Carrie stared at the ceiling above her impassively and wondered if laughing at someone

who currently had her tied to a bed was a bad idea.

“Did you. . . practice for this?” she asked. “Like, at all?”
The girl at her feet made a muffled, indignant sort of sound. Carrie wasn’t having the
easiest time looking down right now, tied up as she was, but from the ponytail bobbing about
down there and the grossly warm, wet feeling around her toes she had a pretty good idea of
what was going on. What had been going on for what felt like an hour now, though that was
probably just Carrie’s boredom and general impatience talking. She’d had a lot of close calls in
the past– everyone had– but never before had a near-death experience been this tedious. She
almost wished she was gurgling away already just to get it over with.
She wiggled one of her feet. The girl– Carrie didn’t know her name– had tucked her legs
together, one on top of the other, in a position that was supposedly easier for first-time preds to
swallow. It didn’t seem to be helping her any, though, and as Carrie’s toes brushed against the
girl’s soft palate there was a quiet gagging noise and a violent jerk backwards, freeing Carrie
entirely and changing her toes from warm and wet to cold and wet. Awesome.
“Bitch,” the girl cursed, and now that she was sitting up straight Carrie could see her
press a hand to her own throat with a grimace.
“Hey, it’s not my fault you can’t handle the tiniest of twitches. Is that why you tied me up?
You knew you couldn’t stomach anything still kicking?”
“I didn’t tie you up.”
Carrie raised an eyebrow. She wasn’t sure the girl could see it, but it was the principle of
the matter.
“Uh, then what the fuck do you call these?” she asked, wriggling slightly to indicate the
ropes wrapped around her at strategic points. She recognized the brand, or at least thought she
did– edible, flavored rope, perfect for the pred who liked to take their time or the prey who liked
to live dangerously. Carrie had had a fuckbuddy for a bit who’d liked this variety, and especially
liked it when Carrie would undo his knots with her teeth and slurp the rope down like particularly
thick spaghetti. She kind of missed that guy; he’d had a nice dick, and an enthusiastic and fun
presence in the bedroom. Mostly she wished she’d been the one to finally gurgle him.
“I’m not saying you’re not tied up,” the girl said, glaring at Carrie, “I’m saying I didn’t do
it.”
Carrie considered that statement. Rolled it around in her head for a moment.
“So you’re not the one who spiked my drink either?” she asked. One minute she’d been
mingling at a campus party, cliché red solo cup in hand and Heather at her elbow, and the next
she was waking up here. She’d never been drugged before, but it didn’t take a genius to realize
someone had slipped her a blinker, a drug favored by preds for how quickly it hit and how
quickly it left the prey’s system. No one wanted to knock themselves out with their food, so
unless you had quite a long time to wait and the patience to stick to it, blinkers were generally
the way to go.
Carrie wondered how they’d gotten her away from Heather. If Heather had even argued
against them taking her.
When the girl shook her head, Carrie gave a slow nod of her own. The pieces were
falling into place. Inexperienced pred, blinker, a seemingly pre-prepared, pre-isolated room, the
fact that Carrie had been left clothed. . .
 “This is a sorority thing, isn’t it?” Carrie guessed. “They knock me out, get me all laid out
for you, and you eat me to prove you’re worthy of joining up.”
Carrie paused, then blanched as she had a realization.
“Wait, does that mean they picked me because I look gross or something? Extra
challenging? Because honestly, that’s just rude.”
“No,” the girl admitted, grudgingly, “It’s not that. It’s payback or something. They said
your roommate slopped one of their members?”
“I don’t see how that’s my problem. I don’t have anything to do with that. All they’re doing
is gifting her a single for the rest of the semester.” Belatedly, Carrie realized another likely
possibility. “Unless– is she somewhere around here too? Is someone else eating her?”
Again, the girl shook her head. “They said they have some way to make it look like she
broke the roommate contract and gulped you. I don’t actually know how, they said they’d explain
it once I was done.”
Carrie snorted.
“What?” the girl asked, eyes narrowing.
“Nothing, just– you realize that means they’re probably gonna try to feed you to her once
I stop screaming, right?”
“No. What? No,” the girl said, voice growing steadily louder until she yanked it back
down with a frustrated growl. “You– you’d say anything right now to get me to let you go.”
“Not anything,” Carrie argued automatically. “I’ve still got my pride.”
The girl sniffed. “No one has pride in a stomach.”
Carrie thought back over all the people she’d juiced over the years.
“. . .eh,” she said, “I’d say that’s only mostly true. This one time I had this other pred that
was so pissed at me for eating them they stayed stock-still like a fucking rock right up until their
death throes started. At the time I was just annoyed to not have the edge getting off, but in
hindsight? That was impressive.”
“Any chance I could get the same treatment?” the girl muttered, and Carrie snorted.
“Yeah, not a chance. If you expect anything less than me kicking the shit out of your
insides once the ropes dissolve I suggest you give up now.”
“Would you quit trying to talk me out of this?” the girl said, pitch rising, “You’re food. Just
accept it.”
“Maybe I’d be more intimidated if you could get past my fucking ankles,” Carrie retorted,
and it was. . . well. It was probably true. She should feel scared right now, all things considered.
She could barely move, let alone escape, and she was probably going to die here in the belly of
a stranger. Yet Carrie couldn’t bring herself to be more than irritated at the whole thing, like it
was a minor inconvenience instead of the end of her life.
Professor Foreman had talked about this before. A sense of unreality that closed over
doomed prey, a lack of reaction as their minds failed to process what was happening to them. In
the same way that being told your house had burned down might not register until you were
looking at the smoking ruins, many prey remained relatively calm until they felt the sting of
acids– some even beyond that, depending on how strongly they’d gone into shock. For all
Carrie knew, her mind would continue to deny her the appropriate fear even as the girl’s mouth
crept up over her calves, her thighs, her hips. . . maybe she’d be one of those idiots deluding
herself into thinking that’s it, there’s no way she can fit any more right up until teeth closed
around her last glimpse of the outside world. Carrie had had personal, intimate experience of
the fact that denial didn’t save you. It certainly hadn’t saved her brother.
But come on. This girl couldn’t even make it past her toes!
“I just– need a minute!” the girl protested. Carrie wondered if she knew how
unconvincing she sounded. She wondered if she’d sounded so unconvincing her first time. “It’s
just a psychological block. It’s weird putting someone else’s feet in your mouth!”
“You could always start at the other end,” Carrie said. “Ooh, wait, you probably need the
taper to stand any chance at all. . . my bad.”
“Fuck you,” the girl said, “Most people need to ease their way into it the first time! It’s
nothing to be ashamed of!”
“Sure,” Carrie admitted, “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to pretend to be scared of
someone who’s fucking up her first live meal with a tied up victim.”
The girl was quiet for a moment. Carrie wiggled her toes. The saliva had mostly dried at
this point, but her feet still felt cold and weird where they’d been slobbered all over. Gross.
“Do you really think they’re going to try to feed me to your roommate?” the girl asked at
last. Carrie considered the question, then shrugged.
“I mean. Sounds like it to me, at least. Plus, Heather gets gulpy when she’s drunk
anyway, it’s not like it’d be a challenge to get her to try a stuffed meal.”
The girl made a face. “I just– I thought they were gonna, like, plant your skull in her room
or something.”
“That wouldn’t prove anything,” Carrie said. “Other than that I got belched up in there,
which could just mean someone I invited home got peckish and fancied a fuck and a meal.”
“But then how can they ever prove it when someone eats their roommate? Couldn’t
everyone just say it was totally someone else?”
Bless her heart, the girl sounded genuinely confused. Clearly not here on scholarship,
this one. Or, being more charitable, no one had explained the particulars of the roommate
contract to her since she was apparently trying to join a sorority, and they– along with frats–
made their own rules about intra-group digestion.
“. . .when you sign on for a roommate contract,” Carrie began grudgingly, “The school
pops you with a microtracker. They only ping if they sync up with your roommate’s, and that can
only happen if they slosh you in some way– tracker gets into their system, signal gets sent out,
they get busted. It’s the same kind they use in like, offices and stuff to keep staff consumption
from getting out of hand.”
“Oh,” the girl said. Her voice was quiet. Subdued. Carrie figured finding out you were
slated for a gurgly fate by the girls you’d thought were going to be your sisters might do that to
you. Fuck, maybe Carrie should join a sorority. . . no, bad Carrie, they’d catch on way too fast
and a couple betrayal-fueled orgasms aren’t worth it.
“Sorry,” Carrie eventually offered. It felt weird to say, considering the situation, but she
wasn’t sure what else she could try. “Silver lining, the fact that you were having such a hard time
eating me is now a good thing? Because if not we wouldn’t have talked and you’d probably be
halfway down Heather’s throat by now.”
The girl groaned. “Don’t remind me. I’m so screwed. If I don’t walk out of here with a full
belly I’m in trouble, and if I do walk out of here with a full belly I’m also in trouble.”
“Ah. Standard consequences for failing hazing?”
 “Standard consequences for failing hazing.”
They were both silent for a bit. Carrie hoped the girl didn’t decide it was better to die on a
full stomach. She was pretty sure she was just as fucked as the girl, though, and in the same
fun variety of ways. Either the girl ate her, and whatever happened next happened without input
from a gurgly Carrie, or the girl failed to eat her and someone else was called upon to finish the
job. Carrie didn’t see a scenario that ended with her walking out of here undigested.
She sighed.
“How’d you practice?” she asked. “BAW? Or something else?”
BAW, or banana apple watermelon, was the standard step-by-step people used when
working their way up to a whole person. Carrie had used it herself when she’d first started
dabbling, and she could still vividly remember the way her cheeks had flushed bright as she
nervously purchased the latter of the three. For all anyone else knows, you’re making a fruit
salad, she’d told herself, but thinking back on it now Carrie was pretty sure the way she’d been
acting had clued in everyone who saw her. She was lucky she hadn’t run into anyone she knew;
if she had, her brother’s sloshing soon afterwards would’ve been immediately suspicious.
Fuck, thinking about her first time was kind of turning her on. Would it be weird to ask
this girl for a fuck? They were both probably going to die anyway, might as well cum one last
time.
“I, um, I tried one of those candy bead chains,” the girl said, pulling Carrie out of her
thoughts. “I made it all the way to the end with no problem, so I thought. . .”
“What size range?” Carrie asked– she’d never been a huge fan of the things, since
mixing sugar and unbirth was a recipe for yeast infections, but she’d watched more than a few
friends chug a string of exponentially bigger candy spheres with a hand at her crotch over those
round bulges slipping slowly down. Mn.
“Uh. . . centimeter to foot diameter,” the girl eventually recalled.
“That explains it. You’re used to a taper and breaks for your jaw in between milestones,
of course you’re wearing yourself out trying to cram my feet down your throat.” Carrie wiggled
her toes for emphasis. “Position isn’t helping you either. First-timers really underestimate how
much gravity can help. It’s not fighting you here, but it’s not standing behind you yelling chug
chug chug either.”
The girl was silent for a moment. Long enough that Carrie was seriously considering
broaching the wanna fuck? question.
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, just as Carrie was opening her mouth to
speak. “I mean. . . I wouldn’t give someone trying to eat me advice.”
Carrie shrugged as best she could. “I dunno. Kinda seems like I’m fucked either way. If
the circumstances were different, I probably wouldn’t be coaching you, but if we’re both gonna
be padding by the end of the night it just seems. . . pointless to be mad about it.”
She paused.
“Also, I have this really good Ethics Of Consumption teacher who would have a lot to say
about coping mechanisms and preyshock right now.”
“Do you. . . want me to try again?” the girl asked. “I mean, I don’t know if I’ll really be
able to do it, but maybe I could save your friend if I could get close enough to tell her what’s
going on. Stop her from eating me and getting in trouble.”
“And save your own ass in the process,” Carrie said with a grin. “Smooth.”
 The girl spluttered, but didn’t deny it. “I– you said it yourself you’re fucked either way!”
“God, I wish,” Carrie groaned. The girl smacked her leg, but there wasn’t much force
behind it.
“Quiet. Anyway, if you’re gonna gurgle no matter what, one of us might as well make it
out alive. Two of us, even, counting your friend!”
Carrie considered it. If she cooperated, the girl had a much better chance of getting her
down. If the girl played dumb, she had a much better chance of the sorority girls not drugging
her before trying to feed her to Heather, and in turn that meant she and Heather had a much
better chance of escaping this alive and undigested. Carrie would still be dead– a concept that
still felt distant and unreal to her– but at least they’d survive.
Carrie swallowed. She didn’t know if Heather would do the same for her if their positions
were reversed. She didn’t know if Heather had even cared when her unconscious body had
been dragged away from the crowd. They were friends, sure, but they were friends who joked
about who’d get who first once the protection of the roommate contract was gone. Carrie had
masturbated more than once to the thought of feeling Heather’s bones snap inside of her. The
two of them had looked out for each other before– shared intimate moments, secrets,
experiences– but defend each other at the cost of their own life?
Carrie only knew of three people that would’ve done that for her. One of them she’d
finished off herself. The other two she’d seriously considered. She hadn’t gone through with it,
ultimately, mostly for financial reasons– but now Carrie was wondering if there would ever be
anyone who’d care about her that deeply ever again. If they were gone, would anyone be left at
all to miss her after tonight?
“I don’t suppose I could get you to untie me?” Carrie tried. “With the two of us working
together we might be able to fight our way out.”
“Against a whole sorority?” The girl shook her head. “No chance. Not unless you’re
secretly some kind of master martial artist.”
That made Carrie think of Bella. She would’ve been able to fight her way out of this. Hell,
she wouldn’t have wound up in this situation in the first place. Carrie had never once seen her at
a party; Bella probably spent her evenings quietly reading in the safety of her dorm instead of
getting wasted in enemy territory. Would Bella miss her?
Probably not. They’d been talking, sure, but they weren’t dating or anything. Carrie
wasn’t even sure they were friends yet. Bella made her feel uncharacteristically shy, and she’d
been taking things painfully slow instead of going with her first instinct; asking Bella point-blank
if she wanted to fuck. Carrie was pretty sure this was the point where she was supposed to
regret that decision, to promise herself that if she got out of here she’d go straight to Bella’s
room and proposition her. . . but somehow? She didn’t want to. She’d enjoyed her time with
Bella, even if it involved more talking than screwing. Maybe even because of that. If given the
chance to do everything again, Carrie wouldn’t change a thing.
She sighed.
“Roll me over,” she told the would-be sorority girl, “And I’ll bend my knees. If you get up
on the bed with me, you should be able to just relax and press yourself down. Like
deepthroating instead of swallowing. Once you get down over my legs it should be easier to
keep going.”
 It took a couple tries, but with Carrie’s cooperation they were able to roll her onto her
front. She could see even less now, facedown against the sheets. Shame. If she had to be
eaten, it would’ve at least been nice to be able to watch.
And be naked.
And masturbating.
“Okay,” the girl said as Carrie stuck her feet up in the air, obligingly tucking them
together the same way the girl had positioned them earlier. “Here goes nothing.”
“Good luck,” Carrie offered, voice slightly muffled.
The warm, wet feeling came back, engulfing her toes and easily creeping up over the
sole of her foot. She forced herself to hold still as she felt her feet hit resistance, then there was
a soft glurk from behind her as the girl’s throat relaxed enough to allow her inside. Blunt teeth
scraped Carrie’s heel– more signs of the girl’s amateur nature– and then with a determined
push the girl managed to swallow her up to her mid-calves.
“Holy shit,” Carrie said, feeling almost proud. “Nice work, kid! You’re doing it!”
The girl made a sound that could have meant anything, strangled as it was, but the next
one was far clearer. A swallow. Carrie felt it as much as heard it, the way the tight muscles of
the throat clenched and dragged around her, forcing her in another few inches. She’d been
right. Now that the girl had something to grip on to, she was able to make headway on her own
terms.
Carrie took a breath. Okay. Still feeling fine. Reality still hadn’t sunk in yet.
Good.
There was a sound outside the door. A thump, then heavy footsteps.
“Shit,” Carrie cursed. “Look alive, I think someone’s coming to check your progress.”
She heard the door fly open, banging into the opposite wall, though she still couldn’t see
shit. Footsteps approached, then–
Then her legs were suddenly cold again. Carrie could hear the girl’s muffled shout of
surprise, followed by a gagging sound. She had just enough time to think, what the fuck, before
she was being rolled over again and found herself blinking up into the backlit face of her
roommate.
“Heather?” Carrie asked, incredulous.
Heather gave her a lopsided grin.
“The one and– hic– sexy!” she cried.
Carrie’s eyebrows rose. Heather was just as wasted as she’d been when Carrie had last
seen her, perhaps even more so– cheeks flushed, eyes struggling to focus, and movements
clumsy. When she started untying Carrie and it took her more than a few tries, though Carrie’s
experience with her dearly digested rope bunny had taught her enough that she knew the knots
weren’t very complicated.
More importantly, though, Heather was having to work around her currently-bulging,
screaming gut. It made the mattress dip when she leaned far enough forward, and Carrie felt
the kicks inside send shockwaves through the bed frame.
“How did you know I was in trouble?” she asked.
Heather scoffed.
“You’re my girl,” she said, like it was obvious. “I’m always watching out for you. I was–
was doing jello shots and when I turned around you were gone. Like, poof! So I went looking.”
 She finished with the knots holding Carrie down and stretched, the skin of her stomach
pulling taut over its occupant. Carrie could make out the vague outline of a face for the briefest
of moments, mouth open in a muffled scream, before Heather hiccuped again, burped, and
reached down to pat her belly.
“Found the sorority head,” she said, grinning at Carrie as she slowly sat up. “Smug bitch.
Told me everything once I gulped her. Once the acids started, anyway.”
If Carrie strained her ears, she could sort of make out what the sobbing girl was saying.
“Please!” she was begging, “It hurts so bad! I’m sorry, okay? If I didn’t try to retaliate I
would’ve lost face, but you have your friend back now and– oh God– please let me out!”
“I have never wanted to eat you out so badly in our whole friendship,” Carrie told
Heather bluntly.
Heather laughed, slinging an arm around Carrie’s. “And I’m almost drunk enough to let
you! Almost. Not quite. Gimmie. . . gimmie two more shots.”
Now that she was sitting up, Carrie could see the girl who’d been assigned to eat her
cowering in the corner. Heather was between the girl and the door, blocking her escape route,
and when she saw where Carrie was looking Heather turned a vicious smile on the girl.
“You want her?” she asked.
Carrie. . . hesitated.
She was still desperately horny. More so, after hearing Heather’s gut putting the screws
to someone. With Heather backing her up, it would be easy to slurp the freshman up her snatch
and blow her back out onto the bed.
But. . .
“Nah,” Carrie said, and saw the girl’s shoulders sag in relief. She got to her feet,
stretching to work the stiffness from her now-free limbs, and headed for the door without a
backwards glance. “I really just want a shower right now. You can join me if you have those two
shots.”
Heather groaned, falling into step beside Carrie. The sounds of the party got louder as
they made their way downstairs. “Fuuuck, a shower sounds so good right now. And a hot stud
to help me crush this bitch.”
“I’ve got a strap-on?” Carrie offered. “I won’t be offended if you close your eyes and think
of a celebrity.”
“Fuck it.” Heather smacked her stomach, eliciting a yelp of pain from her meal. “I’ll take a
couple shots to go. Jus’ don’t. . . don’t make this a thing, okay?”
“Don’t worry,” Carrie promised, “I still like someone else. This is just my way of thanking
you for saving me.”
“What can I say? No one digests you but me, bitch.” Heather giggled, grabbing ahold of
either side of her stomach and shaking it a couple times. The sloshing was nowhere near loud
enough to drown out the miserable wail coming from inside, and Carrie resisted the urge to start
fingerfucking herself right there and then. She could hold off until they made it to the shower.
“This is gonna be you once we graduate!” Heather told her in a sing-song voice. Carrie
snorted. Somehow, even though she’d been closer to death tonight than ever before, the threat
felt even less scary than usual.
“Sure thing, Heather,” she said. Then, after a moment’s pause, “Have you seen my
shoes?”