title: Sneaking In aliases: [] tags: [FA] author: [0_dragonspet_0] id: [47480287] date: 星期三, 八月 24日 2022, 3:50:48 下午 modified: 星期三, 八月 24日 2022, 4:09:56 下午

[TOC]

Sneaking In

Author: 0_dragonspet_0 Source: Sneaking In

Three metres.

Two.

One.

I bump into my target, my voice a apologetic murmur as I half-twist, raising a hand in apology for having hit the poor bloke. As he turns and disappears into the crowd I can’t help but grin, a flicker of my eye activating the tracking software for the transmitter I just placed on the guy’s jacket. Good looking jacket too. But then again I guess that comes with being some biotechnica bigwig. Not that I care. I just want the contents of his workstation.

Flick-blinking, I open the tracker software and let it project itself onto my vision as I slip into a nearby noodle stand, grabbing a big bowl of synth-chicken udon broth from the vendor while I wait for the transmitter to go live. It does not take long. Within minutes I’m getting a solid feed, its location updating with reassuring regularity. Even over the din of the city, over the overfilled airwaves, so thick with all sorts of competing signals, it is reading nice and true.

I munch thoughtfully on a piece of vat-grown meat that tastes vaguely like chicken and watch as the blip suddenly picks up speed.

Mmm, cab?

It climbs and starts to move upwards, my tracking software automatically compensating for the sudden introduction of a third dimension and tilts the display, showing an isometric view of the city around the blip. Up and up it goes before it starts to bank and race away.

Aircar. Hah, rich corpo bastardi.

Finishing the last of my broth, I toss the bowl into the recycler and head into the crowds, darting into a nearby side-alley to avoid the worst of the crowds. Three minutes later I find myself in front of the heavy tarp I’d left in another abandoned alley and yank it off, revealing the sleek hull of my skimmer bike. Getting on, I thumb the activator and give it a good rev, relishing the vibrations of the fusion drive as it spools up to power. Null-grav plates under it hum with power as they lift the bike and me up. And then we’re off, like a bullet from a gun.

Following the blip is easy enough. It moves as if it does not know it is being followed and I intend to keep it that way. I keep a respectful distance until I am sure it has stopped for good. Guiding my bike down three streets away, I bring up a better resolution image of the building from some of the public network cameras dotted around the district.

Not a bad looking place, I muse, scratching my chin. My whiskers twitch as I try to take in everything I’m seeing; Cameras dot the outside of the low-rise apartment block. A solid-looking gate bars the front and I can already spot several heavily armed goons patrolling the outside. As I flick through the cameras I catch a glimpse of myself; A short, athletic looking rat, brown fur and mostly decked in a nondescript synthetic leather jacket and pants. I shoot the camera a playful smirk before returning to my scoping.

Fifteen minutes later I find my way in: An old pipe, no doubt part of the building’s AC system. Part of it’s broken, with a crack big enough to fit a mouse in.

Or rat, in my case.

I grin and slip out of my clothing, slipping on a tight-fitting synthskin suit before I reach into the storage compartment of my bike and grab the very expensive bottle from within. Inside, through the artly opaque plastic I can still see about fifteen or so capsules. One is all I need. Popping the lid, I toss back one of them and swallow, slipping the capsule back in and throwing my clothes in after before sealing the compartment.

Then, I sneak as close to the building as I dare and wait.

It’s about an hour or so later when I start to feel it. My body trembles and a sudden wave of vertigo washes over me. For a second, my skin feels too tight, then too loose. And then, everything starts to shift. My vision blurs and everything starts to hurt. Bones creak and muscles ache as, for a moment, I slip into unconsciousness.

By the time I come to, it’s all over. Grunting, I stand up and stretch, my back cracking as I limber up both to shake off the after-effects of the drug and to ready myself for what is to come. Turning, I face the now skyscraper sized wall and begin to climb, my fingers finding ample purchase in the car-sized bricks.

My mind settles into routine as I work my way up, one hand over the other, until everything blurs together.

After some interminable time, I find myself standing atop the wall, staring over at the building I want to enter. The goons still patrol, the sky still shines and the air still reeks of pollution, cheap soba noodles and cordite. I’m the only thing that’s changed. Aiming my grappling hook, I watch as it arcs through the air, nodding in satisfaction as it clinks into the crack on my first try. After checking that it’s anchored, I start to climb over, leaving the other end of the line secured here. The guards might be watching for any signs of intrusion true, but they’ll be looking for people sized signs of intrusion.

I’m gambling on the fact that they’ll not even notice my shrunken form as I scamper up the line and into the pipe-works.

And, much to my satisfaction, my decision is vindicated. Not a soul notices. Not even the roided-up, chrome sporting muscle head below me as he wanders by, one hand resting on the holster of an automatic S&C and the other holding a lit chemstick. The fumes briefly make my head spin as the cloud of noxious air rise skywards. But, I’m soon inside. After that, it becomes merely lining up the blip with the right floor and finding a pipe running in that direction.

Three hours later, I finally find an opening to squeeze out of. Swearing quietly, I kick against the grate.

It squeaks and shifts slightly. I kick again, and this time it bends outwards. Squeezing through the gap, I find myself in a stylish, minimalistic kitchen, all sleek lines and tasteful understated opulence. I note the fact that all the counters appear to be made out of black marble, with veins of gold running through them. Part of me wonders if it’s real gold. Or real marble for that matter. Shrugging, I push onwards, gripping one of the ventilation pipes that run along the ceiling. Bastard makes enough to afford both, no problems. Head of Bwystfilwr Biotechnica. Rich asshole.

I freeze as I hear laughter. Two voices, about five metres to my right. They are coming this way. Gripping the pipe tightly, I frantically search for anywhere to hide. But, there is nothing.

Wait!

My heart leaps as I notice the light hanging a half metre to my left. It has a broad shade, faintly reminiscent of the hats I see the rickshaw runners using.

Fuck it, best shot I have.

Tensing, I leap for it. For one glorious second, I know I will make it. And then, I don’t. My fingers slip off the metal wire holding it up and my feet find exactly zero purchase. Swearing, I scramble and try to avoid-

But it is too late. I muffle a squeak as the lamp cants under me and I find myself free-falling.

I barely even have time to think before I land with a loud splorch. All goes dark and I struggle to breathe, some sweetly scented, viscous goop covering everything.

For a moment, I don’t know whether to struggle for my life or to remain perfectly still. Muffled by the surrounding substance around me, I can hear voices speaking, loud enough that they must be within a metre of me, if not less. Discovery at this stage, at this size would be… less than advantageous. But, on the other hand, y’know, breathing is nice too.

As carefully as I can, I find my footing and stand up, breaching the surface of the thick gloop as quietly and slowly as possible.

“Aww, those wonderful profiteroles you got earlier smell so nice. You didn’t have to get me anything you know.”

A soft, feminine voice. No idea who it might be, but as long as they don’t discover me, it doesn’t really matter either.

“Oh it was no big thing. There was a new bakery that opened up along my route and I heard there was a very talented patisserie working there. And judging by the smells that wafted out before I even opened the door, I’d be willing to put money on it.”

Male. Likely the one I’ve been shadowing. Neither of them sound like they might suspect anything.

Good. And profiteroles huh… On a hunch, I sniff around, and sure enough, my confines have the distinct scents of vanilla and cream. As a shadow starts to loom overhead, I try to cover myself with a few scraps of pastry, trying my best to make it seem like the crust is whole.

“They do smell wonderful. Oh, I can barely wait, do you mind if…?”

Laughter.

“Go right ahead. I’m eager to see what you think. Heard they use a special Madagascan vanilla.”

There is a loud crunching sound and my heart damn hear leaps out of my chest as teeth cut through pastry and cream, mere millimetre from my face. I get a brief glimpse of some vixen, their features pretty enough, though my attention is more focused on escaping my predicament. But, before I can even begin to attempt anything, she nonchalantly tosses the entire remainder of the pastry into her mouth, jaws flying towards me as I reflect on the utter shit luck I’ve been having these last few weeks.

With a resounding chomp the jaws close, leaving me trapped in utter darkness. Crunching sounds fill my ears, almost deafening as they mingle and mix with the wet, squishy sounds of the vixen’s jaws moving. It is a desperate scramble to avoid being chewed to bits, though I mercifully manage to stay safely away from her teeth. Her lips briefly open and I make a mad dash for freedom, but I barely get two steps before I slip on cream and partially chewed pastry, my face smacking into her tongue with a loud splat. As I raise my head and try to scramble to my feet, I catch one last glimpse of the outside world, the kitchen framed by the back of her teeth, soft and welcoming lips curled in what must’ve been a smile. I know what’s coming, I can feel it in my soul. The view shifts as her head leans back, her tongue curling upwards, forcing me back and down. My feet hit the back of her throat a moment before it opens wide, swallowing me whole.

A loud glrk echoes in my ears as the walls creep over my face, sealing me within her gullet. Powerful contractions wash over me as she swallows, the waves of peristaltic motion forcing me down, deeper into her. I can’t even move an inch, the pressure around me squeezing me tight. All around me I can hear her, the sounds of her body. The rush of air as she breathes, the reverberations through her chest as she laughs. I feel her voice as much as hear it, though it is rather muffled and I can’t even make out any words. Overlaid it all is the soothing sound of her heartbeat, strong and slow. It’d almost be calming to listen to, were it not for the fact that I’m heading straight for her gut.

As I descend, the sound of her stomach gradually makes itself known, deep reverberations rising up to meet me, rumbling growls transmitting through the flesh around me. They get progressively louder, until at last I find myself squeezed through a tight opening and into a sweltering chamber. I barely have enough presence of mind to hold my breath and close my eyes as I drop down into a lake of chyme, landing ass first into the bubbling broth. Several things bump against me as I struggle my way back to the surface, coughing and spitting as I desperately try to avoid swallowing any of the gunk. Finding something floating near me with enough buoyancy to keep me above the foul depths, I cling to it for dear life.

All around me are the sounds of her stomach working noisily as it gurgles and churns, it’s walls hidden by darkness, but present through the waves they send through the murky slop around me. Waves of the stuff lap against me, leaving a thick residue on my suit that will no doubt take days to get out. If I get out, I think to myself, shuddering as I fully take in the situation I’m in. All around me are signs of food in partial stages of digestion, bits of pastry bubbling away in her stomach acids and other, less recognisable bits, slowly melting away into the slurry.

I try to activate the touch panel on my wrist display, but the omnipresent sludge makes that somewhat difficult. It takes several tries and some inventive swearing before I can get the screen to react for long enough to open a note with a white background. Soft, pale light spills from the screen.

Not much, and not as good as a flashlight, but I work with what I have. It reflects back off the glistening walls as they pulse and shift, undulating in mesmerising patterns that send shivers down my spine. It is so terrifyingly organic that I struggle to put words to it. All around me bits of food float, their stages of decomposition now more easily discernible.

Part of me almost wishes I didn’t turn on the light at all. I can see nothing of the pastry I came down in, every last trace of it gone from sight. All that remains are some half-eaten fruits bobbing on the surface, as well as the chunk of bread keeping me afloat.

“Well, fuck.”

I struggle my way on top of my soggy flotation device, wiping some excess stomach goop from my screen before slowly turning it in a semi-circle. A lake of brownish-green sludge shifts around me, the gunk so thick I can’t even see past the surface of it. Even my suit is coated in the viscous mess.

“Man, it was going so well too… Would have been such an easy payd-”

Everything shakes and I barely manage to stay afloat as sizeable waves crash against my partially digested float. Loud moans echo through the stomach and everything shifts. I manage a half-strangled yelp as I’m tossed overboard as the world lurches sickeningly to the left, making everything crash against the side of the stomach in one great wave. Once more I find myself pulled under, tossing end over end as the strong current passes over me. Thankfully, my feet find purchase on something and I manage to kick off, launching myself in the direction of what I hope is the surface.

Moments later I find myself gasping for breath as I breach the top of the thick layer of sludge, head spinning as I fight for breath. I manage to recover before I sink once more and find something to cling to. A bit of apple saves me from an ignominious end in her gut and I cling to it for dear life as the stomach sloshes from side to side, its contents tossing like some stormy sea.

Things don’t exactly get better when a veritable river of something deep red pours down from above, splashing down near one of the walls. The smell of wine fills the stomach as yet more of it sloshes in, followed shortly afterwards by several chunks of food. It takes me a moment to realise why it feels off; it’s coming in as a river instead of a waterfall. Which means she’s lying down. Which means…

Another moan echoes through her gut, the stomach walls tensing and pressing down on the contents held within. Chunks of food break up and sink beneath the waves as they are squeezed together, finally breaking up and melting. I can’t help but shiver at that, something of a thrill racing up and down my spine. The pieces are starting to fit together and I can’t help but feel a weird sense of voyeurism at the whole thing, some weird and forbidden kink as I listen to her moans around me. A deep rumble shakes her stomach and more food comes sliding in, spilling into the murky lake like a dump truck emptying its load into the nearest bog. Waves ripple outwards as chunks of meat splash into it, followed by several chewed-up pastries, their creamy insides floating atop the foul gunk for a moment before sinking into it.

Everything shakes once more and I can barely keep myself from slipping in, the chunk of apple I’m straddling already getting soft and mushy as the stomach acids eat away at it. Whatever it is keeping me from meeting the same fate… I hope to fuck it keeps doing so for however long it is needed.

Under me, I can feel the piece of fruit slowly succumb. Even so forewarned it still catches me by surprise when it finally breaks up into tiny pieces and drift away, leaving me once more bobbing on the surface, treading water. Or stomach goop as it were. Light drifts in and out as I struggle to stay afloat, my display barely even providing any illumination whenever my arm dips below the surface of the thick muck. I can feel bits of partially digested food rubbing against me, chunks of indiscernible somethings, all in varied stages of melting away.

“Oh, this is all kinds of fucked…”

I mutter it to myself again and again like some sort of mantra against evil, yet as much as might want it, it does fuckall to dispel the growing tightness near the groin area of my suit. All that mush, the bits brushing against it, the occasional caress from the stomach walls, the weird thrill of voyeurism from listening to the rising frequency of moans, it all serves to instil some fucked up sense of horniness in me. I can’t for the fucking life of me figure out why, but I’ve never been fucking hornier in my life. A rising flush creeps up my collar as the stomach tenses again, the walls rubbing against me as they press me up against some chunk of food. Ripples of muscular contraction play across my suit, caressing my cock in ways that have me whimpering. I can’t help but feel a perverse sense of relief that nobody can see nor hear me. Or notice the considerable bulge in my skin-tight suit. Hell, you’d probably even be able to see it fucking throb with how tight this thing is.

A shudder races down my spine as a particularly loud moan shakes the stomach, making the walls tremble in turn. Shortly afterwards, I feel repeated bumps shake my fleshy prison, sending little waves through the viscous slop around me.

“O-oh fucking fuck… You can’t be serious… Nnnfff…”

There is little doubt. The moans, the shaking… They are totally, unequivocally, undeniably fuckin’.

And for some godforsaken reason, my dick has decided this is the hottest fucking thing ever. Already, a blob of pre has formed around my tip, my suit keeping it contained, leaving it nowhere to go. And every fucking bump and grind and gentle nudge from the walls against my shaft make me go weak in the knees, further exacerbating my problem. As the stomach contracts again, I find myself pressed hard between the fleshy folds and a particularly sizeable chunk of fruit, my erection nestled between two folds of flesh.

Without even bothering to ask permission from my brain, my hips decide to start bucking all of their own, grinding and thrusting my cock against the warm walls as hard as I can. Each thrust makes spots dance before my eyes, snatches my breath away. The raw pleasure of it all eats away at my will, my shame, until nothing is left but unbridled hedonism, until all that’s left on my mind is the building release.

“F-fuck…”

Faster and faster, using the fruit against my back to keep me firmly pressed against the walls, grinding away as if my life depends on it.

I cum at the same time as a ecstatic moan shakes the stomach, the front of my suit filling with seed as my cock throbs again and again. Finally it manages to overtake the tension of the suit, sending cum trickling down my right leg. There is a strange thrill, some illicit sense of delight to knowing that cute vixen I so briefly spied will be digesting my cum. It’s perverse, I know. But still… Almost like it was me cumming down her throat, y’know?

For a while, I just drift there, utterly spent and content, despite the smells of partially digested food and the bubbling, gurgling sounds all around me. Almost lose track of time. Zen out.

When I finally start having somewhat less horny thoughts again, most of the food around me is little more than mush, melted down while I drifted in a haze of post-nut bliss. A loud, ominous rumbling precedes a series of gurgling noises and the pool around me begins to shift. Suddenly, I feel a tug on my feet, the thick slop around me shifting and swirling.

Oh fuck.

There is little I can do, no real handholds besides the slick walls as the contents of the stomach around me gradually empties downwards, pumping the digested remains of dinner, dessert and this dumbass fucking wannabe spy into her intestines. A tense knot of flesh grips my feet and I feel myself sucked inside with startling speed, a loud gwoooarn filling the air as I am pumped into her guts along with the rest of her food. Any hopes I might’ve had of waiting it out, of maybe sneaking out somehow after they pass out has just gone out the window. Hundreds of little villi brush against me from all sides as I flow along her intestines, her body absorbing all it can from the river of digested matter.

It’s comically un-fucking-fair. How the fuck am I meant to not get rock-fucking-hard when subjected to that kind of treatment? Within seconds I am hard again, my body writhing and twisting, trembling and shaking as I find myself subjected to the most intense, most intimate massage of my life. I cum again and again, helpless to stop, my mind utterly buried under an avalanche of pure fucking distilled horny.

It’ll be a long way out.

Even that thought sends a rush of arousal through me. Long though may be, at least I’ll get a truly special view before I leave.