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Warning: contains vore, offensive language, and mature themes

It was getting to be that time again, I could tell. I was losing a few seconds here and there, blanking out and coming back to see Bea looking at me with concerned, knowing eyes. I wish she didn't have to give up so much, to endure what she does for me, but my other options are to kill myself to keep people safe, or become a murderer: not exactly agreeable either way.

I knew she was probably going to start preparing the basement for one of our sessions as I left for work that morning: covering the floor and walls in plastic sheets, mixing that goopy protein solution for afterwards, and doubtless mentally preparing for what was to come. I still wonder how she forces herself to stay with me, the monster who doesn't have the decency to swallow her meals whole like most predators. Rather than turn me in to the police and be done with it, she continues to sacrifice herself to me. She hates the pain, but she says she loves me more. I guess I can at least take solace in knowing the intervals between sessions are getting longer, but it kills me to see her… in that horrible state.

Like every morning, I briefly consider going straight over the cliff overlooking the sharp turn leading up to the lab, and out of a selfish desire for self-preservation, I make the turn just as I always do. I honestly wish I could commit suicide: it would save Bea a lifetime of pain, but I think I'm too cowardly to do even that.

Turning on the radio doesn't help much: a group of unregistered preds got put down by a SWAT team in East L.A. when one started swallowing a hostage. No fatalities outside of the rogue group. At least they get coverage. People like me would be lucky to get a fifteen second blip on a local news station. Nobody wants to think about us, painting homes red with the blood of entire families, incapable of even remembering our actions.

Maybe I'm lucky to have Bea then, but she has to endure the things I do again, and again, and again. I managed to hold down breakfast and push those thoughts away. Had to put on a smile for the gate guard.

Work helps a bit in keeping my mind free, which is odd given what I do. For couples who don't have the benefit of being born predators, ActaCorp provides reduction pills to gradually shrink an individual's body down to a manageable size so the pair can experience vore much like the stars flaunting their mostly-natural abilities on TV: clean and relatively painless for all involved. Even shrunk down to between two and five inches, asphyxiation tends to put out a 'donor' long before digestion can start doing serious damage.

For whatever reason, the thought of swallowing someone whole does nothing for me. Whatever creature is living inside me doesn't really care so much about sustenance as it does destroying all life nearby when it gets the chance to cut loose. Subjects for the day were three men and two women at various stages in the reduction process. They were all testing a new variant of the pill meant to not only work faster, but also facilitate mental absorption by the designated predator instead of mere digestion. To avoid potential issues of attachment on the part of researchers, code names are used by the subjects and their partners.

The odd serenity that donor individuals tend to express always seemed alien in my admittedly biased eyes. They don't suffer any pain worth noting, and only experience ingestion once. It just seems… dishonest when one considers how nature tends to work.
It came time for one male, Charlie-35, to participate in a final test with his partner, another male referred to a P-Oscar-91. 35 had been reading a selection of classical literature that 91 had never been exposed to: Ulysses, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (how anyone hasn't read that book is beyond me), and Lolita (not sure that was a great choice with regards to actual investment in the material, but I don't make the selection). Both partners were damn near ecstatic at finally being able to do what they desired, even if both had to have countless sensors attached to their bodies for the sake of data collection.

Dr. Carter was observing the experiment with me, monitoring the readouts while I worked with the subjects themselves on final prep.

Ingestion went smoothly, and as 91 relaxed, enjoying the steadily diminishing wriggling of 35 within him (an almost ubiquitous request of the host to the donor is for some squirming, after exposure to vorarephile-centered media) we both waited and watched behind one-way mirrors. Carter seemed irritated for some reason, and I figured there was some unappealing data scrolling across the screens, but for the life of me couldn't figure out what was wrong. Brainwave patterns in host and donor were showing the ideal call-and-response pattern we were looking for.

"Is something wrong with the data, Sam?"

"Oh no, the data's fine. It's the damned fags it's coming from. I pushed for only testing heterosexual couples so the pill wouldn't get approval for use by them." The last word was accompanied by a point of the chin and acid just as strong as the stuff working on 35. The surprise of hearing him talk like that was briefly replaced by anger. For a moment, I could see in the infrared spectrum, warning me to get control of myself before things got unpleasant for Dr. Carter.

"How exactly would failure to test on same-sex couples ensure that the pill wouldn't be prescribed to them?" Staying calm in the face of the ludicrously out-of-place strawman was the only way I could think of to stay in control. The question wasn't very well thought-out in regards to that purpose.

"Same as the original pill, really. Lack of testing would hurt prescriber confidence in issuing the pill. Obviously things didn't go according to plan, but luckily it's just you and I in the room, right?"

"What are you suggesting, Sam?" I could hear the growling start to rise up in my ears, but I chose not to go the intelligent route and flee the room.

"I'm not suggesting anything, Amanda. You don't have to do a single thing but leave the room and wait a few minutes for me to send the correct data: data that indicates how very inadvisable it would be to prescribe this dangerous pill to same-sex couples. I mean, it isn't even working, right?"

An out presented itself, but not the one Dr. Carter was suggesting. I seized the opportunity to damn his plans, kicking his chair to the side of the rooms and quickly setting to work sending the results to their proper destination, unedited and unmolested. He tried to stop me, but I had the advantage of some not-unimpressive strength provided by the thing scratching to get out from inside me to hold the bigot at bay.

The victory helped me get through the rest of the day, but the thought of working with him again, as well as knowing that a homophobe with power was still working from inside the system to advance his outdated ends was aggravating. More infuriating was the fact that I had no ammunition to use against the senior researcher: he had turned off the recording devices during out chat, unsure if he would need to protect himself from reproach.

By the time I got home, I had pretty much given up on controlling myself. Bea saw the animal warping my features, and rushed down to the basement. I followed, hunger ready to escape and work its' way out of my body. It was to be a long night.