‎

Bedside Smack

#

It was an otherwise normal day, Smack and Monty sitting in their shared apartment playing video games. While the folf’s greatly diminished size would usually make it impossible to hold a controller, let alone remain competitive with the werewolf, shrink rays had by now advanced far past the point where electronics would continue working at full efficiency when micro-sized.

This, of course, allowed the two to remain close to each other, Monty simply lying in bed with his Switch held a foot from his face, while occasionally glancing at Smack, having found a place for himself on the bedside table, using a single tissue as a blanket for himself.

Given the immense size difference between the two, videogames were one of the few activities where the pair could remain evenly matched. Trading wins back and forth was one of the only ways that Smack could ever hope to succeed in this world where he was constantly at the bottom of the food chain, and the events of the next few minutes were sure to remind him of his place outside of gaming.

During the middle of a match of Mortal Kombat, Monty’s character suddenly stopped moving. Initially thinking it was just some form of lag or latency on part of the game, only a half-second passed before Smack’s view became obscured by a massive pink and purple hued pawpad. In the time it took for him to process what was happening, the folf had already been snatched off of the bedside table and thrown into the immense maw of what he thought was his friend.

Even with the disorientating upward motion now over, Smack’s experience within the maw was no calmer. Swished around by a tongue the same color as the paws, there wasn’t a single inch of the micro left unviolated by its rapid motion as he was taken from side to side. Any sounds of protest attempted were easily drowned out by the ambient sounds of the mouth, making the action to an outside observer simply look like one using a breath mint. Which for the micro, was an apt comparison.

Trying to get as much taste as he could from the micro it took only a few seconds for Monty to move Smack to the far side of his maw and begin chewing his meal. Not harshly, of course. The werewolf didn’t want his friend to die, or at least within his maw, and so the molars only pressed down slightly on the folf, tenderizing him instead of the full rib-crushing force.

Smack was suckled, chewed, and humiliated for what seemed like hours, and in his frustration, he didn’t even realize that his console had long since gone down the depths of the Werewolf’s throat. Not like it would matter in the long run, as the micro seemed destined to soon follow it. And in one piece, no less.

The darkness of the closed maw gave Smack no sense of proper direction, the opening of the throat and the way back to the outside world appeared equally black. Even if he wasn’t immobilized by the teeth, the lengths at which the tongue spun him around would make any plans of escape impossible, given that he would just be crawling around in the dark.

And with both no plans and no time, the inevitable moment arrived. Monty swung his head back, and gave a deep swallow. The only thing that Smack was able to utter was a quick “eep,” muffled both by the werewolf’s saliva filling his own maw and the overpowering sounds of the gulp itself.

PLAYER DISCONNECTED

Back in the outside world, Monty chuckled as he tracked his food’s trajectory down his throat, until it finally disappeared into his chest. The golden-brown werewolf had considered Smack to be his friend, but he knew that it would end this way eventually. A snap decision mixed with his predatory instincts was all it took for the gaming party to be nothing more than an appetizer. With such a large size difference, friends became synonymous with food.

Tuning his senses to his gut, the macro couldn’t even feel the struggles from within his gut, the stomach walls easily able to deal with anything the folf would be able to muster in protest. Not that Smack had no effect on Monty, the werewolf letting out a hearty belch a few moments later, the last evidence of his meal’s existence until Monty went to the restroom the next morning.

Uncaring of the person who had considered Monty a friend until his consumption, the werewolf’s only regret was that he failed to spit out the console swallowed alongside the folf, sure that the circuitry would be a pain to digest. A thought quickly quenched when he realized that bones were probably just as damaging to his body, and he had no problems digesting micros in the past.

And so Monty simply shrugged his shoulders, put his console on the bedside table where his snack once lay, and quickly fell asleep, his stomach growling in content fullness.

Smack’s Seat

#

It had been a few minutes since you woke up confused in this bizarre landscape, people from presumably all over the planet equally trapped wherever this strange place was with you. Or at least you didn’t recognize any of them, several hundred furs from all different species for no rhyme or reason.

However, something seemed slightly off about your fellow inhabitants. Mostly walking around in a confused daze, none of them exhibited the normal panic you would expect from those somehow finding themselves on a seemingly endless plain. But it wasn’t endless, was it?

As you looked around, you noticed things indicating somewhere a bit more… domestic. The ground below you was oddly soft, shaded in a vibrant blue. The sky above turned out to not be a sky at all, but instead a ceiling, with the sun replaced by a fluorescent light. Hard as it was to believe, you were somehow shrunken down and forcibly transported onto a massive couch.

Seemingly having recently been used, the cushion on which you were all stranded was still warm from latent body heat transferred onto it; a dull scent being another indication of its enormous occupant. Your location on the couch was slightly indented, a fact you didn’t understand the implications of just yet. As strange as your predicament was, at least it was in an area you could understand without your surroundings seeming too alien.

However, something else about this felt familiar, not just the fact that this new world was constructed as opposed to natural. It was almost as though you had been here before, at least not at your current microbial size. But before you realized exactly who’s apartment you were in, he arrived.

At this scale, you would have expected the footsteps of the giant to be incomprehensible earthquakes, but either through some misunderstanding in size physics or the fact that he was walking on carpeted ground, his movements were silent enough for you to barely notice him entering the room.

From your position on the couch, you had to look directly upwards as the macro seemingly appeared out of thin air, looming ominously above. A vast wall of yellow took up your entire horizon, with white stripes providing a reprieve from the totality of monotone fur. It was then that everything clicked into place. You recognized this room because you had been here before, albeit at a normal size. And the giant before you was none other than your friend Smack!

You began to wonder if any of the other occupants knew the folf as well as you did, but as you looked around, you could only see blank expressions on the faces of your shrunken peers. None of them exhibited signs of recognition or even of panic at seeing a being so many times larger than themselves, one that could easily crush the entire group with zero effort.

And as you thought about it, why weren’t you terrified of your predicament? Even though Smack was a friend, you knew the things he tended to do with the micros he saw as lesser than normal folks, not to mention his nearsightedness, likely unable to discern your unique features from the rest of the crowd. You knew that you should run for cover, but your body and mind alike seemed to ignore what should have been instinct. As much as you wanted to find some method of escape, you remained in place, waiting for what Smack would do next.

Much like your misconceptions regarding the audibility of the larger world, you were also mistaken in thinking time moved differently between you and the giant. You only had a few seconds to ponder exactly how any of this was possible before Smack finished his stride towards his trusted couch and turned around, a vast shadow bathing you all in darkness.

Twin, inverted mountains took up the entirety of your horizon as you gazed upwards, the yellow fur covering them appearing in complete detail. The fur itself was coated in an otherwise thin layer of sweat, each drop rivaling a car. Equally impressive was this giant’s shaft, easily a monument in itself, with two massive orbs swaying ominously above.

And with a massive tail lifting up to unobscure it, in between the cheeks lay Smack’s pucker, a gaping, pink asshole that threatened to swallow up your entire world, yet alone your microscopic form. That was, of course, if the cheeks didn’t crush you first.

There was no hint at either recognition or even acknowledgement in the folf’s eyes as he prepared to sit down, either feigning unawareness or truly not knowing that he was about to doom the lives of hundreds of furs. Just before accepting your fate of being crushed under his twin moons, you finally realized exactly where you were.

You initially paid little attention to being within an indent of the couch cushion, giving it the same level of significance as the numerous crumbs of miscellaneous food surrounding you. It took until the massive ass was hovering above you for the pieces to fit into place. The cushion had been molded over the years to conform to the cheeks, giving you an exact map of where the mounds ended and the cavernous ass crack began.

This realization gave you the jolt needed to escape from your seemingly forced paralysis, breaking into a sprint towards the incline at the center of the couch just as Smack finished positioning himself and began to casually sit down. The force of him just sitting down was enough for the air pressure under his ass to drastically change, with massive gusts of displaced air forcing all of the couch to collapse either onto their gut or back.

And then finally, Smack collided with the couch with relative meteoric force. There were no screams; all of those trapped apart from yourself were still lost in their hypnotic daze, at least until they vanished under hundreds of tons of meaty ass flesh. Even the telltale crunch of bones collapsing and bodies exploding into a red mist was obscured by the thump of the seat. To you, it was as if they were completely erased from existence, their cadavers lost in this sea of yellow.

Your bet, however, seemed to have worked out, just barely escaping this grizzly fate. Trapped in the narrow space between your former friend’s ass cheeks was only marginally a better situation, forcing you into a living hell as opposed to an actual afterlife. The natural sweat and grime of the ass was at its strongest here, the earthy musk thick enough to almost be visible to you.

The overwhelming scent caused your eyes to tear up to the point of obscuring your sight, but even if you could see, most light was extinguished by the rump, only able to properly see the walls of yellow extending above you before vanishing into a massive darkened pink sphincter, the black hole of Smack’s anus.

Even though you were currently in the eye of the storm, you were by no means safe, the folf being sure to wriggle his ass as he settled into the couch, attempting to ensure maximum compatibility for himself. As the organic planet around you ground into the cushion below, you knew that if anyone survived the initial impact, they would never be able to make it through this onslaught.

Every second you remained trapped was a reminder that your surroundings were both alive and entirely hostile to your existence. Each microscopic movement of the cheeks grew exponentially into tectonic shifts in your surroundings, and the ambient sounds of the folf’s body creaking and groaning acted to drown out both your own pleas for help as well as muffle whatever television program Smack was casually binge watching in the outside world.

As the minutes spent trapped turned into hours, time seemed to blend together for you. Being caught in this humid death trap for so long caused you to sweat profusely, dehydration slowly turning into delirium. You had long since forgotten exactly where you were, only operating on base instinct and opting to lap up Smack’s own sweat in place of water to quench your parched thirst, unaware of what its true nature was.

Eventually, Smack finished off the end of the season, finally getting up from the couch to continue his now greatly reduced day. Much like when he first sat down, the force of his ass lifting off from the couch was more than enough for the air pressure to rip you off from your feet and into the air. In your half-conscious state, it seemed as though you were being taken into a black hole, but before you were sucked into the depths of the anus, you crash-landed onto the surface of Smack’s gaping pucker.

With the inverted ground constantly shifting and flexing on instinct, you were quickly deposited into a single wrinkle to prevent your escape, leaving you stuck in place even as the world surrounding you shook with every step Smack took. Even with direct contact with the macro, you weren’t felt, or if you were, the folf wasn’t saying. You had already expired by the time Smack finally sat down again; your miniscule form evacuated alongside the mortal deity’s excrement. Forever lost and forgotten.