FSE

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Frosty hummed quietly as he began to dress down, slipping out of a translucent silken garment that did little to hide the white cheetah's feminine figure. After a long journey between two kingdoms, he was looking forward to a relaxing soak. The royal bath was an extravagant luxury befitting the Prince that owned it, and Frosty felt honored to be permitted to make use of it, rather than the guest bath.

Azure blue curtains waved gently in the evening breeze, a huge stone archway supported by thick columns allowing him to look out over the gardens as he disrobed, moonlight streaming in and glistening off the water. Wisps of steam made the rays fade in and out as they rose from the surface. The room was dimly lit by flickering candles on the walls, but the moonlight was sufficient on its own.

Everything had gone surprisingly well that day. A little too well, Frosty knew.

Prince Fomo had a reputation. The mouse was always respectful where it was warranted and offered his guests a warm welcome, but rumors of the prince's "indulgences" were all-too-common. There were numerous stories of envoys and ambassadors paying the Prince a visit, only to turn up missing for a time. Sometimes days, sometimes weeks. Others had not returned at all.

Nobody was bold enough to openly accuse Prince Fomo of foul play. Witnesses never came forward to corroborate the accounts. But the rumors still circulated.

Frosty had, however, dared to broach the subject in the Prince's Royal Hall after being offered a room for the duration of his visit. He had been careful in choosing his words, to avoid earning the Prince's ire.

To his surprise, Prince Fomo wasn't upset. He grinned at the mention of those rumors, even. The cheetah's cheeks flushed as he revisited what had happened afterward. He could clearly recall his mind racing, the nervous tension he felt as Fomo rose from his throne and approached Frosty, despite the mouse's smaller stature.

And the words he'd whispered into Frosty's ear had set his face alight. "And what of the rumors I've heard about you, Princess?"

Despite the flowing silk dress that was just see-through enough to allow a peek at his spotted, curvy figure, matching pink shawl, and ornate gold hoops adorning the cheetah's arms and thighs, Frosty was still a Prince. But it wasn't uncommon for suitors to refer to him as "Princess" behind closed doors.

And that fact left Frosty wondering exactly which rumors had reached the Prince's ear.

Would it jeopardize negotiations? He'd merely been sent as a diplomatic ambassador for the Kingdom of Purrsia to establish friendly relations with Prince Fomo, and nothing more. But there was no telling how royals might react to someone's reputation.

There was no sense in worrying about it now, Frosty reminded himself. Fomo had seemed friendly enough despite their exchange; he'd even invited Frosty and his entourage to dine and rest in his home. And now the cheetah was about to enjoy a luxurious bath in the prince's own bath house.

Several fragrant bottles of soap were waiting on a silver tray. Each had their own unique aroma and appeal, but Frosty found himself immediately drawn to one in particular. The scent stood out because it was identical to Frosty's own private selection: vanilla bean.

Surely it couldn't be coincidence. It was the cheetah's exclusive choice. His white fur always carried the unique aroma. Was it a gesture of good will, or was he overthinking?

It would be used, regardless. Frosty slid the glass bottle away from the others and stepped toward the steaming bath, dipping one foot in to test the temperature. Perfect. He carefully walked down the stone steps leading into the water until he was up to his thighs, listening to the soft ripples of water as it moved around him.

When Frosty reached back to unfasten his pink shawl from the golden hoops around his arms, he paused. There was a soft rumble behind him, something that didn't fit the gentle breeze, chirping insects, or lapping bath water. The white cheetah curiously peered over his shoulder to investigate.

A voice followed immediately; soft, but confident. "Oh, don't stop on my account, Princess."

Prince Fomo was standing in the doorway propped against the frame, silhouetted by lanterns in the corridor behind him. Although Frosty couldn't clearly see the mouse's features, the Prince's figure made him unmistakable. The mouse had wide hips that rivaled Frosty's own, large round ears, and a slim middle that defied the rumors about his unusual appetite.

A sudden blush came over Frosty's cheeks and he tucked his arms across his chest, drawing the silk shawl around himself. In his current state, it did little to hide his figure, though he wasn't yet fully nude. He was still wearing pink sleeves, a matching shawl, pink top that only covered his chest and upper back, and a black thong that left most of his rump on display.

His ears timidly laid back as Frosty continued to peer over his shoulder, murmuring quietly, "Good evening, Prince Fomo."

Even silhouetted, Frosty could see his smirk, the mouse's large front teeth glinting off the moon. "Good evening. I hope I'm not interrupting."

He was, but Frosty tried not to convey it. "N-no, not at all. Is there an issue?"

The Prince shook his head and stood upright, thin tail swishing quickly. "Certainly not. In fact, I was thinking of having you join me."

"Join you for...what, exactly?"

Fomo stepped toward the bath, hips confidently swaying as he moved closer, blue robes flowing lightly with each step. "For dinner, of course."

Frosty looked perplexed. The Prince had already offered him dinner, and he'd happily agreed. Perhaps he'd forgotten? He wasn't about to correct him, though. "Certainly. I'd be honored to dine with you."

There was something about the mouse's growing smirk that made Frosty uneasy. As one of the Prince's hands drifted across his slim white belly, it let out a gurgling growl. It was the same noise that had alerted Frosty to his presence, he realized. It was close to dinner time, but the look Fomo was giving him now said something more. A look that was making the blush on Frosty's cheeks grow hotter.

"Dine with me?" Fomo chuckled, and a pink tongue traced across his lips as he stood at the edge of the bath. "That's not quite what I had in mind."

Frosty gulped quietly, tail apprehensively flicking through the water. He was reminded again of the mouse's rumors. They'd been on his mind ever since his father suggested sending an ambassador to Prince Fomo as a sign of good faith.

Those rumors were the very reason Frosty had volunteered to go.

Until this point, the white spotted cat had bashfully kept his back to the Prince but maintained eye contact over his shoulder. As Frosty took a breath to calm his nerves, he finally turned to face the mouse, though his arms continued to gently hug his chest.

"Wh-what exactly did you have in mind, Prince Fomo?"

Frosty could see the mouse's blue eyes take in the curvy figure presented to him. Fomo's digits began idly stroking back and forth across his belly. The reply that followed would confirm the rumors were true.

"Your father sent a delightful gift, and it would be awfully rude of me to decline. Would you care to join me as dinner, Princess?" Fomo offered a hand to Frosty while the other remained on his belly, grinning confidently.

Frosty could feel his heart racing, his cheeks burning. But something compelled him to close the gap between the pair and take the mouse's hand. "I-...I'd...love to," he timidly admitted as his head dipped, too embarrassed now to maintain eye contact.

Squeezing the cheetah's hand, Fomo gently drew him closer and leaned forward to murmur into his ear with a soft, sultry tone. "I thought you would...Princess Bellyslut."

Frosty didn't think his face could get any hotter, until now. That teasing name, alone, confirmed what the Prince knew of his own habits. There was no point trying to hide it now. The bath water rippled as Fomo took a step in and lowered his body, seating himself on the stone rim. There was no resistance as he circled an arm around Frosty's waist and nudged him closer.

"Make yourself comfortable, Princess," Fomo crooned, coaxing the white cheetah to take a seat in his lap. His tail flicked excitedly when Frosty obliged him, placing the smaller mouse at level with his guest's chest.

Even seated in his lap, there was a clear height difference between the two. For a moment, Frosty considered whether the mouse would be able to accomplish such a feat. Was this all just a ruse? Was the Prince simply toying with him?

A dark nose pressed itself to Frosty's chest, audibly drawing in a breath to take in his scent. Then Fomo's tongue extended over his lower lip and slowly dragged its way up his fuzzy front. A pair of glistening blue eyes closed for a moment, and the groan that followed Fomo's indulgent lick gave Frosty a clear enough answer about the Prince's true intentions. If there was still any doubt...

"Mmmh, you taste just as delightful as you look, Princess. I'm going to enjoy feeling you squirming for me."

Frosty's thighs squeezed the mouse's hips, whining quietly at how bluntly the Prince teased him. Another slow lick dragged its way up his chest, but this time continued along his neck. Curling his tongue, Fomo gently tugged on the cheetah's sapphire-studded collar before lapping toward his chin.

Flustered as he was, Frosty was purring now. His head leaned back when he felt the slick muscle glide against the underside of his muzzle, but a hand on the back of his head prompted him to peer down again.

The cheetah's heart leapt when he was greeted by the sight of the Prince's yawning mouth. Rumors - and the daydreams that resulted - were one thing. But it was another thing entirely to have those mousey features presented to him like this.

As the hand on his scruff urged him to lean in, it was clear Prince Fomo, a diminutive grey and white rodent a full head shorter than Frosty, was going to swallow him without even bothering to finish undressing the fidgeting cheetah.

A soft, flustered whine was swiftly muffled as the mouse's lips sealed around his face. He could feel Fomo's tongue continuing to drag back and forth against his chin and neck, strands of drool clinging to his muzzle as it was guided farther in. As soon as his pink nose bumped the back of Fomo's throat, the muscles quivered and an audible "gluck" filled his ears.

The first swallow did little more than slurp at the end of his feline snout and whisked away the copious amount of drool that had gathered by this point. But Frosty felt something in the mouse's demeanor change as a result. The arm around his chest tightened, more possessive in nature, and Frosty was suddenly plunged deep into the slimy, hot darkness.

The cheetah's entire head was dragged into Fomo's throat, forcing him to hunch forward and earning a muffled, but distinctly surprised chirrup. He squirmed in place, but Fomo's embrace prevented him from going anywhere. He wasn't trying to escape, however. Being claimed like this, being worked down the Prince's throat like a piece of meat, was exciting to him.

Frosty wanted to be the Prince's dinner.

He could hear Fomo's belly growling over the distinct thud of the mouse's heart, even the wet gulps each time his body was tugged deeper. It wanted food; wanted_him. _ It reinforced how Frosty felt about this situation, allowing himself to be consumed by the Prince.

Before he knew it, slick jaws were overtaking his shoulders and chest, pinning his arms against his body as he was ushered farther down the mouse's gullet. Despite his size, Fomo was devouring him enthusiastically now. Each greedy gulp claimed several inches of his torso, slick muscle undulating against his body to knead him down, teeth tickling his spine as the mouse nibbled on him. Those large incisors were a constant reminder of his predator's identity, that he was going to be mouse food.

As Fomo's jaws neared his waist, he felt the mouse beginning to slow. The way Frosty was hunched was making things difficult, but it couldn't be helped when his hips were still planted in the Prince's lap. The hand on his lower back slid down, briefly pausing to stroke down the length of Frosty's tail, which was hastily swishing about.

All at once, Frosty felt a pair of hands scoop beneath his butt and he was hoisted into the air by his hips. His legs scrambled for a moment, trying to find a solid place to rest his feet. The urge was quickly forgotten when Frosty felt a tug on his thong. The mouse's thumbs hooked beneath the straps hugging his hips, and when Fomo resumed swallowing, the black fabric began to retreat. It was the only piece of clothing the Prince was bothering to remove.

Embarrassed as he was, there was nothing Frosty could do to stop the Prince from eating him right out of his thong. Spotted cheeks were exposed to the mouse moments before they were greedily shoved into his mouth.

Even as his face was plunged into Fomo's waiting belly, Frosty could feel the heat of his blush, and it grew more intense when a slick tongue curled itself between his thighs. When the mouse's lips pulled taut around him, he could only imagine the Prince's smug smirk.

Frosty wasn't just excited to be the Prince's dinner: he was exceptionally aroused. And Fomo was now deliberately pressing his tongue against it, working Frosty into a squirming frenzy. But the mouse didn't linger on it: he was clearly more interested in consuming Frosty than pleasuring him. Another heavy gulp sent the cheetah's hips sliding past the back of his tongue a moment later.

All that remained outside Fomo's jaws was a pair of spotted legs, and a feverishly swishing tail several inches longer than they were. With the largest obstacles dealt with, the remainder of Fomo's meal began descending with relative ease.

The interior of the mouse's belly seemed impossibly-snug as his shoulders were forced into the tight space. Frosty had to twist himself around in the slimy sac, but once he was able to hunch forward, his body begin to slide into the slimy chamber more smoothly.

Before long, he felt the mouse's teeth passing his ankles, and soon after Frosty's feet and tail were dragged inside. One last, deep swallow was all it took. He felt the rest of his body squeeze down into the mouse's belly, knees bending as his thighs were pinned against his torso.

And that was it. Small though he was, tight as it initially seemed, Prince Fomo had made it work. He had swallowed "Princess" Frosty whole.

A crooning, squeaking voice followed immediately. "Oooooooh, that's a goooooood kitty..."

Frosty's surroundings abruptly lurched as Fomo reclined. He was now partially on top of the Prince, being cradled between his thighs. He felt a pair of hands begin possessively kneading over him, pushing in from various directions, eliciting wet gurgles from the mouse's belly.

"Mmmmh, such a big kitty...squirm for your Prince."

Frosty needed little encouragement. He was still all kinds of worked up, but there was little he could do about it. Suddenly, the walls drew taut, and Frosty's surroundings reverberated with a near-deafening belch that squeezed out the air that had followed him down.

"Uuurph...pardon me, Princess," the Prince giggled.

Frosty's arms were firmly pinned in place between his chest and his knees now, the mouse's slimy gut clenching in from all sides. The most he could do was stretch enough to push his feet into the lining and wriggle about, which the Prince seemed to thoroughly enjoy, given the groans that resulted.

As Frosty quickly discovered, his squirming was having a noticeable effect on his surroundings. Whenever he pushed around in the darkness or shifted, Fomo's belly bore down to subdue him. It was also growing steadily wetter. He could feel fluids pooling around him, liberally smeared over his body, worked into his fur each time the mouse's stomach squeezed.

It wasn't long before he felt a tingling sensation over most of his exposed figure, most notably where his body was constantly submerged in the steamy, slimy fluids.

The Prince was beginning to digest him.

What should have been a humiliating experience, was anything but. The "Princess" of Purrsia was still purring, still blushing furiously despite what was happening. There was nothing he could do to stop it, nor did he want to.

It was exactly how Frosty had hoped this visit would play out.

He could feel his muscles protesting, energy giving out in the hostile environment. He wanted to keep squirming, to do whatever he could to make his Prince feel good, encouraged by Fomo's intermittent squeaks and contented groans.

But eventually he had to surrender and allowed himself to give in. He stopped trying to squirm and just relaxed, letting the mouse's stomach have its way with him. Letting it digest him.

Fomo took notice, and Frosty felt the mouse's arms wrap around him. Then that pressure came from all directions, and he winced as his joints began to protest. Between the mouse's clenching gut, and the fact that he was now bent forward to curl himself around it, Frosty felt strained.

"Mmmh, settling in already? Was hoping you'd last longer in there, but...I don't blame you. Seems my belly _really_likes you, chee." The tense hug let up for a moment. "And it seems you rather like it, too."

Frosty could only manage a soft, sheepish murmur. He was too tired to reply, and the acrid environment was making his head hazy. It felt like he could just keep relaxing and let the mouse's belly lull him to sleep. But he wanted to stay alert just a bit longer.

The Prince had other plans. "Well, since you like being a Prince's dinner so much, let's get you nice and settled in." Fomo's voice softened as he added, "Digest for your Prince, Princess Bellyslut."

Even through the thick mental fog, Frosty knew how deeply he was blushing at Fomo's words. Slick muscles contracted tightly against his body once more, tension building, and Frosty didn't resist. There was an audible pop as the cheetah's body began to give out, prompting a sharp chirp. There was a brief flash of intense sensation, replaced just as quickly by numbness.

It was strangely euphoric after that. He could still vaguely, distantly feel the mouse's stomach undulating against his body, the pressure of the slick walls grinding and rolling over him. He could still hear the crackles and pops as he was further compressed against himself, but there was no pain.

As Frosty felt himself mentally drifting, he was content with the fact that he belonged to this Prince's body now. The mouse would proudly wear him on his hips, even if few would truly know he had contributed to them.

New rumors would come to light. And this time, Prince Frosty would be the reason.

Good.

* * * * * * * * * *

Prince Fomo was more than a little annoyed that he'd been summoned. Both his and Prince Frosty's absence at dinner had been noted by his guests, and an audience had been requested despite the late hour.

As much as he wanted to linger in his private bath to enjoy this latest treat, duty called. It would reflect poorly on him to disregard his guests. How would they take the news? He'd know soon enough.

The expressions that met him when he unsteadily sauntered into the Royal Chambers, made it worth the trouble. All eyes were locked on the mouse's enormous belly. Although the cheetah had softened a good deal already, a feline figure was unmistakably imprinted in his white fur. The room was dead silent, save for the noisy gurgles his stomach produced, especially when he planted himself heavily on his throne.

A few of the cheetah's companions glanced at one another, unsure of how to break the silence.

An elbow in the side prompted one feline to gather the courage to speak. A tuxedo cat cleared his throat. "U-uh...P-Prince Fomo...we were...concerned that...ah...you and Prince Frosty were absent..."

Fomo rested his cheek on one hand, his annoyance melting into a somewhat amused smirk. Despite initial concerns about diplomacy, perhaps the repercussions wouldn't be that severe after all. Eventually, Fomo responded without allowing the stammering subject to finish their inquiry.

"I can assure you, Princess Frosty is in good hands." One hand came to rest on top of his swollen gut, lightly patting it for emphasis.

The cheetah's subjects looked to one another again. Nobody knew how to respond to that. What would their King say?

After a long pause, the same feline gulped softly, hands fidgeting against his chest. "Th-the negotiations...P-Prince Frosty was sent to..."

Fomo chuckled softly and let himself slump deeper into the seat, laying both arms on the rests. "I would say the, ah, 'negotiations' are proceeding well. Isn't that right, my spotted royal belly pet?"

The mouse's belly let out an agreeable, gurgling groan right on cue, followed by a wet burp. Unlike with Frosty earlier, the Prince didn't bother to excuse himself before continuing.

"Send your King my warmest regards at your earliest convenience. His gift was well-received." He then waved his hand toward the door to dismiss Frosty's companions. "That will be all."

He wouldn't send them home empty-handed, of course. He would offer a gift in return, his own token of good faith. And once he was finished with Prince Frosty, he would be returned as well. Specifically, anything that managed to survive the mouse's digestive tract, along with Frosty's crown. Short a few precious decorations, perhaps. Fomo suspected the cheetah's gold loops would look good on his own thighs.

Hopefully the King of Purrsia wouldn't be overly upset with him. Given Frosty's reputation, Prince Fomo had a hunch that things would be smoothed over without too much trouble.

Prince Frosty had certainly been agreeable enough.

As the subjects nervously began to filter out from his royal chambers, the tuxedo cat paused to peer back. Fomo caught his gaze and grinned, then extended a hand in the feline's direction.

"You're welcome to stay and accompany your Prince, if you wish." The free hand patting his belly made it clear which Prince the mouse was referring to.

Fomo watched expectantly now that the tuxedo cat was the last subject remaining in the room, the door still open before him. He took half a step toward it, then paused.

Frosty's subject was met with a pleased smirk when he turned away from the door to face the Prince once more. And though he looked nervous as ever, the cat moved toward the throne instead. The door closed behind him with a reverberating rumble.

Prince Fomo was beaming now. I think the Kingdom of Purrsia will get along with me just fine...