Willow let out a frustrated sigh.

“Now look. I get it. You don’t want to give up hope.”

She shifted her haunches uncomfortably, looking down at the shifting, writhing bulge in the lower part of her upper abdomen. It had been twenty minutes now.

“You don’t want to accept that you’re just meat now. I understand. I wouldn’t either!”

The only response was a muffled scream from beneath Willow’s fur. She couldn’t make out any words. She knew it was very unlikely that her meal could make out what she was saying, either.

She kept talking anyway.

“But you’re just in too deep,” she continued. “There’s no way you’re getting back out now.”

Willow groaned as the bulge kept writhing. She knew this had been a bad idea. This meal was way too big for her. A fox her size should stick to mice and bunnies. They would curl up nicely in her gut.

Not like this dog. She had looked delicious, sure, and she was smaller than Willow overall, convincing the fox that she would be able to take her. But she was big enough to brace her knees in the fox’s stomach, and from the shape of the bulges, it looked (and felt) like she had also wedged her elbows in the tight tunnel leading there.

Willow worked up a mouthful of saliva, then braced herself and swallowed, a rippling motion that traveled all the way down her upper body. Her throat tightened uncomfortably around the canine, and she heard another muffled scream, and felt another round of squirms. But her meal remained stubbornly in place, refusing to go all the way down.

“Ugh,” Willow said, letting out a frustrated huff. “Look, there really are only two ways this can go. Either you stay wedged like that until your legs are digested, and then I get to finish up the rest of you.”

Willow wrinkled her nose. That was not an appealing idea. Her anatomy was such that she could breath just fine like this, but that might take days, and having something wedged in her lower throat was extremely uncomfortable. And she didn’t even want to think about the acid reflux it would cause!

“Or.” Willow huffed again. “Or I could really swallow hard, and probably break at least one of your arms.”

She waited. No movement. Had the dog been able to understand her? Was she going to let herself slip down peacefully?

Then the squirming started again, accompanied by more muffled protests.

Willow sighed, then she got up and sauntered toward the kitchen. She had some ice cream in the freezer – maybe some dessert would help flush her meal down. And chances were that Willow wouldn’t actually have to do anything – the canine would eventually just get too tired, and then she could force her to her final destination.

But if that didn’t happen soon, Willow was going to have to take some action, and her meal was not going to like it.

Happy Vore Day, everyone! I didn't have the time or energy to make something specifically for the day this year, but here's a story and picture I've had on my backlog for a little while.