the cameras, but Dominique didn't bother with the effort. She appreciated that about her. "You have to do what you have to do. Honestly, I'm surprised he's still this stubborn after all this time. How long did you say you had him?"

"Ten days," Emma said, pouring herself a cup. "But he spent a bit of that time in... you know..."

"A full tour?"

"You could say that."

"And he's still rebellious even after that? You just put him on a second tour."

Emma nodded, sending a gulp of hot tea down after the tiny man; he was probably deep into her small intestine by now. "And he fought like fire the whole way down. I watched him do it."

Dominique nodded thoughtfully, taking a slow sip of her tea. "Why didn't you save him, if you were going to pass him off?" she asked.

"He was already too far down by the time I went to look," Emma explained. "I didn't want to hurt myself by sizing him up."

"That can be easy to do," Dominique replied. "Are you going to make him sit the whole thing out?"

"Probably not," Emma said with a shrug, "Maybe make him think I care about him before letting you have him."

Dominique shook her head. "You're overthinking it. Cruelty to break them, kindness to remake them. You give them an uneven mix and you just make it worse for yourself."

"That's not what the book says."

"The book is fucking stupid. You're not training a dog."

"So was yours this... rebellious?"

"Oh, no," Dominique said, laughing. "I honestly think she wanted to be a toy. Only took about three days before she would do anything I asked. She even helps me break other people's toys now."

Emma rolled her teacup between her hands, feeling the warmth. It was still vaguely uncomfortable for her to talk about this, with the knowledge that it was a massive crime with life-ending consequences. Dominique's cavalier attitude about the whole affair just made her feel more awkward. "Can I... meet her?"

"Sure," Dominique said, taking another sip of tea. Noticing Emma's expression, she added, "Oh, not now. She's at home cleaning up."

Emma's mouth dropped in shock. "What, really?"

"Oh, darling, once they're broken they're great," Dominique told her, a conspiratorial look crossing her face. "I even let Suzy come with me to shootings from time to time. People just think she's my American friend."

"That's amazing."

"But come by any time. She'll meet yours eventually so it couldn't hurt for her to meet you," said Dominique. "What is his name, by the way?"

"I... don't know," Emma said, her eyes widening. She had never even bothered to ask. Honestly, she wasn't sure if she had even considered the fact that he had a name.

Dominique frowned. "See, that's a problem. You have to know their name. That's how you start the personal relationship."

Emma let a long sigh out through her nose. "Should I just have his memory reset?"

Dominique waved off the question, "Oh, no, I like the challenge. Just bring him by my place when you can and we'll get started." She grabbed her teacup off the table, then set it back down, gesturing excitedly, "Oh, and you have to try out Suzy. She can do things that are just..." 

"Appreciated, but I'll pass," Emma said. 

"Suit yourself," Dominique replied, huddling her tea up to her chest with both hands and wearing a sultry grin. "I'll get your man-with-no-name there for you."

"Really, Dominique, I can't thank you enough for this."

"It's my pleasure, Emma, really." She downed the last of her tea and set the cup down, her face going serious. "But first you need to tell me everything you've done to him already."


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