Going HomeNSFW
(Never finished) Aileen craves to find a home in a stomach. Gwyn offers her a temporary stay.
Aileen sits atop the wall, shivering in her heavy coat and boots, watching the other girls in the quad go about their days.
Sayuri walks by. From the sounds of it, she's midway through chatting with some of her friends, chuckling about all the weight she's gained from Irene. "You know, I was expecting the extra insulation. And I appreciate it. But not fitting in any of my bras anymore? That part was for sure a shocker."
"Hey, it wasn't my choice either!" Irene says, blushing hotly.
Elena moans, rubbing her face in her hands. "God, I want someone to make my bras not fit anymore. Drooling and fantasizing and releasing prey is just not enough. I want to feel that... sweet, melting moment... Just when she becomes mine..."
A heavy shiver runs through Aileen. She wants it too. The warmth of a contented body all around her, a head-to-toe embrace, the knowledge that her taste was enjoyed and that she was filling and satisfying, a meal worthy of her predator, the sensation of losing herself to another's body... The comfort of knowing that no matter how many times she melts, she'll reform again by the side of the one who chose to claim her.
She closes her eyes, shivering again as a sharp wind blows right through her. Ah, winter is the worst season... If only she could go straight from fall to spring...
"Having fun?" Gwyn asks, settling down on the wall beside her. The tall, lithe elven girl is surprisingly unbothered by the cold for how thin she is.
Aileen shrugs, looking up at her companion. She places one mittened hand on Gwyn's leg. "Eh... having some feelings."
"Want to talk?" Gwyn returns the sentiment, placing her own gloved hand over Aileen's.
"... Can I go for a ride?" Aileen asks, leaning her head against Gwyn's shoulder.
Gwyn nods, getting to her feet and taking Aileen's hand to help her up. "Sure, I have some time before dinner. Let's get inside and get you undressed."
...
...
...
Aileen strips off her winter clothes one by one while Gwyn watches patiently. Toss the mittens aside, unbuckle the boots and slip out of them, toss the socks down, peel off the heavy jeans and the thick leggings beneath them, open her coat and toss it down, pull the sweatshirt over her head, unbutton her blouse... Gwyn's the perfect predator in this way. Not rushing her, like some of the girls whose stomachs she's ridden in, nor judging her - ogling her or leering at her naked form - like others.
Vulnerable and shivering, the naked Aileen offers her trembling hands to the graceful Gwyn, who takes them in