The sidewalk seemed to vibrate from the heavy bass beat coming from the club. The Deep Throat it was called, and it was very exclusive. So exclusive that the owners had taken to employing a group of taurs as bouncers, mostly squirrels. One such squirreltaur was Jit. He stood at the roped-off entrance to the Deep Throat, clipboard in hand, eying the long line of hopefuls waiting to get inside.
 
He wore a spiked collar around his throat and an open leather jacket with a neon green acorn symbol on the back. He also wore a special suit that all the Deep Throat's bouncers wore, a full body suit that left only the head and tail bare. It was form-fitted, so tight that it actually showed off the taur's cock and sheath which bulged outwards and hung down, attracting more than a few glances from some of the people waiting in line. Jit didn't mind.
 
Rough black fingerless gloves on Jit's hands made grabbing rowdy customers easy and all four of his feet were covered with heavy leather soles that had openings for Jit's pawpads. The suit's more curious features included a handful of strategically-placed zippers - one just underneath the hole for the tail at the rear and one along the suit's sheath. The only part of the suit that wasn't black was the belly. This was a sort of off-tan color, and said "jail" on either side of the taur's ponderous belly. Most people, observing it, thought it a mere joke. You acted up, you got put "in jail," i.e. Jit's stomach, that sort of thing. If only they knew the truth, thought Jit! Some did. None told. Either because they were too scared to tell, or because, well...
 
The owners knew. But it wasn't something that got discussed often, obviously.
 
Jit spoke to a young, regular squirrel with red hair and glasses. Checked his ID. He was on the list and of drinking age, so the taur unhooked the velvet rope and admitted his fellow squirrel after returning his ID to him, then refastened the barrier that kept everyone from entering without his sayso and turned to address the next applicant, a rabbit. Another redhead with glasses, too, in fact. He was dressed in a black shirt, loose slacks and large loafers custom-fitted for his big bunny feet.
 
"Name?" Jit asked tiredly. It was almost his breaktime.
 
"Bill," replied the rabbit.
 
Jit perused the list. No variant of that name appeared. "Sorry, but you're not on the list, sir," he said, blandly but politely.
 
The rabbit looked annoyed. "I'm a friend of David Putter's," he insisted.
 
Jit recognized the name. David Putter was a cheetah who came to the Deep Throat every weekend. Unfortunately for this rabbit, simply knowing a regular didn't automatically get you entry. He sighed and looked at the digital clock on the side of the building. Breaktime. His stomach grumbled. He was hungry. He almost turned to leave, but another token protest from the rabbit stopped him.
 
"Come on, man," Bill insisted, gently. He wasn't usually one for clubbing, but some friends at work, David included, had suggested he give the Deep Throat a try. "Help a guy out."
 
Jit paused and smirked. Bill hadn't been rude or anything, but he'd made the mistake of speaking up at just the wrong time. The squirreltaur now had a pretty good idea of what his breaktime snack was gonna be. He turned back to the rabbit.
 
"Identification, please," he said with all the emotion of a state trooper, and with a slightly sinister smirk to match. He held out a huge gloved hand.
 
With a sigh, Bill took out his ID card and handed it to Jit, who pretended to study it carefully and then rumbled. "I'm sorry, sir," he said matter-of-factly, "we don't allow any underage drinking in the Deep Throat."
 
"Underage?" cried Bill, surprised. "I'm thirty! It says so right there on my ID!"
 
"For all I know, this could be a fake," insisted Jit, waving the little lamenated card in question in the air for emphasis.
 
Bill, mindful of making a scene, shuffled in place in a mixture of anger and growing unease. He turned and looked at the people waiting behind him, then said to Jit, "Is there somewhere private we can discuss this?"
 
"Sure," said Jit. He summoned another taur bouncer over - this one an alligator - to take his place, handed him the clipboard and then gestured to the rabbit. "Please accompany me into the security booth, sir."
 
Without bothering to return the rabbit's ID, the taur turned and plodded off around the side of the building. Bill followed him as the gatortaur took up the slack of admitting or refusing entrants. The security booth was a hopelessly small little office just off the main building. It opened into the club, but that door was currently shut. The only things in the room were a rickety metal chair and a desk. The taur gestured for Bill to enter ahead of him, and the rabbit sat down in the chair, crossing his arms indignantly.
 
The taur squeezed through the door and joined him. His massive form just about took up the entire room, making the rabbit feel slightly claustrophobic. "Now, are you certain you're thirty?" he said, still holding the ID. "I mean, this could be a fake. A really good fake, but a fake nonetheless."
 
 
"I am!" Bill insisted angrily. He couldn't help it that he looked young for his age. At least, he thought he did. Why else would this big four-legged lummox think his ID was phony? "And it isn't a fake!"
 
"No need to get all riled up, sir," Jit replied, holding up a gloved hand in a placating gesture, the very picture of calm, cool and collected whilst the rabbit he'd waylaid was becoming increasingly nervous and agitated. He spent a moment examining the ID, or pretending to, anyway, before returning it to its owner. "Sorry," he said apologetically, "but I'm afraid that suspicious IDs need to be reported to the police..."
 
 
"The police?" The rabbit fidgeted in the chair, no longer angry, now, but nervous. "I, uh, well..."
 
"Yep." The taur grinned. It was a rather frightening thing to witness - a big toothy grin on a squirrel, even a taur, that looked oddly predatory. "But that's normal procedure, and I'm not really what you might call one for 'normal procedure.' I think we can let this little incident slide."
 
Bill sighed. It was getting stuffy in the tiny room with the very big, very male taur. He nodded. "I, uh, I'd appreciate that..." He was still dully angry at this whole thing, but whatever would get him out of here and fast was okay by him.
 
"So does anyone know you're here?" asked Jit.
 
It seemed like a perfectly innocent question, and so Bill saw no reason not to answer it. "No... nobody does... except my friend David, but he's either already inside waiting for me or didn't come..."
 
The taur grinned again, softer this time. All alone, eh? Perfect. It'd be easy enough to deal with him, then. He flicked his tail and rumbled softly. "Okay then, sir, let's go ahead and get you outta here."
 
He shifted his jacket and cracked his neck to hide the sounds of his jaws stretching in preparation.
 
"Now I'm gonna need you to relax..." said the taur.
 
"Relax?" asked Bill. "How come?"
 
Jit didn't reply. He stepped in, looming over the smaller rabbit with his frame and raising a hand as if to seize him... but instead he gripped the back of Bill's shirt and sharply tugged. The shirt vanished as if by magic. Bill felt a tugging sensation for a second and heard a ripping sound, then suddenly he stood shirtless. He gasped as buttons jingled to the floor and his destroyed shirt dangled above his head, flapping in tatters from the taur's paw. Before he could even think of protesting, off came his pants in a similar fashion. He now sat there in just his underwear, socks and shoes.
 
"What are you doing...?!"
 
"Letting you slide... right down inside me."
 
Relaxing was difficult for the rabbit, to say the least! He chewed his lower lip. He felt his underpants tenting a little. Was he... getting a little turned on? He was! This despite the fact that the foremost thing in his mind, regarding the taur's motivations, was that he was about to be raped, but he didn't yell for help for fear of angering him. Besides. He was being gentle, his words kind and soothing. Maybe--
 
He heard the wet cracking noise above him and with a glance upward he beheld a great gaping black hole. Suddenly he felt himself being lifted up, up, up, towards the hole which he realized was a wide-open mouth. He saw buck teeth, dark curves, a ridged palate, a tongue at the very bottom, flexible cheeks and all the teeth loning the edge. He realized with growing surprise he was about to get up and close and personal with a squirreltaur's mouth!
 
Any further protestations - a meek little cry of "Hey, wait!" could briefly me made out as his bespectacled face was smooshed into the squirreltaur's saliva-dripping tongue - were muffled as he was unceremoniously crammed into that maw. His skinny body flailed helplessly, legs kicking in the air. The rabbit didn't exactly want to look at the details of the mouth, understandably, fascninating though they were, but he was too terrified of that yawning dark abyss otherwise known as the esophagus, of being swallowed up and lost in that impenetrable darkness that beckoned to him, to close his eyes.
 
His bulging, fear-filled gaze took in every detail of the bouncer's mouth consuming him, glasses slipping off. He watched helplessly as they slid off the back of the tongue and vanished down the gullet with a barely audible little "glorp," and then it was his turn. Jit leaned back up and tossed his head back, slipping his tongue between Bill's legs and pushing back. A slick gulp suddenly pulls the rabbit's head down into tight, unbearably-warm, slick darkness. Bill finally shut his eyes, tightly, as he was swallowed, his red-haired head being claimed by the throat.
 
The taur's throat squeezed down around the prey's body with each thick gwlurp. Pressure surrounded Bill, pressing in against him as his body was pulled deep inside the bouncer's throat. It was impossible to resist the slimy pull of the throat walls, especially when his chest slid over the back of the taur's tongue as well. Resist Bill did. Or at least he tried, anyway. His body just wasn't quite ready to give up the struggle. Jit didn't hold it against him. He understood. It didn't make him want to swallow the bunny any less, though. The taur gave little jerky tosses of his head to make sure Bill kept sliding back, lapping at the delectable flavor and letting the excess drool flow, soaking into the lapine's fur to slicken him up for the journey downwards.
 
Bill's mind was a jumble. At least the taur let him keep keep his modesty, or some semblance of it, as his underwear-clad bottom and the inexplicable erection swaddled in the underwear vanished out of sight. All too soon the rabbit's legs were sliding back along the curve of the taur's tongue. Soon all that remained were his feet in their shoes, slapping wetly against the tongue, a wad of chewing gum stuck to one sole. Then the constant lunging swallows claimed those, too. The taur clicked his jaws back into position, leaving him diving down the slimy, slick esophageal slide of the taur's throat. The shape of the rabbit made an entertaining bulge down the front of the taur's body.
 
Picking fuzz out of his teeth, the taur hummed and gathered up Bill's clothes, picking up every button, while the squirming bulge slid around the bend in his throat and came to rest near the front of his underbelly, where his first stomach was. The rabbit was squeezed out into this chamber, which smelled of alcohol and snacks Jit had ingested earlier. Immediately, the walls squeezed in against him, powerful churns massaging the prey, softening him up as well as grinding all over him. Bill tried to thrash and struggle in his fleshy prison, but found the walls clenched around him too tightly. The churning sensations filled him with dread. His erection was forgotten about and eventually subsided. The rabbit knew what was in store for him unless he got out somehow.
 
Amidst the squish and squelch of slimy stomach walls crushing him, the low thumps of the club music grow. It seemed the taur had left the cramped booth now that his break was over. Rather than retake his post at the Deep Throat's entrance, he entered the club itself. Hearing the muffled music, the rabbit started yelling as loud as he could for help.
 
"Help! Somebody help me! I've been eaten! Get me outta here!"
 
Unfortunately, between the taur's bulky frame plus the loudness of the music, the rabbit was going quite unnoticed. He screamed himself hoarse to no effect before he was smushed and massaged into the second stomach, slipping in with buttery smoothness due to the slime coating his nearly nude form. Realizing he was in another chamber, he whimpered and suddenly remembered what he had been taught about taurs the one time they'd come up in his biology classes in high school many years ago, and realized he was in the second stomach. Taurs had three stomachs. It was the third one he needed to worry about. The second was just to keep him in storage until the third was ready.
 
Realizing he had a chance to survive before he got to the third stomach, he renewed his efforts to be seen or heard, thrashing desperately and fiercely and shrieking for help almost nonstop despite his throat already being sore. But the layers of taur surrounding him, plus the loud music and other noises, prevented him from being heard. And although his feeble struggles did make noticeable bulges, and customers did ogle the big taur bouncer and his unique form, the constantly strobing lights changing the shadows and contours of the bouncer's body ensured that any bulge or ripple made by the rabbit inside were taken to be an effect of the constantly changing lighting and thus of no consequence whatsoever. And he couldn't keep up the struggles for very long. Thrashing against the stomach walls crushing in around him was making his arms and legs sore.
 
As the evening wound on, Jit sprawled out with his back against the wall, feral half laying down, with an admirer rubbing over the swell where the tired rabbit was. It was hard to hear exact words from that deep inside, but Bill could hear the deep chuckles every once in a while. His "caretaker" was having fun, at least. Also imbibing a bit of alcohol, if the warm liquid joining the belly with him was any indication. He was gradually losing the battle against the squirreltaur's body, and his time was drawing nearer. He couldn't yell anymore, just hoarsely whisper. Nor could he struggle any further, having foolishly expended his energy in struggling right away, as he realized with cruel irony that now that he could potentially be seen squirming inside, he had no strength left to squirm with.
 
So he surrendered himself to the taur's depths. Once you got right down to it, it was kinda comfy.
 
Closing time approached. When the taur hoisted himself back to his feet, the rabbit's slickened body effortlessly slid into the second inner tunnel, squeezed along for a few moments. Into the third and final stomach the rabbit's thoroughly spent body was squeezed and dumped, where the acids quickly starting making short work of him. He'd surrendered at this point, so he didn't really care one way or the other. He slowly met his fate in that roiling fleshy chamber, slowly melted down into a smouldering hot pile of nurtrient-rich goop that would indeed keep the big guy fueled for some time. He quickly embraced the darkness and let it take him, and eventually, he was gone, mind, body and everything else. His underwear was eaten up, but the leather of his loafers resisted strongly. The taur wouldn't have to spend any money for snacks for a while, that's for sure.
 
A rippling fart tore through Jit and he grunted. Time to visit the restroom. First things first, though. He disposed of the rabbit's belongings. A low, muffled glurging noise comes from his underbelly as the rabbit's remains siphoned through, draining out of the third stomach and processing in the taur's bowels. Showing himself through the double-wide-double-tall Staff Only door, he whistled as he sauntered down the back hallway, rear swaying, tail flicked up, lower belly sloshing with what little remained in his stomach.
 
He walked into the bathrooms, past the stalls, and into the taur-sized stall, shutting the door behind him and reaching back to reach the zipper beneath his tail. After he unzipped down to his underbelly, his bare rear sat down on the toilet seat. Aaaah, felt good to get the suit off. He flicked his tail around a few times, before feeling the pressure moving through his bowels.
 
With a low release of wind, the taur let the first few logs drop down into the water, a dull splashing as turds and bones hit the water. Bleached, broken bones joined the thick chunks of post-meal in the toilet, while the taur kept his tail held up high to keep anything from sticking in his fur. Eventually, he squeezed out two shit-stained loafers, the last bits of his meal for the night. Getting up off the toilet seat, the automatic taur-rear-wiper cleaed the last bits of turd from his tailhole, dropping it atop the mess in the toilet. It didn't take much more than a step on the floor switch to send the whole mess spiraling down into the piping, while the taur zipped his suit back up, feeling about sixteen pounds lighter
 
The End