A Reversal of Circumstances

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A reversal of circumstances

By Strega, final version 10/2/2001

The moment she saw the wolverine, Strega knew she had to have him.

The massive creature was well over four feet tall at the peak of his arched back and must have weighed half again what she did. His powerful limbs were a glossy black-brown, the rest of him chocolate-brown or a shade darker. A golden-brown stripe ran across his forehead and cheeks, and a larger ran from his shoulders back along his flanks to meet at his tail-root. The clear shape that stripe made seen from above made him a 'black diamond' wolverine, huge, with long white claws…and she'd wanted to eat a wolverine since she'd first heard of the species.

She studied him surreptitiously, there in the swamp meadow. This spot was a meeting-ground for creatures with interests like hers -- some predatory, others strangely submissive or at least incautious enough to linger in a place where a moment's inattention could get you grabbed and stuffed into someone's muzzle. The magic of the place, or perhaps the personal magicks of those who went there, kept death from being a permanent thing. It was the sort of place she favored; here she could pursue her admittedly vile habits and yet not feel guilty afterward.

She quickly lost interest in the various conversations that were going on. She had eyes only for the wolverine, and soon he noticed and returned her looks. Rising to her paws, she padded over to him, and he admired her on the way. She was a low-slung weaselly creature nine feet from pink nosepad to rump and another two feet of tail, five hundred fifty pounds of fur and muscle and bone. She was alien to this world, but resembled a midnight-black stretched wolverine carried on six big paws.

He certainly noticed the resemblance, and he watched her with great interest as she padded up and boldly leaned against his flank. His cheek came over to rub against hers, exchanging scent from the glands beneath the fur, and he nipped at her ear affectionately.

They stayed there together for a time, nuzzling each other and snuggling. They listened to other conversations, for he did not talk. She came to the conclusion that he couldn't, and that in fact he was just a half-intelligent animal rather than a sentient.

That didn't keep her from being interested in him, and it was more than just the hungry interest she had for most creatures. When she'd first found this place and others like it the novelty of encountering so many new species had led her to promiscuity. Her alien sexual organs made it nearly impossible for a male to satisfy her, however, and after a time the charm of it wore off. She largely ceased to mate save in that brief springtime period when falan naturally grew interested in such.

But there were creatures that could change her mind about that. Huge, handsome wolverines certainly could, and she found herself wondering how much like a falan male he was, underneath. Erotic thoughts chased themselves around her head until she was first determined to find out, then eager to find out.

By the time she rose to her paws her aroused scent had told him everything he needed to know about her interest, and he followed her out of the clearing as though drawn on a leash. His nose was never more than a foot from her tail, and she could tell from his shuffling walk that he, too, was anxious to find out what it'd be like to couple with her.

Her growing lust didn't distract her from her eventual end of devouring him. While he was larger than she was, she'd had a great deal of practice with large prey and she thought he was just at her upper limit. When she swallowed him most of him would stretch out in her throat waiting its turn to be digested, as only his head and foreparts would fit into her belly.

With this aim in mind she used the chemical receptors beneath her tongue to analyze the hairs she'd affectionately nibbled from his cheek. He seemed a typical if very large wolverine genetically, and she caused her implanted drug-producing glands to secrete a muscle-relaxant that would render him limp and helpless. She chose a drug that would take several minutes to reach its full effect, and when enough of it had been released into her sex, and when they were a bare minimum distance from the clearing for privacy she paused in her walk.

His muzzle went up over her rump at once, his chin rubbing her fur as he arched his neck and continued to advance. She shivered, surprised at the intensity of her anticipation, and braced her paws out to support his bulk as his breastbone rode up over her back.

Panting lightly, he wrapped his forepaws around her belly just in front of her haunches and stepped his hindpaws forward. His belly folded over her rump as his thighs went out to either side of her hindpaws. She moved her tail aside and felt the first brush of swollen sheath against her pelt.

His fangs gripped into her scruff, a gentle bite to hold her in place, and his thighs went outward as he rolled his belly up over her rump. The heavy sheathtip found her horizontal sex-slit, pushed in, and the unsheathing cock found one of her two inner vulvas unerringly.

Strega let out a chilling snarl as nine hundred pounds of wolverine mounted her, his shaft tighter in her than a falan's. A falan male would have one for each vulva, but this one was thicker, and he grunted atop her as he pushed the fleshy rod in as far as it would go.

In a moment he was humping, his forepaws tugging at her belly, his tail rustling against her own. Dark-furred ballsac rubbed her spread outer lips, thick wolverine shaft squeezed though her right-side cunny, and fangs pulled at her scruff. It was so much like a falan male atop her that her lust continued to rise; the beast had her sex trembling with the slow rise of orgasm, something few single-membered males had managed.

A forepaw released her belly, slid forward beneath her neck, and nudged her muzzle upward. She accepted it, eyes closed, focused on the shaft plunging through her. The beast's scent was rank with passion, a stink of lust, and soon they would both add to the scent with their fluids, his shot deep into her and hers dripping from her swollen sex.

Hot breath across her cheeks, a scrape of fang over her chin, and she shivered, feeling her sex pulse in a warm rhythm that matched his thrusts. He was bringing her close, stroking her towards her climax, even with only one cock to do it. It'd happened a few other times, with well-endowed, handsome local males.

A fang touched her ear, another her underjaw, and even through the haze of building orgasm she knew something was wrong. Hot breath eddied across her forehead, and she felt the second forepaw pushing down on her foreshoulders, trapping her forelegs to the ground with sheer weight. Her eyes snapped open….

A vista of wolverine maw greeted her glance. Yawning wide, he had carefully worked his open muzzle over her head while barely touching her. Somehow he'd managed to do it while his rump was going up and down, while his cock plunged deep.

She knew what was happening, and flexed her midpaws against the grass to gain leverage…and the orgasm washed over her. Her right-side vulva clenched down on the thick meaty cock, the left spasming reflexively as well, and an echo of her previous chilling screech gusted out as her body twitched and trembled.

In the five seconds of passion, of trembling orgasmic helpless happiness, the wolverine pushed his jaws down over her head. Her weaselly, broad-cheeked face fit perfectly into his maw, and her nose slid into the hot chute of his gullet as his tongue gathered beneath her chin. Rubbery black lips slid up around her cheeks, and a single, heavy gulp slid her head down into the inky tightness of his throat.

Struggling to get her paws under her, she tugged back against his jaws. She knew, intellectually, that she was an ideal shape to be swallowed, with no protruding shoulders, and a predator who could take in her head could likely swallow all of her in one long slide. As the orgasm receded, she tried to stop him from doing just that. By now he'd have had the muscle-relaxant in his blood, absorbed through his cock, and if she could just hold him off a few minutes….

But it was already too late to stop him. His forepaws alternated between her fore-and midshoulders, muffling her attempts to get her claws at him or push him away, and the hot enfolding throat pulsed as the powerful swallowing-muscles dragged her deeper. Each hungry gulp pulled another couple of inches of her into his maw, her fur bristling up against his lips then drawn inward, into his throat.

Her infinite flexibility worked against her now as he pulled her upward, bending her into an L-shape and swallowing her neck, then foreshoulders. Most other creatures would have squealed in pain as their spines were twisted, as they were compressed into the wolverine's jaws, but she folded up and back and slid in all too easily. Her forelegs were gradually pinned by the hungry jaws, and the long tube of gullet covered more and more of her, gulping her down into hot tight dark.

Wriggling in his jaws, Strega struggled to escape, but the wolverine was very careful to keep her midlegs pinned to her sides now, and his belly kept her rump motionless as his cock went in and out of her. That her muzzle, head, neck and forelegs were down his throat and being gulped deeper didn't distract him from his lust in the slightest.

Humping relentlessly, powerfully, he plowed the thick musteline cock she'd loved so much in and out, swallowing in almost the same rhythm. Tugged deeper inches at a time, gripped and squeezed by the husky brute's throat, she squirmed helplessly, his hunger drawing her ever toward his stomach. When her midpaws were pinned by his jaws, she knew it was hopeless, and relaxed in his gullet, letting him finish her without further resistance. She thought he was weakening, but it wasn't happening fast enough. She had miscalculated, not anticipating that he would try to eat her, and do it right during the mating. She should have known better. In female form, or male, she had used that distraction to get prey started down her throat on many occasions.

Overcome by lust at last, the beast came in a flood of hot semen, filling her cunny as he shuddered and growled around his muzzleful of falaness. Twitching in her, the thick shaft squirted out its seed, and she could feel the muscles jumping in his thighs and belly as the ejaculation progressed. In seconds it was over, and he pulled out, tossing his muzzle upward and gathering in her rump.

That was the widest part of her, but like the rest of her slinky, flexible form it was not too large for him to manage. She kicked a last time as he got her rump into his jaws, and then with one last, mighty gulp he swallowed her whole.

She slithered downward, chivvied along by powerful muscles that moved beneath his throatskin. Compressed, pushed and pulled at once, she went nose-first down his throat in an inexorable motion that started with her tail sliding into his lips and ended only when it was forced into his stretching stomach with the rest of her. She wriggled, for all the good it did her, and then it was over.

She felt the wolverine rise to his paws, his belly drooping massively beneath him, and stretch, getting comfortable with her bulk curled up inside. There was still a quiver in his belly-muscles from the orgasm, and he stood quietly, hunger and lust both satiated. His stomach squeezed in around her, and she held her breath even as he belched crassly. He was relaxing, getting weak at last…but too late to help her.

She had a fraction more freedom now, and her toe-claws scraped almost gently across his bellywalls. Sharp 'thumb' claws stayed sheathed. She could have hurt him badly, or poisoned him with her secretions, but neither would keep her from smothering.

With a grunt that was felt as much as heard, he flopped over onto his side. Slight, curious movements told her he didn't know why he was so weak, and getting weaker. She felt the impact when his cheek flopped to the grass, and then he lay panting, unable to move…at least, unable to move anything voluntarily. His belly still gurgled around her, and she knew that unmoving or not, he would still digest her.

She had one or two other tricks that would have let her escape…but somehow, she found it in her heart to not do so. She could hold her breath for a long time, and she might escape if she produced and released a regurgitant…but, weak as he was, he might suffocate with her in his throat. She could, as a last resort, alter her phase and simply walk out of his belly…but that was a trick she had never used, and though she was about to die here, she could not bring herself to do it. He had been devious enough to get her head in his maw, and gulp her down despite resistance, lust and growing weakness; she would not simply emerge and devour him, nor leave him hungry on the grass and depart.

The curled-up position was a comfortable one for a falan, and she relaxed in her predator's stomach. It had been more than a year since she last lay inside another, but her revivification programs were still in place at her lair. She activated the process that would carry her most recent memories to her new self, and exhaled that last held breath. The acids stung her nose and pawpads already; she felt through her thoughts until she found one that remained from her time as a spy, saboteur and assassin. She thought that thought, and her hearts stopped as one as both her brains short-circuited. Not a memory, a thought remained, just a cooling lump of meat.

Labrus did not know this, of course. He belched up the last breath, and turned his muzzle weakly to look at the great swell of his gut. The weaseless' slinky form had gone down easily enough, and he was fat with her bulk. He didn't know why he was unable to move now…but the weakness had come upon him too late to save his prey. With a musteline shrug, he lowered his head again. He'd fed, and come, and was quite satisfied with his evening. His belly was already working on his meal, food for several days; hopefully, when he woke, he'd be able to move again.

With a last belch, he let his thoughts drift toward sleep, and the digestion of his weaseless lover and meal.

***

Strega awoke with a start in her lair, and her paws thrashed at the plush beanbag's surface for a moment as she remembered. The big room was cool and dim, littered with beanbags and chairs for human-shaped guests. Muted lighting from her memento-room spilled out under the tiger-pelt door hanging, casting its vague glow over the woven-fur rugs, the squirrel pelt on the wall. The bulk of her 'collection' was through that doorway…she shivered, and stretched heavily in her bed.

Her midpaws felt over the enormous bulge deforming her torso. From breastbone to hips she was swollen like a furred sausage, tight around the immense bulk of the wolverine.

She relaxed, still panting, and remembered the night before. He hadn't hooked his paw under her chin, hadn't taken her head into his muzzle…hadn't swallowed her. He'd been happy to lick her sex as she sucked him, and after she swallowed the product of his lust, had been still eager to mount her. The drugs had taken effect as he shuddered through that second orgasm, and she her first…and with cold, calculating intent she had turned and worked her jaws over the now-helpless beast.

It had taken the better part of an hour to consume him, panting through her rear slits to breathe as he filled her throat, until finally his hindpaws slipped in to join the rest. He'd smothered inside her, after the last bit had fallen into her throat, and she had nearly wept. She'd almost retched him up twice during the engulfment, not out of discomfort, but out of regret…and yet sheer force of habit had kept her going. Now he was not longer a friend, a lover, he was a meal.

Five times since coming to this world, she had been prey. Four times to a dragon friend, and once to a huge ferretess, whose consumption of her had been the partial basis for her dream. Once more if you counted the great weasel-daemon that'd swallowed her…but that time, she had escaped. The last two she mock-fought, but she had never been taken truly against her will.

She petted the wolverine's softening muzzle through her fur. When she dreamed of play like this, the truth was that she was usually the prey. But a lifetime's experience in staying alive through war and peace and her peoples' ingrained reluctance to hunt each other had left her unable to let another take her so. Even when the play was gentle, she regretted her actions terribly afterward.

She would remake the wolverine, of course. She would meet him again. She remade all her prey, and even had she not, she would him. He was too…interesting…a creature not to have in the world.

She sighed. Though she might dream about feeding him as he'd fed her, she knew she could not bring herself to do it. She would regret it afterward, and it might sour what she hoped would be a long relationship. In return, she would subdue her urges to devour him. This, too, she had regretted; she wished now she hadn't eaten the poor paralyzed brute.

A thought occurred, and she brightened. Some of her other forms - forms used to take assorted prey in different ways - were constructs. It was not out of he question to make a fleshy creature for her wolverine friend, control it from a safe distance, feel what it felt, and then perhaps enjoy it as he fed.

She settled back into the bag, relaxing into sleep once more. Perhaps when next she met her recent lover and meal, she would have that form made. She considered. Skunkette, perhaps? A hundred pounds of fluffy-tailed skunkette to squirm under his belly, and then soon, inside it?

Strega dreamed.

The End