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We Crave a Different Kind of Buzz By Anima (F/You 2nd person oral vore + oral and digital sex. Fatality/implied digestion)

It's been arranged since your birth. It cemented peace between your countries, and millions of lives depend on you carrying through with it.

You've never met her, though you have seen pictures now and then through the years. Gazing into painted or printed eyes you wondered: is she kind? Cruel? Is she just as unnerved by all of this as you are?

The pomp and circumstance is formal within the royal palace, very different from the festival atmosphere making the capital city hop. You brush a stray bit of confetti off your sleeve while waiting in the reception line.

She's very polite when you're introduced, and you can't help but notice she passes on the many trays of sweet and savory delights solicitous servants circulate. At length, she does take a flute of champagne and you can't help but watch the effervescent gold pass her lips.

As the sun sets, tipsy speeches begin to flow alongside stronger spirits, and she spends more and more time gazing in your direction. Her eyes gleam, and there's a heat in that stare that plays up and down your height as it sweeps you. You've had little experience with romance, but there's no mistaking the desire in the princess' eyes. She covets you, but the knowledge that you're promised to her keeps stress out of the equation. She can wait another hour or so.

With a flourish, your guardians present you to the princess. Your parents couldn't bring themselves to make the journey here with you. Fingers clasp your wrist, and though there are pages of formality yet to follow, the princess leads you to her chambers, ignoring the murmurs of the crowd.

She shuts and locks the heavy oak doors once you're both inside. Leaning back against those doors, she drinks in the sight of you once again, no longer needing to be the least bit sly about it. "I didn't know if I could go through with it. All these years I just put it from my mind."

A strange tingle blooms in the small of your back & rolls up your spine. "And...?" Is it possible your fate isn't written in stone after all? Might something else be worked out?

She smiles broadly, a rolling growl thundering from her stomach. "I can't wait to make you royalty."

Her short claws don't seem to hinder her a bit as she reaches back and tugs a few strings and ribbons, loosening her dress. A shrug here and a sinuous wiggle there, and she sheds the magnificent garment like a molt, stepping out of the puddle of fine material bare as the day she was hatched.

You can't help but stare. Her scales are tiny, perhaps the size of two grains of rice apiece, and morph through a gorgeous palette of colors across her body. Along her sides are cool greens and blues, shading into gold, then a blushing pink along her belly and chest.

Caught up in your inspection, it's a shock to find her only inches away, claws snagging in your own clothing. She needs no permission but dips her head to lock eyes with you, her eye-ridges arching.

"Yes," you manage, proud you kept the squeak out of your voice. Her claws simply tear your clothes from the collar outward, and she peels you like a banana.

Again you hear her stomach groan, and somewhere in your brain it registers solidly that your fate lies behind those gorgeous scales, silencing the liquid trill of the princess' peckish middle.

"I'm glad you like my scales," she murmurs, guiding one of your hands to brush its knuckles along the curve of her belly. "You're going to look so lovely, sheathed in them."

Her snout tucks in against your cheek, not cold as you half-expected, but with no inner heat. Instead she saps yours, drawing it in, taking from you before she's even opened her jaws. Those lips part, admitting the length of her tongue. Its tip finds your ear and curls up behind and over it, the wet slither of the muscle becoming the only sound in the world for a second.

"Salty," she whispers when her lengthy tongue withdraws back between finely-formed reptilian lips. The scales edging those lips are larger, and she gives you an excellent view of them, mouth hovering right above your left eye. You're suddenly struck with the image of her as a living mosaic, every scale a bead, tile or jewel, arranged with all the art expected of a woman of such breeding.

Your muscles jump as claws skim your chest, trailing down along your belly. Her fingers are strange, wider at the tip than the base, with ridges running across the big plump 'pads' of them. When she shifts her hand to brush those pads over you instead, you can't help the groan that spills from you.

"So sensitive. That's going to be wonderful at first, but unfortunate at the end," she breathes across your face. Her tongue, thick and as bright an orange as any tropical fruit you've seen, slides forth to graze your lips while one of those strange hands glides up to grasp the back of your head. She tangles her fingers in your hair, anchoring you, tipping your head back to keep you gazing up at her as she straightens.

"You know my power is limited for now. I could be married off and find myself queen in another kingdom before next summer, forever removed from authority here. Still, do you have any last request of me?" Her free arm winds around your waist, pulling you close, pressing your heat into her. "I'll feel better about indulging myself if you have something to show for it. Apart from bringing me intense, life-changing pleasure," she groans, eyelids fluttering, the plump length of her tail slapping the thick carpet.

You'd been prepared for this moment. The words buzz in your head, eager to escape, discharging the last obligation you have any control over. "Put pressure on the Jeweled Duchy. They're challenging us, encroaching more every month." You shiver, a ripple cracking your spine like a whip. "And take me feet first."

"I will do what I can for the first, and will oblige you on the second," she said in a formal tone she hadn't used since leaving prying eyes and ears behind. Then she relaxed once more, shrugging off her office again to let her appetites drive her. Swaying smooth, shining hips the princess makes her way to the bed and crawls up onto the mountainous slab of silk and satin-covered down mattress.

Throwing herself back into the dozens of pillows at the head of the bed, she beckons you over. "If I'm not going to start with your darling face, then we may as well be comfortable. And do hurry. If I get too hungry, I worry I may get a bit rough." She snaps her jaws at the air, sending a strand of saliva flying in the process.

You aren't sure whether she's teasing or not, but in any case it looks like it's time to get down to business. The bed yields so much beneath your hands and feet you almost topple right off of it again, but she steadies you with the length of her powerful tail, even using its tip to curl you about the wrist and tow you impatiently closer.

"Need you. Now," she pants, spreading one hand across her stomach while the other fists in your hair again, pulling you down to listen to the growls and fluid burbles roiling beneath her scales. She feels nearly smooth as glass, despite the obvious gaps between those colorful little plates. She's even softer than you would've imagined, and brief visions of the princess being bathed daily in milk and honey flash through your head.

As if she can peer right into your mind, she chuckles. "You know they were going to bathe you in champagne for me, if I'd let them carry on to the end of all that scripted frippery?" Her tongue slides along the sole of your foot, creeping as slowly as a snail, spreading wetness and working your flavor into her tastebuds. She withdraws her tongue at last, her thrum of pleasure buzzing in the body beneath yours. "I'm glad they didn't. You come by your delicious flavor naturally. I think," she murmured, panting, perhaps oxygenating herself before the next step, "if I didn't devour you today, someone else would soon enough. Better that I be the one to do it."

"So I can be...royalty?" you venture.

"Mmmmn, I can't wait to appoint you to your new office, my promised one."

Before your body quite decides whether to be aroused or terrified, she's nudging you towards her feet, guiding her legs beneath you and seizing your own. The warmth, the weight or some combination of the two squeezes a coo of delight from her and then you feel her tongue again, swiping across your feet and toes. Her saliva is running fast, basting you with the thin and slippery stuff.

You don't know what to do with yourself, but it's a small comfort that there aren't many fates worse that could be dreamed up for you if you misstep badly enough in the next few minutes. You subtly shift your weight, sliding your hips and belly against her scales. In certain directions you can feel her scales flex the 'wrong' way, their edges pricking you, and strive to avoid those.

The princess seems to appreciate your efforts, panting harder and faster, sucking on your foot. She guides your other foot in beside the other, jaws seeming to stretch effortlessly, tongue arching up to taste you anew. She leans forward, smoothly gliding over your feet and up your ankles, and over your shoulder you can watch her neck swell. You're being swallowed alive.

When she pulls on your calves, you plant your hands on the bed and scoot back, giving her more 'slack' to work with. Your body has decided that yes, you are indeed aroused, and the fear mixed with that excitement is buoying it to a level that has you light-headed. Sucking wetness engulfs your calves, and wet smacking sounds interspersed with the princess' pleasured moans are the music that measures out the time you have left.

You find your hands caressing the fine scales of her belly and undertail, and aren't a bit surprised to see a slit in those scales flex, offering a glimpse of peach-colored flesh soaked in reptilian lust. You're perfectly positioned by now to nuzzle, lip, then tongue that slit, and the second your hot tongue sinks into that cleft the princess arches up off the bed, swallowing you past your knees in the process! Her hands clasp your hips tightly, straining to hold you there just a bit longer, saving you from the endless tides of soft muscle dragging at your legs. Fortunately her grip is firm, and you have time to taste her, to tease her, the first and only lover you'll ever have.

Her fluids have a sharp tang to them, sour even at first blush, but the longer you lap, suck, and prod her slippery depths the sweeter she seems to taste. She doesn't seem to have a clit, so you focus on probing her as deeply as you can, swirling your tongue in entertaining patterns along her slowly-warming canal. It's a strange dual sensation: feeling her pussy flex and squeeze around your tongue, while her throat ripples and sucks around your legs.

You feel one of her hands leave your hip and your legs are squeezed uncomfortably within her as she lunges forward, temporarily swallowing you to mid-thigh, while she grabs for her tail. She catches its tip and hauls it back, keeping hold of it, forcing her slit tighter against your face!

Then, holding herself in a circle of scales like this, she begins to rock, more urgent by the moment. Your tongue is tired so you slow your attentions, conserving strength for a last push. You feel her groan and squirm, swallowing to clear drool from her mouth and taking another inch of you down her gullet at the same time.

Now is the time. You drive your tongue in as deep as you can, curling it into a half-pipe, and thrash it against her snug, glassy-smooth walls! She squashes your face even harder into her loins as she climaxes, and her tongue lashes at your thighs, splattering them with more saliva that cools as it begins to dry.

Finally she releases her tail, falling back, breath coming fast and hard through her nostrils. She swallows hard, hauling on your hips with both hands, and you feel the soles of your feet touch bottom. They're in her stomach. She gulps again, and gazing back you can see her eyes are unfocused, no longer the civilized gaze of a royal.

She's no longer careful with her claws and you suffer a few scratches as her hands scrabble from one grip to another, seizing and yanking at you, stuffing your body down into hers! There's a pang of disappointment as your groin slides over the squirming slab of her tongue unmolested, but the texture of her gullet that follows is quite stimulating...

Her scales stretch apart, but you're shocked to sense no strain in her. You are far from the largest meal she's capable of swallowing. The elasticity of her stomach as you're squashed down into it confirms this suspicion, distending easily as your legs collapse into a squat, knees bowing outward beneath her scales and flesh.

Her throat would claim you efficiently enough if left to its own devices, using endless ripples of hungry muscle to propel you down its saliva-soaked ride, but the Princess is goaded on by the appetite for a meal she's been promised for years.

Her tail flicks and flails, wild in its swinging and thumping. You make a grab for it and miss several times, but finally do get a grip. Her tongue is slathering slickness so far up your chest it's brushing your chin by now, but you try to curl her into a tight circle once again. Now it isn't just her body contorting but your own, and it's definitely not comfortable. Still, you persist, and she cooperates to some degree.

Soon her slit is within reach again, her juices having overflowed all over her scales, making their gorgeous colors shine in the lamp-light. You strain forward and bury three fingers in her royal snatch, forcing a gust of breath out of her nostrils that rushes along the back of your nape and head. Muscular vaginal walls tug at your fingers, daring you to plunder those cool and pliant depths.

She pauses again, bent in this awkward position, while you noisily and messily finger her. Her stomach growls, and you can feel liquid gathering around your lower body, slopping around limbs. Suction pulls at your flesh as the Princess sucks on her mouthful, dragging more flavor out, forced to savor you a moment while you hold her tail thusly.

Her hands leave your body to caress her own, sliding over the shape of you distending her scales. It's an exquisitely strange sensation. You've never worn any kind of reptilian leather, but you can't imagine it would feel anything like this. Any amount of pressure on her body where it cups your shape presses the slimy lining of her stomach against you, but the impression of her scaled flesh comes with it, muffled but unmistakable. It almost feels like you have scales now, and you suffer a moment of identity crisis.

Are you still yourself? Or are you the Princess, even before she's formally made you part of her body? There's a chemical dance yet to do, but it's a foregone conclusion. Emotionally, you've gifted yourself to her. Physically, she's almost entirely engulfed you and claimed you from the old world. There's no reason to hang on any longer.

"My flesh is yours, forever." With those words, you feel her juicy slit clamp down, vise-like pressure traveling in a wave from the tips of your honeyed fingers up, hard enough to force you out, nectar fountaining from her loins to splash you liberally. You release her tail, raising your dripping arms up into the air.

The Princess sags back into the pillows again, keeping her hands planted right on her swelling belly, and swallows over and over without pause. Your head slips past her lips, face smothered in her heavy tongue for a long, affectionate few seconds before the snug rim of her throat rolls up and over your crown.

The pressure of her hands on your body is reassuring somehow, a touch you know will be waiting for you as the rest of you slithers down and in. Her tongue spirals lazily up around your right arm, eventually filling your palm, letting you clasp its squishy tip.

When her jaws close past the tips of your fingers, you know immediately. It's almost like a change in air pressure, or perhaps an almost undetectable drop in light. Since your head squeezed down into her esophagus, it's been too dark to bother keeping your eyes open, not to mention all the slippery drool everywhere.

Slimy squelches and the thud of her heart fill your ears as you slip deeper inch by inch. Without sight, the Princess' interior is a mystery you explore through touch. You can feel collarbones forced apart to admit the lump of your head. You can feel and hear the creak of her ribs as they stretch, a cage of bone that winds up riding up atop the jut of her belly. Your arms slip through a greasy sphincter as you finish your journey, the Princess' body eagerly packing her stomach with the rest of you, muscles ensuring you end up in a nice meaty ball for her to caress. And caress you she does, though her touch seems slower, perhaps fatigued by now.

The inside of her stomach is a mess. Whereas the saliva you've dealt with up to now has just been slippery, the goo lining her stomach is like tar, sticking to your body and helping anchor you within her. Even if she gets up and moves around, you get the feeling your current orientation won't change easily. Your fingers wander down to your groin, and climax is a short trip away indeed.

Your shudders of pleasure draw a new groan from the Princess, and you feel new pressure from the sides of her hugely-swollen stomach as she draws her thighs up to embrace that great ball of belly. "I don't know how much longer you have. I'm tempted to take your air from you or drown you, to save you from the stickier agonies I'm sure my depths could put you to. Do you wish this?" The Princess calls, squeezing your bulk with thighs and hands both.

You mull it over, cradled in the sticky chamber of her stomach. It's growing hotter by the minute in here as your body heat soaks into her tissues and your breath warms the air. Fluids continue to accumulate around you, and on your back within her as you happen to be, you'll drown soon enough without her aid.

"I don't know. I...want to try to...stay awake as long as I can with you. But on your side would--"

She rolls immediately, and you feel the firm shape of her thigh beneath you, driven into the bed by the weight of her belly. "Every minute you breathe within me adds to your sacrifice," she breathes, curling down to brush what must be her snout along your outline. "We had too little time together as...separate creatures. I'm only comforted knowing you'll be with me always." She chuckles, belly jiggling. "No escape for you."

When you begin to slowly squirm, shifting your weight, tugging against the tarry goop suspending you, she lets an unashamed groan unroll from her throat. "You w-will spoil me. This pleasure is unmatched. What will I do when I take a mate and all I can think about is cramming him into my gut so I can truly slake my lust?"

You thrust your hips into her stomach lining, then shimmy your rump back the other way, making her scaled flesh flex and bulge. "Was I the only one pledged to join your bloodline in this fashion? Perhaps you'll need to change that."

Warm fluids wash across your body, a rising tide of gently-tingling enzymes, patient but persistent. The sound of the heavy fluid surging within her with your combined movements only makes the Princess pant and writhe harder, clutching her belly and driving her hips up against it. "No pledged meal...could ever be as...sweet as you." Words interspersed with her wild, urgent thrusts, the Princess turns her tummy into a tempest.

The fluid collecting around you seems to crash in on you from every direction. It's in your ears, your mouth, absolutely saturating every bit of you. Here and there you still catch a word from her through the fluid filling your ears."-willing conquest-" "-delectable bulge-" "Mine, every scrap!"

Her stomach squeezes you like a fist and you guess she must be cumming once again. You hear her belch as you're compressed, and suddenly you're immersed completely in that fluid. You feel her hands pat at you as if flustered, but as your lungs begin to burn for a breath, survival instincts take over. You thrash, you push, you punch, but no relief comes. If anything the stomach squeezes you harder, forcing the fluid into your body! Too late you realize that fiercer struggles may just have gotten the Princess off even harder, and made it impossible to gather herself enough to swallow more air for you.

By now your strength is fading, and your head feels light as a feather. As you plummet down a well with no bottom, the sound of a smug, gurgling stomach in your fluid-filled ears, you imagine the gastric symphony as the trumpets of your coronation.

Exhausted, dripping with her own pleasure, the Princess cups her domed belly with both hands, just seconds from drifting into a meat-gorged slumber. "Welcome to the bloodline, darling."