Tiny Prey

[fancomicsjohn]

It started with a headache. I remember that. Sharp, like a needle behind my eyes, while the world around me stretched. Trees snapped like matchsticks as they rose toward the sky, the grass thickening into jungle vines. I stumbled, knees buckling when my feet hit the ground—only now the ground was softer, mushier. Mud. I was tiny. Really tiny. Panicked, I crawled backward, crawling? Why am I crawling?! My clothes felt heavy, the fabric sagging into a shroud. I yanked at my jacket, but the sleeves dangled like tentacles, and the shirt beneath had soaked through with dew from the grass.

Footsteps. Thud after thunderous thud. The earth shook, and I ducked under a root, heart jackhammering. A shadow swelled over me, blotting out the sun. “Oh, you’re adorkable like this,” a woman’s voice purred. High and melodic, like a lullaby dipped in poison.

I looked up—up? Her toes were the size of boulders, caked with dirt and pebbles. She crouched, and the air smelled like vanilla and something metallic. Her face filled my vision: freckles like stars, eyes the color of bruised plums. God, she’s beautiful. She tilted her head, and I could see down her throat—no, not her throat, her lips, full and red, glistening like they’d just drunk something sweet.

“Don’t be scared, little one,” she whispered, her breath hot and minty. Her finger brushed my chest, and I froze. The pad of her nail was as wide as a door. “You’re so tense. Let’s fix that.”

She scooped me up, and I screamed, but it was a high, squeaky sound. Her palm was warm, like a radiator. I scrambled to climb over her knuckles, desperate to escape, but she cupped me gently. “Where do you think you’re going?” She laughed—a deep, rumbling vibration—and opened her mouth. Her tongue was a watermelon-colored muscle, and she swiped it along my spine. It felt like... like being licked by a furnace.

“You don’t run from your fate,” she hissed, flipping me onto my back. My legs dangling off the edge of her lip, her teeth glinting like knives. I kicked, but she pinned my thighs with two of her fingers, her grip unyielding.

“Wait, please—”

“Shhh.” She kissed me. Her lips were soft but her jaw terrifying, her breaths hot and slow as she leaned closer. “I’ve wanted to do this since I found you.”

Her mouth opened, wide enough to swallow a man whole. The rotten sugar smell of her breath filled my nose as I stared into the abyss. Her tongue curled around me, gentle but unbreakable as a rope. I fought, biting, clawing—but she was insatiable, pulling me deeper until her throat muscles closed around my waist. Swallowing. No, consuming. I screamed, but the sound died in her stomach. Darkness. Heat. The sensation of being folded by something alive.

I woke inside her. Her intestines? No, too warm. Wet. Like a cave with the walls breathing. Her heartbeat was a bass drum in my ears. I crawled, but the walls kept squeezing, a slow, rhythmic pulse. “Cute,” she murmured, her voice echoing from all directions. “You’re still trying to fight. Such a bad boy.”

Her stomach contracted, and I gasped as a wave of liquid rolled over me. Acid? My skin prickled, tingling, and the air here smelled like blood. I screamed again, but she giggled. “No, no. That’s just your growth spurt. You like it here, admit it.”

She was right. My limbs were lengthening, stretching like taffy pulled through her gut. Muscles ached, skin stretched—oh God, my cock is hard—and my hands grew, fingers brushing against the walls of her organ. Is this... arousal? The guilt made me sick, but the sensations didn’t stop. Her womb? No. Not yet. But close.

She shifted, and the walls of her stomach shuddered. “Let me out!” I begged. My voice cracked, higher-pitched now, my throat tight. I wasn’t the same size. Not anymore.

“You’re pregnant,” she crooned, and I felt it—a dull pressure, like something was coiled around my spine. Her eggs? Or her embryo? “You’re so swollen. You’re making me wet.”

I didn’t want to look down, but I had to. My legs—my skin was covered in her eggs, tiny translucent spheres bulging from my flesh. They’re pulsing. Her voice vibrated through them, a low hum that made the sacs tremble. “They’re healthy. Strong,” she whispered. “My little seedlings. Soon, they’ll crack open and eat their way out. Maybe they’ll follow you. Protect you.”

I gagged. “Please. Stop.”

She pressed a hand to her stomach, and the pressure exploded. Her womb spasmed, and I was ejected through a tube—her vagina?—into a new world. Light. Cold. Wet. I hit her bed, the sheets like tundra under my skin. She stood over me, smiling. Her hands cupped her breasts, and I looked down—my body was covered in more sacs, but also her cum, thick and syrupy. Still growing.

“You’ll carry them for a while,” she said, her voice like honey and iron. “My babies. And when they hatch, they’ll love you. Because that’s what mothers teach their children, right?” She leaned close, her lips brushing my ear. “To devour the weak.”

I ran. Through her house, which was still a labyrinth to me. Her pictures on the walls—herself, holding things much smaller than her—her trophies, her art. I stumbled through the kitchen, the countertops like cliffs, and burst onto her porch. She caught me in a blink, her fingers like shackles. “No more,” she hissed. “You’re mine.”

She dropped me into her mouth again. Not to swallow. To keep. Her tongue curled around me like a lover, and I lay there, too tired to fight, too broken to care. Her saliva seeped into my skin, and her teeth tapped gently on my shoulder.

Check out more stories about size and surrender here. Want to see what this feels like in real time? is a good place to start. Discussion about captivity and consent might interest you. Explore the raw side of power, where the lines between love and violation blur. Stories about growth and transformation will show you how deep this can go. See what else people are writing about how it feels to be eaten.