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Morning in New England (Story in Description) By Greg432

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This is a sequel to Final's Week, which is in turn a sequel to Day at the Theme Park
Kayla tried to avoid eye contact by staring at her phone while the family of four she had been waiting for walked past her, and began filing through the door. She shivered inside of her ridiculously oversized black hoodie that enveloped her like a blanket, until the father followed his family into the Subway sandwich shop. Kayla gave a quick look around; the parking lot was still halfway full, the exact same way it had been since she had shrunk and removed the power transformer in the back of the building three minutes prior. She looked back inside; the unlit restaurant had a small crowd of maybe 20 or 30 breakfast time customers standing in queue with varying levels of frustration on their faces. Across the counter, three flustered college kids flew from station to station like lunatics, doing everything they could to address this 9:00 a.m. rush without electricity.
Satisfied with the scene inside, Kayla stopped palming the black plastic cylinder in her right hand, letting it slip out of her sleeve and into visible sight. With her left hand, she casually opened the door before stepping inside. A brunette white guy about her age shot her a look and then quickly looked away as she entered, but no one else in the store even noticed her as she raised her arm and depressed the button on the side of her tool. She rotated the rod to reveal a tiny LED display that flashed “27” at her in bright red lines before setting her backpack down and unzipping it, not even checking whether or not the device had any success. After a moment, she removed her portable vacuum cleaner for the second time that day, and focused her gaze downwards. By the time 20 seconds had past, she had powered the vacuum off and unclipped the dust catcher, tilting its open end into her mouth, as though it was a bottle of water. The crowd followed the deadly parabolic arc onto her flat, pink tongue, before the muscle raised upwards, pressing them against the roof of Kayla's mouth. The sole occupant of the Subway began moving her tongue back and forth, grinding her victims against the soft gum. Saliva began to build as she used her tongue to toss the group from cheek to cheek like bubblegum. She swished the small mouthful one last time before they were suddenly pulled deeper into her, to a quick jingle of “Ulp. Ahh. Urrp.”
Before her food had finished travelling down her esophagus to join her 500 classmates, Kayla set herself to her true purpose in the store. Returning to the front of the building, she flipped the open sign around, locked the door, and walked behind the counter. The cash register was still on, having been attached to an uninterruptable battery supply so that no data would be lost. Looking quickly at the blue screen, she tapped “Small Soda: Tender” as the cash drawer flew open. She grabbed a carry out bag and dumped the several hundred dollars out of the drawer and into the white plastic before placing it into her backpack. Grabbing two foot long loaves of still warm Italian bread, she exited the restaurant.
Back into the winter, she walked around the back, finding the empty hole where once a small transformer stood. She fished out the monopoly-piece-like converter from her pocket, placed it where it had been at full size, and then readjusted the settings on the black rod in her hand. At the press of a button, the transformer reassumed its size to a cacophony of metal groaning and violent arcing. Kayla could see the lights turn back on inside the Subway, as a security camera began drifting its attention back and forth, never once catching sight of the girl who would soon digest all of the employees and customers of the early morning rush into cholesterol.
Taking her two loaves of bread, Kayla began moving her feet towards her home. She cut through a parking lot, followed a sidewalk, walked across somebody's lawn, and then followed a road for a quarter mile, before at last arriving at her house. It was a dull thing, a poorly maintained two floored colonial with more black scuffs then white paint. She lived there with five other students, including her boyfriend Nick, but had little interaction within the confines of the building. Her and Nick's cars were the only ones in the driveway, their housemates having all finished with finals and returned to their hometowns. Kayla strode up to the front door and entered, unlocking the door. She walked up the rickety stairs and turned a corner, heading down a short dark hallway before arriving at the last door on the right. She produced a key and unlocked it before heading inside. Kayla spent few of her waking hours in her room, resulting in a pretty Spartan set up. There was only a large, pink sheet covered bed, a small nightstand, a decent sized flat screen television, and next to a closet was a large, bare oak table with a comfortable leather chair pulled in underneath.
Wasting no time, Kayla placed the two loaves of bread on the table. Her stomach roared at her while she retrieved a knife and began slicing them in half, covering part of the wood in bread crumbs. Once she was finished, she stood and opened the closet. Inside was a strange sight; there was nothing on the floor, but the walls were lined with maybe 12 separate D.I.Y. shelves, all of which were practically covered in glass jars with cheese cloth lids. Inside of those glass jars, thousands and thousands of shrunken people. Laying on top of each other in cramped agony for days, they only ever saw light in moments like these; when a beautiful face appeared and two pale feminine hands reached in, randomly taking one of the glass prisons and disappearing back beyond the threshold. They had no knowledge as to what would happen to them when they were selected, but the boisterous belches rumbling from somewhere beyond the door led many to a grisly conclusion.
Kayla scanned the jars up and down, grabbing the largest one she saw and inspecting it. It was nearly a foot tall with a diameter of 4 inches, with writing on the side in black marker that read “Cambridge – 4757”. The jar was roughly 3/4ths of the way filled with all types of people, with no one race or age group being more prevalent then another. Kayla turned and placed the jar next to her bread before returning to her closet. She scanned the jars until she at last spotted the name “Worchester – 2542”. She grabbed the jar, observing the mass of ragged would-be-graduates with a hunger in her eyes and a rumbling in her belly.
She brought the jar to the table, closing the closet behind her, before heading over to her bed. She reached behind the mattress, and after a moment emerged with a large multichambered bong, a wide, flat grinder, and a hefty bag of green-purple leaf. Also grabbing a small lime green lighter from her nightstand, she brought her collection over to her table, placing it adjacent to her two captive audiences. Her things gathered, Kayla then unzipped and removed her fleece hoodie, revealing her tight green v-neck, which she also managed to remove after forcing the fabric past her chest. As she pulled it over her head, her boobs fell out from where the cloth had trapped them, plummeting for an inch before laying their weight on her now exposed pudgy naval. Finally, she reached behind her back and unsnapped her bra. She pulled the article out from where it was still partially pinned to her abdomen by the now exposed milky white boulders they had once held, and sat down in the chair.
“I failed my final because of all of you.” Kayla stated to the jar entitled Worchester while she put a large nugget of weed in the steel disc she brought with her.
“You should have been in my stomach before I took it,” she unscrewed the bottom and took the bowl head from the bong.
“Instead I just sat there, thinking about how hungry I was, and how there was an entire class of high schoolers in my closet that would just fill me oh-so-well.” She half sung as she reaffixed the now packed bowlhead. Wasting no time she brought her lighter to it, placing her mouth over the tube on top of the glass piece. Bubble, water, and smoke moved throughout the many chambers as Kayla roasted the leaf for nearly 12 seconds, before her lighter wielding hand removed the bowl head, causing the remaining smoke to shoot through the piece and into Kayla's lungs. She counted to four before leaning forward, popping off the cheese cloth lid from the Worchester jar, and exhaling a cloud. Kayla reaffixed the lid over her smoke and sunk back into her chair. She felt herself sinking deeper and deeper into the cushion before her stomach began rumbling like crazy. A stab of emptiness prompted Kayla to sit back up and eye her meal. The last wisps of smoke faded from the jar as Kayla grabbed two long plastic platters from underneath the table. Propping them against two glass coasters, she form a v shape with either plate at a 45 degree angle, leaving just enough space in the middle for the bottom half of one of the bread loaves, which Kayla quickly placed. She then grabbed the prison jar and removed the top. She brought it above the half loaf and tilted it upside down, shaking a few times for good measure. They homunculi fell out in clumps that Kayla tried to spread out evenly, those falling off target clattering against the two platters at the side and smearing down onto the bread. The stoned dancer shook the glass container a few more times, shaking out the last few hundred people, before using the flat of her hand to brush the crowd evenly across the sandwich. With a 5 human deep layer covering every square millimeter of the foot long sandwich, Kayla grabbed the loaf's top and emphatically placed it on the crowd, crushing every part of the two pieces of bread together to trap her prey. She gathered her 5 pound sandwich in two much too small hands, and brought the end to her mouth.
Engulfing the entire heel of bread and several hundred people simultaneously, Kayla bit down hard and tore, taking the piece with her motion. She tilted her head back, and with a audible “gull-uuphh!” swallowed the 2 x 3 inch mass without chewing, the much too large bulge travelling down her stretched throat before disappearing behind her breasts. “Mmmmmmmm…” she suspensefully moaned as she brought the massive grinder back to her face. She made eye contact as best she could with the crowd between her fingers, and mockingly batted her eyelashes in a flirty way, before she let a vommy “Huuurrruuupph.” escape from the corner of her mouth. She leaned back in the chair and tilted her head back. She raised the sandwich above her lounging form, and slowly brought the recently torn end slowly to her lips..
*Ommf! Guulllph. Ahhhmmfph! Ullp! Ahhmf! Ullp. Buuurrrrrooph! Ommmf! Gullph. Ahhhhhhmph! Gulllph! BWWWWWWUUUURRRrrrrrrrph!*
And Kayla was left with empty hands and a swelling in her belly. A satisfied “Ahhhhhh-uuurrrrrrpph” emanated from her as she placed a hand on the squishy bump where two and a half millennia of people had just began the process of being digested into body fat, adding to the 484 person slurry already gestating in the pink sack. Letting lose another human flavored belch, Kayla retrieved her bong, packing it and roasting it in the same matter she had before. She leaned back in her chair again, lifting one of her hefty asscheeks to the side cut a wet fart that reverberated between the leather chair and her cake. She packed the bong once more, taking it in two hits this time, before turning her attention to the large jar on her left. Nearly 5 thousand people stared back at her as she grabbed the second bottom half and placed it between her two platters. Repeating the act, she flipped the hefty container over as thousands poured onto the wheat they would be buried in. Smoothing out her meat once more, stacked nearly twice as high as the previous, Kayla again clamped the top of the sandwich on. Once more she took the amalgamation in both hands, sprawled herself in her chair like a Byzantine empress, and brought it to her wide, salivating maw:
*Uhhhhhaaaomph! Gullph. Ahhompf! Gull-up! Aaamphf. Ullp. Berrruurrrrrrrrrrrppph! Oommpf! Ull p. Oommpf. Ulllp. Buuurrpphh. Aahhmmmf! Gullupp! Urp. Ooommph. Ulllp. Omm. Ulp. BWEEUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRpppppah!*
Kayla practically inhaled the 10 pound sandwich in less then half a minute, placing a hand on the now much larger and more firm bump protruding from her naval. Both of her pink tipped tits rested on the orb, fitting considering how much of this feast they would absorb. Kayla relaxed and let the belches flow freely as her stomach churned like a cement mixer.
“Mmmmmmm, good- BEERRPPH girl” she cooed, rubbing her round belly before being interrupted by her own gas. The first fifteen minutes after a meal was always Kayla's favorite part; when her food was still alive and squirming against the walls of her stomach like a million ants, desperately trying to find a way out, refusing to believe that they were destined to be a component of a stranger's bowel movement. But she knew much better then they did that despite their struggling, she would feel them slide out her asshole by tomorrow, and that there would be dozens of groups just like them awaiting further behind them, doomed to share a grave with them and hundreds of thousands of others in the septic tank out back. Her mind shifted from the desiccated remains of her food to a pressure in her bowels. Slowly rising, she ventured over to the bathroom, still bare breasted, and plopped herself down on the seat. She exerted pressure, and after a short while rose to observe a single, weighty log, another several hundred human beings had finished being processed into unneeded calories for the thick twenty year old. Cleaning herself, Kayla returned to her room, but felt a gnawing return to the heavy, buzzing mass at her center.
“Must have made some room…” she muttered to herself as she returned to her closet. She quickly opened the door and grabbed the first jar she saw. Over a nearly completely full receptacle of predominantly white teenagers, black sharpie read “Shelton – 3349”. Without a moment's hesitation, Kayla removed the lid, covered the glass rim with her mouth, and lifted the jar above her head such that it was parallel with her esophagus. People began to spill into her mouth, before they were pulled back and then down by her greedy throat muscles;
*Ulp. Ulp. Ulp. Ulp. Ulp. Ulp. Ulp. BOOOORRRUUUUUUURRRRrrrraaahhUuurrpppppppppppppah!”
And the population of Shelton High School was another bulge in Kayla's midriff. With over ten thousand people being absorbed within, it quivered and squelched as Kayla qualified for a belching contest every few seconds. It had taken her 2 and a half hours, and 15133 lives, but Kayla was finally full. Feeling a weight on her eyelids, she pulled her yoga pants first slowly and noisily past her protruding butt, then again past her ankles. She repeated the motion with the black silk underwear beneath, tossing it casually to the side as she climbed into bed at 10:30 a.m.. She pulled the flannel sheets over herself, and then cradled her belly as all of her blood rushed to her stomach for digestion. She casually ripped ass into her sheets and promptly passed out; the equivalency of a large town dying in her gut doing much to provide their consumer with the exact type of pleasure she desired, if only for an hour or two.

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