Taking Down an Entire Village of Tasty Konners
Art by Pippuri
Story and Sini © xsini
Volkan © volkanwolf
Sini surprised me with this amazingly hot and awesome story, really wasn't expecting him to go so all out with it~
There's a lot of fatal digestion, and belches, you've been warned.
PDF version downloadable here.
Taking Down an Entire Village of Tasty Konners
A grody belch slammed open the wooden door of the straw-roofed hut, resounding throughout the tight-knit village of foxes, intensifying the cries of turmoil of someone’s potential future prey as they scrambled through the alleys between the cluster of huts. Out of that first hut you imagined, a green biped wolf strode, his footsteps heavy like his white gut. Two people bulged the bouncing paunch as it uproariously pulsed with digestive heat, compacting its inhabitants. Its internals chewed them into a runny amalgam of balled-up forms that soon became a slurry in the foamy pool of fuming juices. Volkan hefted up his gut, let it drop and bounce on its own a half a dozen times, until the misshapen transmogrifying dome tightened and compressed into a nondescript dome of fluff from which all signs of vulpine meals were absent. He moaned loudly and slapped his belly as one paramount GLORP ended his lightning digestion, leaving the wolf empty-gutted again. The belly eructed a long, low complaint as though he had neglected it for a whole day.
“Riding Sini all afternoon into this ramshackle food court sure—GRUOUGHP—worked up my hunger. Since lunch, I didn’t get to snack on anyone except a single traveller I snatched off a horse on the meander when Sini galloped down the mountainside. About time I ended my fast! Though, it looks like I’m gonna have to burn a few more calories if I hope to hang any more love handle pudge over my hips …”
Having climbed a hut while he talked to himself, he now looked dourly over the sea of hut and could see the tangerine-fluffed mob spewing through the alleys away from him and Sini. Sini was hopping from hut to hut, plunging his swan-like throat through rooftops and snarfing up large families invisible to Volkan. The black-and-purple quadruped poison dragon winged his voracious self after the torrent of escapees pretty lackadaisically because he had no reason to believe the hundreds of whiskered konners wouldn’t inevitably fall into his toxic roasting guts once the moment was well-marinated. Because of two steep neighboring mountain bluffs, the village sat smack-dab between the mount’s fingers and the only directions they could choose to skedaddle in were toward the two apex preds from the heights or toward the open forest. And Sini could outrun them all on a stomach cramp day. Heck, he could catch them with his wings tied behind his back!
But that would mean delaying the defenestration of his hunger, and the mere thought of wings deluged his maw with more slather because of their association with chicken wings. A blur of flapping and gluttonous destructive roof intrusion, he pounced on homes and gulped with a fastidious liveliness, evicting snacks from their buffet containers. The overabundance of bulges pleadingly struggling their way down his squelching neck in single file truncated the sound of silence between swallows as his superheated mire of noxious stomach bounced and enlarged into a grand glorping globe. As racily as the orange rascals packed it his belly forged them into a chunky chowder, expunging all shapely histories of them from its scaly surface and propagating a great squishiness and warmth as the blob of preymass groaned and stretched larger to molest his hind knees and fore ankles, the dragon lifting his snout from the self-wrought roof hole of yet another home and panting.
Having feasted on so sundry a little one, Sini groaned to a low croaking of his innards bloated with poison gas. He planted his paws on this home for a brisk breather. The belly’s gurgly rumbles chased the fleeing mob like aftershocks, the borborygmi growing more wrathful as time passed like a pack of lycanthropes fighting over the last of antelopes. As though said home were a podium, he belched groundbreakingly—which is to say his belch literally broke the ground into fissures and small crags, the crags daggering through some huts and upraising others on irregular slopes.
“HuuUUUUAAaaAOOOOOOOWWRRHHHPPP!
“UrrHHUUUUCK! Rrnf …
“YyyAAAWWRRRURP!
“BWEAARRHPFF! Ohh …
“BHUUOOORRHHHUUUHHP!! H-heh … that one startled me … mmm.”
The volcanic boom, the depravedly deep bleat and the floating echo of each belch hurled forth great hazy clumps of purple miasma. The clumps engulfed the neighborhood and comprised a great fog which rolled toward the escaping mob. They bawled louder and ran faster, for they knew in their hearts that falling into the domain of purple smoke would spell doom—at least for their lungs, if not for their dragonfood forms.
Sini gazed around, admiring the work he had put into his first shift of eating. “And now fox-town looks like the inside of my gut … Got buildings and trees startin’ to digest already~ Not only will we hack this town’s resident count to zero before they can track race out from between the mountain fingers; this place’ll be suitable for a poison dragon settlin’ down and administering a cave into one of them fingers in no time!”
And indeed it would, if his putrid, plant-withering, woodplank-eroding purple breath continued on its path to gentrify the area into a wasteland livable only for poisonbreathing folk like Volkan and himself.
On a faraway cliff, the only fox who could save these poor beta morsels was having a picnic. This fox was a wizard, you see. This wizard was snacking on some turnips and cabbages when he saw a smog of purple billow up from somewhere behind the conifers seven miles away. He spat chewed turnips when he realized:
That was the whereabouts of his cousin’s home.
“Cougar in a crouch position!” he cursed.
Jumping to his feet, the cyan-robed, wizardhatted fox stamped his yew staff twice on his picnic blanket.
“One shall pay the price of mana, if anything should happen to my dear Randyl!”
Quickly he tied that blanket into a sack with his food and regents in it. He made another knot to tie the sack to the head of his staff, then leapt from the cliff. He vanished under the needled tree heads for a few seconds, then with a piercing avian cry, in a puff of pine, he burst over the canopy in the form of a hawk whose beak carried the staff, for he was a powerful shapeshifter. Many an enemy had been gurgled by the bellies of the diverse shapes he could assume.
Back yonder, Volkan pounced like a hungry quadruped through the wall of advancing poison fog and rolled atop one of the stragglers of the migrants with a menacing lick of his lips. His rolling belly bulged tumidly, its furry flesh billowing like a poison cloud to the frantic squirms of the triad inside. He finished his somersault to land on his feet jogging, having already swallowed down the chump. “BLUUUOOAARHHP! Another one bites the gut. Isn’t that right, babe?”
Sini had caught up to Volkan with a hearty prance. His bloated dome of gut had turned his gait into an awkward speedy shuffle due to the sides of his belly continuing to chafe his legs. He winked with an endearing ear wiggle at the wolf, then grumbled a chain of burps that added a bumpiness and lightness to his gait. Digesting more weight had turned this gait into a series of hurdling strides. His maw constantly streamed that malodorous gastric breath of his, so his poisons trailed behind him the way a nation banner trails behind a banner carrier in battle.
Feeling the rumbles of belches and hearing the quick slurps of their kin in tow, the surviving departees wailed and ran faster. So close they were to the tips of the mount fingers now; once out of their little green river of huts and conifers and into the great conifer ocean, they would be able to disperse! Everyone would go in their own direction, then, and everyone told themselves that the pred duo wouldn’t go in their direction; what were the odds?
Alas, people who look too far ahead into the future oft trip on the obstacles of the present. Boulders, tree trunks, low ledges and tangles of shrub-and-branch appeared before daydreamers, the former two punching them off their heels and the latter two tripping them.
Sini blithely loped into the fray. He looped and zigzagged and meandered around these obstacles without error and snatched up the laggers in his mouth, applying warmth, weight and wiggliness to his ever ovular, ever metabolising belly. Volkan leapt from a spruce tree like an optimistic assassin. When he hit detritus, he exacted a series of springloaded bounds with toadish pauses in between them, swallowing whole another person in each midair session. With this same liveliness they herded the finest of sprinters into their stomachs, groaning out guttural belches in the rare moments in which they hadn’t any fox chow stuffed halfway down their mouths.
At last, their tummies were dragging. They sauntered with sinister chuckles toward the final snackrifice of their evening ritual: a fox whose name they would never know nor care to know, Randyl. He looked back at the predators gaining on him, cried woefully, and backed himself against a tree bole, thinking that, if the preds could keep up despite their laden bellies, they must surely be booned by some magic that would foil his little fox feet in any contest. He knew a new approach was needed here.
“I am … diseased! If you should eat me, all of your insides will fall out, and you’ll never eat again,” Randyl told them, although he was healthier than a carrot plucked from a cool, loamy place. It was believed by his now-digested neighbors that his coat was so orange because he liked to snack on carrots, you see.
Whether his disease claim was bologna or not, Sini and Volkan didn’t care, frankly. Any disease of the fox would be cooked by their metabolic factories. They scented yummy pumpkin spice notes on him, and they pulled their shadows over him, slathering handsomely. The green wolf picked him off his feet then shoved him feet first down the hatch, and Sini reared a little to push Randyl’s head down. His dragon forepaws tailgated the fox’s head into the closing slathering jowls until the paws pulled out for the SNAP of the white-furred mouth.
“HUUWWOORRRRRKK!!” Volkan clapped his tummy, in which only Randyl remained now. Sini smiled and stroked behind the green wolf’s ears.
“Did’cha get enough to eat?”
“You could’ve saved me a few more,” Volkan sing-songed, “but … this’ll tide me over~”
Sini smacked his chops thoughtfully, then roared a low, lazy belch of purple at the ground, cracking the loam about them till it was all broken into segments like sea ice. The wolf’s green gas swept through the air in a different direction than Sini’s purple gas, but wherever the two gases merged together they formed a pretty cocktail of poison which singed all plant-life down to the roots.
A hawk was loosing piercing shrill screams in the sky, for he had seen the wolf eat Randyl and did not consider the poisons at all pretty. He descended like a comet, but alighted before them with a seeming weightlessness. Plumes of gold-brown feathers cleaved the air.
“That was my cousin you ate!” squawked the hawk, with such fury in his wing-flaps and furious intelligence in his eyes.
“Uh … nah, I’m pretty sure that was a fox I ate,” said Volkan.
The wizard, with a wing-flap that smoke-screened him in feathers, transformed back into a fox, then repeated, “That was my cousin you ate! And that was his village whose boundaries you have polluted with that terrible fog!” He waved the picnic-blanketed end of his staff at the purple wall crawling forth behind Sini and Volkan.
Sini twisted his throat to look back at the fog. He regarded it with a prideful nonchalance. “Indeed it’s pretty disgusting.” He appreciated the compliment, but wasn’t sure whether or not the fox was yet aware that he had done more than merely pollute the village; credit was due for that. “We actually—BURGHGHWP—we actually ate everyone in the village, which I’m more proud of. How long do you think it took us for this one, Volk? Ten minutes? Fifteen?”
“T-twelvish,” Volkan guessed, shrugging. He belched on the wizard fox, throwing the fox’s cyan robe over his hatted head; and blinded, the fox teetered fretfully.
“Sort of casual, this run, then,” Sini said, burying his disappointment with this angle of gratitude for the mundane.
While Sini and Volkan began talking about the buffet complexes they could visit next, the wizard fox thrust his robe back over his knees with fury. How dare they digest his dear Randyl and Randyl’s neighbors! So smug-faced they were, the two burping and patting their shrinking bellies in conversation, pretending that they had forgotten all about the wizard. (In fact, they had forgotten about him, for they had already moved on from the act of digesting the entire village, and it was uncertain whether or not the wizard even lived here.)
Thus the wizard channeled his wrath into a grave transformation, one which would require him to lose much of his temper and control—yet it was necessary. Onto all fours he fell, growling and barking feverishly. His back shivered, neck elongated. Fur singed off. Blotches of red scales spread to replace the orange coat. Claws elongated; his vulpine snout broadened and elongated and smoked from the nostrils as red scales blighted it, its aesthetic becoming wholly draconic.
Presently he rose over them as a full-grown red dragon, measuring twenty feet tall from the talons to the top of the head, whereas Sini stood only thirteen feet tall. He loosed a roar, launching a maelstrom of spittly bad breath. The two stopped speaking, suddenly aware of their surrounds. Sini blinked up at the large dragon—at this point, Sini’s belly had devolved into a juvenile mound of pudge—and knew not from whence the dragon had come, but knew that the reddie smelled absolutely tasty: a savory-smelling meat with notes of smoky and exotic spices.
And thus Sini remembered how starved he was—or, maybe, his starvation had actually been on time-out for a second or two but had been reinstated by this mythical entree. His neglected belly groaned and howled—made Sini feel like an abusive guardian—and before the eyes of Volkan and the wizard drake he underwent his own transformation, not of the flesh but of the demeanor. His pupils turned slender like those of a rabid monster; his muscles locked in place, like those of a cougar in a crouch position, perfusing through the air an aura that impressed upon the wizard a feeling that village fools must feel when they enrage a wizard.
True, the wizard in his dragon form had felt both physical and magical power multiply in himself—felt legend leave his breath with every exhale and a godly blood course through his flight, tail and leg muscles. He had of any normal being nothing to fear—in fact, had he been a megalomaniac, he might have seized with ease the respect and worship of the villagers.
But the moment Sini dashed forward, all things of the wizard’s regard for himself vaporized into dreamy wisps. He saw the predatory muscles ripple and turn that black hide into a moving artwork of apex inevitability; he heard how the gut moaned greedily for him. Greatening his own size had only acclimated his body for being gobbled up; had only awakened the unstoppable dragoneater in his foe. The wizard dragon’s throat tightened with fear as twin Sinis reflected off his eyes, bounding forward with excellency and voracity. Sini had resolved to tucking reddie, a fire-breathing snackola, into the slimiest of places, and it showed.
The red twisted around and fled, and then bounded up to take flight. But Sini hungered for that magical meat, for that catabolic heat of his innards; and with a cannibalistic headrush he too bounded up and nommed that ascending tail tip, beating his wings all the while.
“No! The price of mana—you’ll pay now, poisonbreath!”
The wizard dragon perfunctorily raised his forepaw, for when he lifted his staff he could assume the newest form he had seen, the form of the poison dragon, and match that one’s hunger in aerial duel. Alas, when he shapeshifted into a wyrm he had dropped the stave and forgotten to pick the godsforsaken thing up! Unwilling to accept this mortal mistake as truth, he turned into a cyclone of lunging claws that flailed through the air, trying to find the staff on his person, despite dragons having no place to put staves except their paws or tail. It wasn’t gripped by his feet, and it obviously wasn’t gripped by his tail, what with Sini meanwhile slurping farther up it. Imagine an apprentice swimmer trying to stay afloat but also entering a paranoia, a worry that there lay beneath the water octopuses and stingrays out to get him. That’s a pretty good image of the wizarddrag here.
“Forgettin’ something, reddie?”
Scooping the sack-headed staff off the ground, Volkan vaulted onto Sini’s tail then rushed up the black’s purple-spined spine. He leapfrogged from the small of the back to one spine of the nape, from that to Sini’s head, from there to the tail of the red, which started his repeat of the anatomical travel aforementioned, just on reddie.
“What?! Small green”—the wizard had always wanted to refer to a person the way a dragon stereotypically does; now was his chance—“you haven’t any clue the importance of that yew artifact! Before you have all of us pitched by lightning from the sky, hand it here!”
“It’s rude to take off in the middle of dinner,” Volkan said, hopping onto the red’s snout, tapping it between the nostrils to an “Ow!” of the mage, “don’t you know that?”
He formed scenery in his mind, then flicked the staff between the wizard dragon and Sini—and POOF, the two dragons reappeared on the ground, but with arcane chains binding the red’s wings. Volkan and Sini sniggered as the red wailed desperately. Volkan flicked the staff again, this time at Sini’s maw, which gnawed its way up the red’s tail base; and POOF, a magical current manifested in his gullet, which sucked and sucked so that a quicksand effect was superimposed on the ravenous gulps that already pulled the wizard dragon into Sini speedily.
GWULP!
GLOMPH!
GRRRLK!!
SQUORCK!!
SQRRNK!
GUUUUULP!!
All manners of gulps resounded as Sini chomped along the wizard dragon with a sinister, slathering grin.
NOMF.
NWOMF!
NORMF!!
He snorted poison in glee as he packed the crimson-winged’s hindquarters and lithe belly and toned limbs down his craw. The red dragon’s elegant neck flailed from Sini’s upraised jowls as Sini downed the last of the scrumptious dragnutrition, his throat too packed for any vacation occasion, his belly ballooning with fumbling shapes, his ultimate disintegrating juices welcoming the newcomer with bubbling eddies and belches of whitehot miasmic steams.
At last the wizard had fallen into the nephew-gurgling hot tub. That was the place where all tasty dragons eventually come to be stewed into belly pudge, ass padding, hip pudding and belchable aphrodisiac. He rocked Sini’s huge bubble of belly as the black-and-purple panted in a blissful malaise, his ears flicking and hips thumping forward and back to the sweet sensations of bubbles bursting, pleads drowning under sloshing chyme, and pudge layering his hide with warm spongy-feeling emergences. Volkan delighted in the metabolization of the mage drake as well; he slipped under the gut when the first wave of gurgles had liberated it from the concave dome crater of the earth it had made, then clung to the increasingly squishy globe and murred deeply, riding the upside-down seat on his poisonbuddy as the dragomage performed his last shapeshifting, this time to become a fresh coat of fat on the backward-fanged belch refinery.
One could say that the villagers and anyone who knew of their demise met their fate in the dragon’s belly without any word of this travelling to other villages, unless you count “BRAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOORPH!” as a word. The belch caused the earth to seizure in a series of deafening dystopian quakes; caused the mount fingers to weep stone; exploded with all the power of water, earth, wind and fire—but all that rushed forth from that groaning mouth was a hellish purple. “ … URRRRWWOOOOOOOOWWRRRWRAWRAWROARAWRUUUUOOP!!!” it continued. At length the purple cleared enough for you and I to peep through it—at least, enough to see Sini sprawled merrily on his back, panting in exhaustion, his tummy a humble hillock whose apex hung above his knees.
Volkan—spreadeagled atop the pillowy dragon belly—inhaled the toxic incense in the air, then sighed dreamily.
“Geez … you sure—BUAAAAAARP—had a lot you wanted to say, dear~”
“Heh.” Sini smiled. “Could still say more, after the proper dessert~”
“What would that—wait—babe …”
Volkan felt that aphrodisiac breath gush closer, not because Sini intended to hypnotize the wolf but because he leaned in for his after dinner treat. The green wolf began scrabbling off of the bouncy tum—but not before Sini nipped him up by the nape with a tender rumble. Suddenly, the poison dragon’s jaws gesticulated with rowdy snarfing sounds, and he snacked the wolf down.
GLORMP!
Sini sniggered, stroked the squirming canine bulge. “Mmmmm.” He fetched the staff from the ground, poked the shape of one of Volkan’s paws with the blunted end. “I’ll find a way to rez you with this thing.”
“I’m gonna get you back!”
“Of that I’m certain you’ll try. You had best face me in your dragon form, though. Until then … ciao, dragon-chow~”
Category Artwork (Digital) / Vore
Species Unspecified / Any
Gender Male
Size 1280 x 1097px
Oh I know~
And I'm pretty sure everyone else knows too, given how loud we are ;P
And I'm pretty sure everyone else knows too, given how loud we are ;P
You better believe we both do~ ;3
Although... I'm kinda dragon pudge now. Sini could probably use a snack though~
Although... I'm kinda dragon pudge now. Sini could probably use a snack though~
Best dragon~
Gluttonous and greedy, just the way I like 'em~
Gluttonous and greedy, just the way I like 'em~
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