It was an ordinary afternoon at Kazehaya High School, the sun dipping low over the horizon, casting long shadows across the courtyard. The art club room was quiet, save for the occasional snicker from Hayase Nagatoro as she lounged on a stool, her sharp eyes glinting with mischief. Senpai had stepped out to grab supplies from the storage room across campus, leaving Nagatoro alone—or so she thought. Today, however, something felt different. A strange, primal hunger gnawed at her, bubbling up from deep within, one she couldn’t quite explain. It wasn’t for snacks or the usual thrill of teasing her favorite target. No, this was something darker, something wild, a craving that pulsed through her veins like a predator’s instinct awakened after years of dormancy.
 
The door creaked open, shattering the stillness, and in walked three female students from the neighboring class: Miki, a bubbly cheerleader with a loud laugh that grated on Nagatoro’s nerves; Hana, a shy bookworm who clutched her novels like a shield, avoiding eye contact; and Rina, a confident track star with a competitive streak and a swagger that begged to be humbled. They’d come to borrow some paint for a group project, their chatter filling the room as they stepped inside, unaware of the predator sizing them up from the corner, her lips curling into a wicked smirk.
 
“Hey, Nagatoro,” Miki chirped, her voice bouncing off the walls, oblivious to the glint in the tanned girl’s eyes. “Senpai around? We need some stuff for our project—red paint, blue paint, you know, the works.”
 
Nagatoro grinned, her canines flashing like tiny daggers. “Oh, he’s out. Poor Senpai, always running errands. But I can help you girls.” Her voice dripped with mockery, her usual teasing tone laced with something sinister, a venomous edge that made the air feel heavier. She hopped off the stool, stretching dramatically, her school uniform hugging her lithe frame as she rolled her shoulders with a crack. “How about a little game first? You three look like you could use some fun.”
 
Before they could protest, Nagatoro’s demeanor shifted. Her eyes narrowed to slits, and a strange, almost otherworldly aura pulsed from her, rippling through the room like a heatwave. The air grew thick, oppressive, and the three girls froze, their instincts screaming that something was wrong. Very wrong. Miki’s laugh faltered, Hana’s books trembled in her hands, and Rina’s confident stance wavered as Nagatoro took a slow, deliberate step forward.
 
Nagatoro’s grin widened as she sauntered toward Miki, her movements fluid and predatory, like a panther stalking prey. “You’re so loud all the time, Miki-chan. Let’s see how quiet you can be now.” Without warning, she grabbed the cheerleader by the shoulders, her strength uncanny, far beyond what her small frame suggested. Miki yelped, a shrill “Eek!”, but her voice was cut off as Nagatoro’s hips swayed with a taunting wiggle, and with a bizarre, almost cartoonish stretch, her skirt hiked up, revealing her bare lower half. The impossible happened—her body contorted, and with a wet squelch, she pulled Miki downward, engulfing her headfirst into her anal cavity.
 
“W-what the hell?!” Rina shouted, stumbling back into a table, knocking over a jar of brushes with a clatter, while Hana dropped her books with a thud, her eyes wide with terror. Miki’s muffled screams echoed as her arms flailed, her legs kicking wildly in the air, her cheerleader sneakers squeaking against the floor. Nagatoro moaned mockingly, exaggerating her pleasure with a drawn-out “Mmm~” as she flexed her muscles, drawing Miki deeper with a juicy slurp. The cheerleader’s torso vanished, her skirt tearing with a rip as she was sucked in up to her thighs. With one final, exaggerated shlurp, Miki’s sneakers disappeared, leaving only a faint pop as the last of her was sealed inside.
 
Nagatoro patted her now-bulging abdomen with a thwap, the faint outline of Miki’s curled-up form visible beneath her taut skin, squirming faintly. “Mmm, not bad! You’re squirming a lot in there, huh? So gross~” She giggled, her voice dripping with sadistic delight as she turned to the other two, letting out a small, wet burp—urp—as her stomach shifted to accommodate its new occupant. The air carried a faint whiff of Miki’s fruity perfume, now tainted with a sour edge.
 
Hana whimpered, backing into a wall with a thump, her glasses slipping down her nose, while Rina clenched her fists, her knuckles whitening. “You freak! Let her out!” the track star yelled, lunging forward with a whoosh of air. But Nagatoro was faster. She spun around, her skirt fluttering like a cape, and caught Rina mid-stride, her hands clamping down like vices. Rina’s muscular legs thrashed as she was pulled in with a loud squelch, her protests fading into gurgles as Nagatoro’s body stretched unnaturally to swallow her second meal. The room filled with wet, grotesque sounds—slorp, squish—as Rina joined Miki inside the cramped, churning prison of Nagatoro’s gut, a soft frrt escaping as gas bubbled up from the effort.
 
Hana, trembling like a leaf, tried to bolt for the door, her sneakers squeaking with a skid on the polished floor, but Nagatoro pounced like a cat, pinning her to the ground with a thud. “Aw, don’t run, little bookworm! You’re the dessert~” With cruel precision, she sat on Hana’s face, engulfing her head in one swift slorp. The shy girl’s muffled sobs were drowned out by the rhythmic clenching of Nagatoro’s muscles—squeeze, squish—pulling her in inch by inch until only her twitching fingers remained, scraping the floor with a scritch, then nothing as a final shlup marked her end.
 
Nagatoro stood, her uniform now stretched tight over a grotesquely swollen belly that writhed with the shapes of her three victims, bulging and shifting with every frantic movement inside. She smirked, peeling off her clothes entirely with a rustle, tossing the shredded fabric aside to stand naked in the dim light, her tanned skin gleaming. “Too tight,” she muttered, running her hands over the squirming mass with a slap. “Time to melt you losers down.”
 
Her stomach growled ominously, a deep, wet grrrgle that shook the room, followed by a loud blorp as digestion kicked in. Inside, Miki, Rina, and Hana fought desperately, their muffled cries blending into a cacophony of panic—“Mmph! H-help!”—barely audible through the thick flesh. Nagatoro flopped onto a chair with a creak, legs spread wide, and let out a teasing laugh. “Keep wiggling! It feels so good~” Her digestive system roared to life, secreting acidic fluids that burned through their clothes with a hiss and softened their forms with a glorp. The outlines in her belly grew less distinct, the sharp edges of limbs smoothing out as the girls succumbed, their struggles slowing with every churn.
 
The process was slow and deliberate, a cruel symphony of destruction. Miki’s loud personality faded first, her struggles weakening as she dissolved into a thick sludge with a glorp and a faint bubble. Rina’s athletic frame held out longer, her fists pounding against the fleshy walls with a thump-thump until they too softened, her strength melting away with a gurgling slosh. Hana, frail and quiet, was the last to go, her whimpers fading into silence as her body broke down completely with a soft blub and a final sizzle. Nagatoro’s belly shrank gradually, the bulges flattening as her prey was reduced to a nutrient-rich soup sloshing within her with a splash.
 
Every few minutes, a loud gurgle or blorp punctuated the air, accompanied by Nagatoro’s taunts. “Wow, you’re really pathetic, huh? Turning into mush already?” She pressed on her stomach with a squish, coaxing out a particularly noisy churn and a wet burp—bwarp—that rattled the windows. Then came the gas. A low, rumbling pffft escaped her, followed by a rancid stench that made her wrinkle her nose. “Ugh, gross! You girls stink even worse on the way out!” She shifted in her seat, letting out another frrrt as her body processed the trio, the air growing thick with the sour, meaty odor of digestion.
 
Hours passed, the clock ticking away as Nagatoro lounged, her body working tirelessly. Her belly was flat again, her skin glowing with a strange vitality, though her hips and chest seemed slightly fuller—a mocking trophy of her conquest. She stretched lazily, cracking her knuckles with a pop-pop, then smirked. “Time to dump you losers.”
 
She squatted in the corner of the art room, her naked form glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, the floor cool against her bare feet. With a grunt and a plop, she began the disposal. The first to emerge was a thick, coiled mass—Miki’s remains, dense and dark, flecked with bits of her melted cheerleader uniform, hitting the floor with a wet splat. Nagatoro wrinkled her nose as the acrid smell wafted up, pushing again with a frrrt that echoed off the walls. “So loud in life, so heavy coming out,” she muttered, her voice laced with disdain.
 
Next came Rina, her athletic frame reduced to a smoother, more uniform pile, streaked with hints of her track shorts’ red fabric, landing with a heavy thud. The disposal was punctuated by a loud, wet frrrt, a fart that reverberated as Nagatoro laughed. “Pfft, still trying to run, huh? Too late!” She shifted her stance with a creak, letting the pile grow, the stench now a mix of digested protein and synthetic fibers, another pffft slipping out as she adjusted.
 
Finally, Hana’s remains emerged, softer and smaller, almost pitiful in their simplicity, dropping with a quiet plip followed by a squelch. A few strands of her hair and fragments of her glasses were visible in the mess, sinking into the pile as Nagatoro finished with a satisfied sigh and a final, triumphant pfft. She stood, wiping her hands on a nearby rag with a swipe, and surveyed her work: a steaming, grotesque heap of what had once been three vibrant girls, now nothing but waste, the air thick with the reek of their demise.
 
“Pathetic,” she said, kicking the pile lightly with her bare foot, a soft squish accompanying the motion. “Guess you weren’t worth keeping around.” She grabbed a mop from the closet with a clank, lazily smearing the mess into a corner with a slosh where it’d dry and fade into the shadows, then sauntered back to her stool, humming a tune. The room reeked, a miasma of digestion and disposal hanging heavy, but she didn’t care. Senpai would be back soon, oblivious to the chaos she’d wrought, and she’d have a new game to play—one he’d never suspect.
 
And so, Nagatoro lounged, naked and triumphant, her cruel feast complete, waiting for her next chance to toy with someone—preferably someone less disposable. She kicked her feet up onto a table with a thump, letting out one last burp—urp—as a final taunt to the girls she’d consumed, their echoes long gone.