CONTROL
 
by Bitter
 
 
She is in control. Though every indicator screams to the contrary, her command over the situation is absolute. The wilderness is, by its very definition, untamed and free, but this thicket of trees is her court and this sun-soaked rock is her throne. Despite its rough and knottled texture, she lies upon it as if it were a bed with satin sheets, perfectly at ease, even smiling as the sun slowly bakes her naked body. There is no clothing to be seen, neither on her nor around her, recently discarded. She has thrown off the trappings of civilization; she has returned to a state of purest nature. Here she is not Man, the beast that twists the Earth to its will; instead, she is merely a woman, a lone female mammal temporarily delighting in the light's warmth. Yet even bare, even motionless her presence is impossible to ignore. She has laid her arms above her head, palms clasped together, so that she forms a single unbroken line. With her shoulders rolled back, her prominent breasts swell outward into the still forest air, proclaiming her fertility to an invisible audience. Their generous flesh lies with the same ponderous weight and gentle ease as their owner upon the chest that supports them; their only motion is a gentle rise and fall with her breath. Only the occasional twitch within her slender belly gives the slightest hint as to the thoughts concealed by her smiling, shut-eyed face, thoughts which must be entirely incongruous with her position, for at this very moment, she is being swallowed whole by a giant snake.
 
It has only just begun, but the outcome is already clear. The python, an emerald-scaled, amber-eyed monster, has bitten her wrists. Small flecks of blood appear where her capillaries stray too close to the surface, but still she smiles and still she lies still. Sanity would dictate that she scream and fight, but she is in control. The snake was drawn to her against its will, or rather without consciousness. Instinct drove it to pursue the source of the scent it had tasted, instinct had demanded that it investigate the warm, fleshy body that was within the comfortable sunlight of this clearing, and instinct had commanded it to feed. But she had come here of her own volition. She had chosen this place, and she now chose to allow the python's teeth to seek purchase lower on her arms. She was neither taken nor given, merely present. The snake fed, and she was eaten. But despite her subservient role, it was she who led the dance. She had known what her presence here would lead to; she had known that the beast would be drawn to her. In placing her body just so, she had commanded it to come and take her. Helplessly it did her bidding; enslaved by its own nature, it obeys her one and only order: to devour her.
 
Her arms are gently stretching out the snake's throat, easily sliding in as the reptile chews along the length of her arms. The animal's teeth claw at her biceps, starting to widen now that they broaden to the length of her shoulders. The barbs at the tip of its snout shift through the roots of her brown hair, gaining purchase on her scalp for further progress. Still she makes no move in resistance, letting the python take all it will. Her eyes are closed, as they have been for hours; the python affects no change by working its lip over them. The snake experiences no difficulty in working its flesh over her face; broadened already by the span of her arms, the mere bump of her nose is no trouble. As her mouth slips into her devourer's own, her chest expands with a sharpened breath. All of her senses now lie inside the snake's mouth; she has smelled the distant stench of its stomach and tasted the bitter flavor of the saliva that is making her passage inward easier. But her gasp is subdued, a mere inevitability of her animal mind. She stifles it, minimizes it. She is still in control.
 
The python bites into her armpits, at last finishing off what it began at her fingertips. Her arms are gone, subsumed by snakeskin, never again to return to the outside world. Without ever being touched, her neck follows the parts of her that have already been swallowed, and gains only a bare glaze of saliva to ease its passage. Her collarbone succumbs, the last trivial obstacle before the python's first great challenge. Twin mountains tower before the snake's insensate eyes, daring it to brave them, tempting it with the feast they represent. Two jawbones grapple with the intimidating fatty flesh of her breasts, supported from below by their fellows, between them all dragging the snake upward and along them. The snake gulps mightily, its jaws cast forward by fractions of an inch at a time. All the while, the contact, the pressure that tamps down her skin and excites the nerves beneath it is inspiring another involuntary response. But this one she cultivates and encourages. Her nipples harden, her chest reddens as heat pours out of her quickening heart. This feeling is pleasant, and she opens up every inch of her body to it. It flows throughout her, quickly reaching the extremities of her toes, still free in the warm forest air, and her fingertips, buried deep within thick, undulating flesh. Her muscles tense and twitch as arousal builds within her, but her pleasure grows as she wills it to. She spurs it on as her bosom finally relents, compacting their nerves into as small a space as her fat will allow and sliding inside. Gently she grinds her nipples against the snake's pallet, drawing as much titillation from its insides as she is able without startling it into stopping.
 
She moans. It is a risk, but it is what she wants to do. It is a soft sound, in a low register, a gentle affirmation to no-one in particular. She feels the quickness and sharpness of the rumble in her chest in stark contrast to the slow, rhythmic, crushing forces of the snake's swallows. Every wave draws her body further in, massaging her chest and back in delightful ways. She can feel the snake's teeth pricking at her belly. She allows it to squirm reflexively, letting the python know that its meal is still alive. But the snake is undeterred, as she knew it would be. She is not fighting; she does not need to. Now the beast's teeth tear at her ass, facing down the next pair of ripened offerings. As she wills it, the snake pulls itself over her cheeks, gaining the warm, delicious cleft that rests above them as it does so. She feels the creature's saliva trickling down into her womanhood, adding another kind of fluid to her folds. Her juices mix with that of the snake's, the two lubricants for the two orifices commingling in her place of pleasure. But the snake is uninterested in pleasing her; she never asked it to be. It is only concerned with having more of her. It swells around her hips, stretching incredibly but clearly up to the task.
 
As the snake rounds the bends of her hips and crests the fleshy curves of her butt, it is clear that the snake will devour her entirely. Not because it is large enough, but because her legs make no move to prevent it. They could twist, they could bend, they could flail, they could do anything to be more difficult to swallow. But instead, they lie straight, a perfect linear continuation of the rest of her. Even as the snake lifts its head to swallow her, they stay rigid. She is not merely unresisting, she is complicit. She wants to be taken, she wants to be swallowed. Still she retains control. The throat muscles that had tightened around her to keep her from falling out now keep her from falling in; momentarily they release and she begins to slide as if moving along under her own power. She stops just before her knees join the rest of her inside; the snake is unable to take all of her at once. Lifting again, relaxing again, contracting again, it carries her inward until nothing but her feet remain outside. Momentarily, her toes flex in utmost pleasure. Then they drift away into the pink, rippling flesh, and vanish.
 
She is now in the place that every animal dreads: the throat of another. Her body squirms, torn between the primal fear and the pleasure which she forces it to become. The terror excites her; it is her thrall, and it cannot steal her control away. So as her body writhes in useless attempts to resist the forces that are squeezing her down, it also throbs in satisfaction. It is good and right for prey to fear their fate; the goodness and rightness give her a sort of moral ecstasy. Everything is just as she arranged it to be. She is food, living food, eaten and on its way to the stomach. The slimy, naughty molestations that the throat submit to her offer no contradiction. Her breasts are kneaded this way and that; the pressure on her mound teases her clit. Digestive lubricants squirm all over her body, tickling her skin and priming it for the process that is soon to follow.
 
Her hands bump into a knot of flesh; reflexively it relaxes. She pushes it open still further, eager to reach her final destination. She feels the sphincter tightening around her like the throat's opening did before it. Her skin deforms in a wave as the thick band crosses over her, tracing her silhouette with muscle. It perfectly conforms to her shape; she even feels it fall off her chin and tighten around her neck. But it widens again, around her shoulders and across her breasts, all but flattening them and pinching every single nerve. She feels her innards shift as the sphincter crushes her midsection together, the temporary pain giving way to an incredible pleasure as the hot, wet muscle pushes into her pussy. But soon it is gone, tracing lower and less interesting parts of her; allowing her thighs and calves and heels to enter the stomach. As she moves in, her arms can no longer rest above her head. There is no more need for that pose, and her hands can now serve a better purpose. Carefully, she brings them down to her sides, folds them up and over her legs, and brings them up to touch her womanhood. Her fingers slide in so quickly it is almost like her gash has swallowed them.
 
In a vague simulacrum of the male, her fingers pump in an out of her cleft. One thumb works at her clit, while the other tickles her soft, soaking pubic hairs. So thick with fluids, her pussy squelches with each thrust, but the sound is barely audible over the noise in the rest of the chamber. Her entire body is like a finger in her slit, rolling in passion and slopping around in the various fluids. She is not frenzied; she is still in control. She has discarded her restraint because she knows that her time is limited. Pain intrudes on her sensory landscape, combining with and amplifying the pleasure she feels. An itching, biting sensation is crawling over her body; acid is removing her skin. The powerful churning of the stomach walls is eroding her outsides, working toward the satisfying muscle and rich fat beneath. She is food, she is digesting, and she loves it. But there is another pain, one from within. It crept within her before, but the embers that flickered in her lungs have kindled into flames. There is no air, only digestive fluids. Still her pleasure only grows; delirium lends another layer of pleasure on top of the rest. She works desperately at her womanhood, rubbing as much erotic energy out of it as she can. She feels the itching seep inward; mixed with other fluids, it rode her fingertips to her insides. Her pussy, too, is only meat, and now it is digesting as well. Her thoughts narrow as asphyxiation steals her mind away, pleasure shunting out all else. She is food, she is digesting, and she loves it. She is food, she is digesting, and she loves it! She is food, she is digesting, and the love of it sends her into a climax unlike any she has ever known. Her body clenches and twists into itself, and for a moment her face assumes an expression that is both agony and ecstasy. When her ragged consciousness can bear no more, it leaves her, and her body goes limp.
 
Her poise is only more certain in death, for now no thought or feeling can cause her to betray her control. She feels no pain that would make her resist the destruction of her body. As her skin melts away, she makes no move to retain it. The snake's belly tears away her muscle and fat, transforming her into a broth of nutrients for the snake to absorb. Her bones are laid bare, along with the precious organs that they house. But against the fluid onslaught they are useless; her heart and her stomach and her lungs melt away. No longer held in check by her tendons and ligaments, her bones compress into a pile. In time, they too weaken and dissolve, their marrows forming a crimson slurry and abandoning their homes. The remaining calcium becomes brittle, fragments and vanishes. There is nothing left of her now. She has been erased, completely absorbed by the snake that devoured her. But something remains. Nothing could ever take her control away. She chose her fate and saw it through to the end. That vital aspect may never be undone.
 
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AUTHOR'S COMMENTS:
 
This story was inspired by one of Skydog's photo-manipulations, over at the Disturbed Things forum. It featured an unresisting woman on a maroon-covered bed, hence the reference to the rocks feeling like a bed. The story had its own needs, though, so the setting moved outdoors.
 
This story wound up being a runaway success over at DT, much to my surprise. I guess good things come of saying it's based on a popular artist's work, haaaaa.
 
I decided to venture into a writing element that I haven't used yet; namely, the present tense. I don't think it changed much, but it felt right for the story itself, especially being as quick and simple as it was (a scant three pages).
 
Another thing that stands out to me about this one is how I was able to avoid giving the central character a name. Names are, after all, just words, and words are nothing if not unique signifiers for particular objects. The pronoun uniquely identifies the woman in this story, thus any further nomenclature would be superfluous.