*CRASH* “OW! No running, please!” A larger woman tumbled to the dirty tiles, her red hair flying out behind her and her soft face spurring into momentary annoyance. The boys running past shouted something about her weight before disappearing down into the subway station. Pamela sighed, losing any heat in her cheeks and picking herself up off the ground. It wasn't in her nature to pick any fights; she quickly lost any will to defend herself.
 
 
Her work clothing - a medium sized tie embroidered with the company logo - was now covered in wet dirt, her fat ass dripping with mop water. The mop she had been using had also dropped into the turbid puddle, the handle sopping wet.
 
 
With little more than a sigh, she bent down and picked it up, continuing to clean the grimy floor. Her hands were stinging, the cold biting into them even more hostile with them wet. Her back was just as bad, her fat skin dripping with black water splashed upon her large body. She grabbed the scrunchie she had out of the puddle, wrung it out, and put her hair back up, getting the frizzy locks out of her face.
 
 
“PAMELA! YOU'RE SHIFT IS OVER! GET YOUR FATASS CLEANED UP AND GO HOME!” Her boss shouted from his booth. He got to sit there all day, ignoring her and everyone around him as people jumped the turnstile, graffitied the station, and bullied Pamela. She was harassed almost everyday, be it by kids knocking her down, guys groping her or shouting at her, or women calling her fat or ugly. She had gotten used to it. Like always. That was Pamela, always nice, easy-going, ever-adaptable. Easy to bully, more like.
 
 
She stripped - as much as a Gutter could - hanging her collar strap in her locker. She ignored the offensive spray paint on the door, and the disgusting odor that permeated the metal. Her co-workers had poured an entire bottle of Liquid Ass into her locker vent. As a prank, she was sure.
 
 
She sighed, looking in the mirror at her body. She started with her pudgy face, covered by a muzzle, and her fat neck, wrapped up in a leather collar. Her stomach dipped down over her fat pussy and jiggled to the touch. She enjoyed eating, even if she had to give up other leisures like Netflix or a car. She worked at a transit company, she might as well use the free rides she gets, right?
 
 
Besides, this job let her sit down and eat all day; on the day's she got to drive, that was. She wasn't a messy eater, or particular ravenous, but the other drivers thought sitting in the same seat as her was disgusting, so she stopped getting to drive as much. That was okay, she liked cleaning too.
 
 
She cupped her breasts, and smiled. They were comparatively huge when put against other women! Although, when compared with her own body they didn't seem to stand out. She sometimes liked to block her vision of the rest of her body, just look at her bust and enjoy a little win. Pamela wished she could share what she had with another person, and she had definitely tried, but it usually ended in her heart broken. After the last girl, she gave up.
 
 
They always said the same thing: she babied them too much. Every boyfriend or girlfriend she'd had always said that Pamela acted more like a Mom than a lover, always doting at every chance, hugging rather than kissing, speaking in a baby voice; apparently it made them angry. That and she wasn't very good at sex.
 
 
Pamela liked cuddling more than sex, no matter how hard she tried. Nothing felt more satisfying to her than cuddling up to someone smaller than her and squeezing them tightly between her breasts or against her stomach. She was bigger than everyone, luckily for her, bordering on 7 feet tall she had the height for her width, but that was a turnoff for her lovers. Her body-type demanded she be more assertive in bed, but she could never get into anything more than a light smothering.
 
 
So, she gave up. Sex was not for her, dicks and vibrators never really filled her anyways. The only time she ever felt full, truly satisfied, was when she finally gave into her urges as a Gutter.
 
 
It didn't happen often, as you might expect, people weren't inclined to throw themselves down your throat. Pamela knew that, and yet every time someone came up to her, teasing her with the idea of being able to swallow them whole, having them stuffed inside her fat tummy, digesting away to become one of the rolls on her body - it made her more horny than anything in the world! Her favorite part of eating someone (other than the spine-tingling feeling of them sliding down her throat and slowly digesting in a spasm) was the thought that they never left her. She liked to keep the idea that every person she ate was still swimming around inside her body somewhere, living as a piece of her forever.
 
 
Yet, this only happened once or twice a year. It was mostly people who had nowhere else to turn, - Pamela often spoke with the homeless people hanging about the station - those who had given up on actually getting anywhere with their lives. Occasionally she would find a truly willing meal, prey that let her eat them because they wanted to, but those times made her very sad because they were the people she cared about. Her first boyfriend and her third girlfriend, both such wonderful people! But when they removed her muzzle- she couldn't help herself when they offered themselves up.
 
 
She could remember their taste, so delicious, salty and sweet and oh, so wondrous! All that flavor, all at the same time! Until they were gone, toes or fingers slipping past her gullet, surrounded on all sides by her thick, pink throat, soaked in her saliva. She would lay back on the bed, wracked by an orgasm unable to be brought by all the sex they had, and bathed in the feeling of her lover squirming around inside her belly; stretched tight finally by their food-made bodies. Pamela would gently caress her taut tummy, easing digestion as she spoke soft words to the man and woman she held dear while they masturbated into mush, digested into a nutritious soup that was absorbed into Pamela's puffy bottom.
 
 
A commotion outside brought Pamela back to her senses. She used a paper towel to wipe away the juices flowing from her memory, and hurried outside, finding a boy on the ground surrounded by a group of suspicious-looking men. They huddled around him, arms outstretched, and he curled into a ball, screaming for help.
 
 
Looking on was a few people with their phones out, recording or calling the police, but none dared oppose the men in suits and dark sunglasses. None except a crazy fat naked lady wearing a collar and a muzzle.
 
 
She rushed them, screaming bloody murder, and tackled two of them to the ground. Under her weight, they hit the ground with a dull thud and the smack of breast on pavement. The madwoman jumped back to her feet, punching one of the men and smacking the other with her elbow. The last two gave the crazy woman a look of disbelief before both pulling out stun-guns and shooting her in the chest- only to make her angry.
 
 
Covered in grime, blood, and sweat - having just beat up over seven men - the woman reached down and gave the boy a smile. “My name is Pamela. What's your name?”
 
 
He saw nothing but her dim, haloed face, the lamp in the ceiling shining around her head. The boy, mouth agape, reached up and took her hand; riding the momentum straight into her gut. He sunk into her fat, his hands squeezing her like playdough as his face disappeared under her rolls. A thick, wet gurgle escaped from her tummy, followed by a trill jingle of hunger.
 
 
The boy stepped back, a hand over his pants, and looked back up at his savior. “H-hello… my name is- is-.” His eyes adjusted as he stared at her again, and finally he came to see her naked body. “W-why are you naked?”
 
 
Pamela gave him a quizzical look. She recognized the accent as Russian, but she wasn't aware other countries didn't treat people like her the same way.
 
 
“I'm a Gutter, sweetheart, I'm not supposed to wear anything but a collar and muzzle. Have you never seen anyone like me before?”
 
 
He shook his head. “No, I have never seen a woman unclothed before. It is… I like it.” He said, a blush on his face.
 
 
Pamela's face flushed to match his pink-dyed pale skin. “W-well, it's nice to know I'm your first… I guess.” She suddenly, for the first time in many years, felt the urge to cover up.
 
 
“There he is! The Tsar demands his head in person, capture him!” A horde of men in black suits came sprinting toward them, their dress shoes clacking upon the tiles of the station. The man in front, huge and muscle bound, had several distinguished scars along his face and bald scalp, a pair of pure black sunglasses covering his eyes.
 
 
Pamela stood tall, a good two inches over him, but when he stopped before her and gave a menacing glare, she felt like an ant toward a giant. She wanted to step aside, but looking back at the boy and remembering what the man had shouted - she couldn't just let this go.
 
 
“Move out of the way, Fatty,” the man spoke in a deep, gravelly Russian accent “we have no time for you. Not yet, anyway, but if you ever lose all the baby weight - maybe you and I get busy, huh?” He laughed, the rest of the men chuckling with him as he motioned his pelvis forward.
 
 
Pamela leaned down, fishing a small golden key from her muzzle. “Unlock my mask, would you?” It wasn't really a question, and the boy knew it. With little hesitation - the alternative being getting killed by his country - he opened the woman's muzzle, watching it slam flat to the floor, cracking the stone.
 
 
The sound startled the boy to his butt, and sent shivers down the men's spines. They chattered nervously until the leader growled.
 
 
“You think you scare me, Gutter bitch? I'll fucking kill you!” He shouted, pulling out a large handle, and flicking an even larger knife from it.
 
 
Pamela couldn't hear him. Only the sound of garbled words and the 'shing’ of a blade opening. Her eyes locked to the glittering silver blade, her eyes adjusting to give her a crystal clear vision of her surroundings. Calmly opening her mouth, she could taste the greasy, oily air - filled with dust from trains passing through. Underneath was the faint taste of sweat, particles from the men - having been running - filled the air.
 
 
Lastly, she smelled them. That was her true ticket to predator-hood: smelling the fear, smelling the rich, raw meat -
 
 
Smelling the prey.
 
 
Pamela snapped her head back, eyes locking onto the boy between her legs, his fear and lust tickling her nostrils. He still had a boner, still sneaking peeks up at her large ass. His eyes were drawn between her legs, as well, trapped in her fat and pubes, a sopping pussy dripped love down her lightly tanned, juicy thighs.
 
 
Suddenly, they spread open, each jiggling leg moving apart to let her womanhood on display for the young boy. He winced at the pain spreading from his crotch, so much tension in his pants, his cock threatening to explode from the pressure. Pamela reached down with one hand, parting her lower lips with two sausage-sized fingers, letting her juices flowing freely into a puddle forming upon the floor.
 
 
“What are you doing, Fat Bitch?” The man asked, lowering his guard. “I understand you want to fuck, but you are just going to have to wait until I kill the boy,” he said with a shrug.
 
 
Quietly, her tongue still eager to taste the air, Pamela spoke. “Be still… for me…” Her voice, barely audible but just enough for the boy to hear.
 
 
“Why?” He asked, reluctantly.
 
 
His answer came in the fashion of a small squeak on the tiles, his eyes glanced down to see Pamela's foot had slipped. Her heel ran along the ground, her thick thighs jiggling, leading up underneath her pelvis where a fat pussy opened wide above his face. She had stopped, just above his nose, he could smell the sex wafting in, and the light dribble of fluids like tears down his cheeks.
 
 
Pamela took in a deep breath, then let go again, letting herself spread wider, go lower, and feel the boy's face push between her folds. Stretched so tight, the additional stimulus made her taxed legs shake, fat bubbling as muscles underneath strained. The boy made no movement, so overwhelmed that he remained frozen, staring deep into the massive woman's most precious place. It was the only place in her body that no one had been to or seen yet, the last secret she'd ever kept was about to be shared with this young boy.
 
 
And he would get to know it well as he spent the rest of his life there.
 
 
His shoulders snuck in past her labia, her pudgy mons pushed out by his chest. Pamela moaned deeply, hands locked to her legs, gripping then tightly. She felt as he came to his senses, realizing the situation he was about to be condemned to for eternity. His arms flailed, smacking into her legs, and he wiggled as much as he could to escape the tight muscles pulling him in deeper. He did little but give Pamela pleasure, further increasing the juices he was drowning in, and then cycling back to struggling in an attempt to avoid drowning.
 
 
The walls - softer than velvet, folded over into endless layers that opened upon his touch - closed in on his space as they got tighter and tighter, his face pressed against shiny pink insides. He felt his torso finally slip inside her, only his legs - his pants pulled off, along with his underwear - and raging cock were left outside. At the same time, his head bumped into the end of the tunnel, or so he thought until the round disc at the end opened up, swallowing him deeper still.
 
 
Outside, Pamela was gasping for air, breathing with a lewd pant. She sucked in, stood up all the way, and looked down to see the boy's legs dangling between her own. She giggled, before stepping in and squeezing tight, smashing the boy inside as her pussy flexed, suffocating him inside her blubbery cunt. He squirmed more, wriggling with all his might for air, until she let go, letting him breath in her tart juices once more. She loved feeling him squirm, his hands tickled along her entrance, tugging on her pubes when they got hooked.
 
 
Another swallow from the lower mouth and he was stuck, the boys small cock was jabbing into Pamela's flab. She gasped, feeling it's shaft rub along her clit as her pussy kept trying to tug him in deeper. She marveled at it, staring. Her first and foremost thought was that it looked like she had her own little cock, poking up from under her chubby tummy, she could just barely see the head when she sucked in her gut and crushed the boy it truly belonged to. Her hand wrapped around it, feeling the boy being swallowed stop and shudder from the touch.
 
 
“I'm just going to gut you like a fish and pull him out of your guts. One way or the other, the other being you dead, I am going to get that boy.” The man interrupted, stepping forward.
 
 
Pamela appeared to be entirely sucked into her lust, but as soon as he flicked the blade in the dim subway lights, she pulled her tongue into her mouth and stared him dead in the eye with a motherly, crescent gaze. He didn't turn away, just chuckling, until he was standing right in front of her. He grinned, pulling off his shades, revealing a scarred face and blind eye.
 
 
The fat woman, a head taller than him, was no longer intimidated. She took her hands and clasped them around his elbows, then slammed his arms to his sides, shaking the knife from his hands.
 
 
“What the fuck!? Why is this bitch so strong!?” He tried to fight back, but was manhandled into the air, lifted up to Pamela's face. He growled, and attempted to give her a nasty headbutt only for his head to meet with a soft, spongy pillow. He opened his eyes, met with a dimly lit tongue pressed against his face. He tried to pull back, lift up his head, only for two lines of sharpened teeth to dig into his neck.
 
 
“Hehehe… yoo ar’ tah-stay!” He felt Pamela's mouth move around him, a beautiful and terrifying laugh crushing his spirit. His cocky grin was replaced by tears mixing with the saliva upon Pamela's tongue.
 
 
“Don't eat me! I'm sorry, just don't kill me! I don't want to get eaten!” He cried out.
 
 
The other men, frightened by their leader getting swallowed alive, all fled. A report would be filed saying that he and the boy went mysteriously missing, but would most likely never show up again, and that the Tsar had no need to find the boy anymore. The man who wrote that report would be executed, and more men would be sent to find a boy hiding inside the womb of a woman working at a train station.
 
 
Pamela took a swallow, gulping the large man's head into her throat. One hand made a soft pass over the outside of her gullet, feeling him shout under the thin layer of skin, before taking a second gulp. His head disappeared behind her swelling breasts, and his shoulders disappeared into her mouth, his jacket ripped in half by her superhuman strength. It fell in tatters, and Pamela slapped her tongue to his muscled chest, lapping up his savory, sweaty taste. However powerful he thought he was, now he is just prey, and delicious prey at that.
 
 
The boy had gotten his shoulders up and into the womb, and was working on pulling his arms up through Pamela's cervix when a low rumble filled his ears. He stopped wondering what it was when it happened again, this time a bit more wet, with gurgling. This was followed by faint screaming and crying, as if someone was in a separate, insulated room from him. It took the boy about 30 seconds to realize what that must have meant.
 
 
She pulled down her meals pants, swallowing the last bit of his torso, and felt his limp cock flop onto her throat. She giggled, the vibrations giving him enough stimuli to twitch into semi-life. With her prey upside down, she tilted her head back, lifting his legs into the air and opening enough to let her tongue out. She wrapped it around his dick, pulling it inside her humid mouth with the rest of him, and tasted the glans as his dick hardened and his foreskin peeled back. A dollop of pre-cum oozed out of the tip already, adding to the cruddy smegma on his sweaty, unclean cock.
 
 
Pamela swirled it in her mouth, savoring the lewd, salty taste as he kicked his legs and beat along the inside of her stomach. She didn't care about making him feel good, even if it was, she cared about getting the creamy, white filling out of him.
 
 
As she sucked off her prey, she used one hand, snaked down along her bulging belly to grasp the dick sticking out from under it. She gave it light teasings, and a gentle hand job, making the boy moan and kick inside her pussy. He enjoyed her fat hand rubbing atop his glans, pressing deeply into his urethra, so much in fact that it made him cum. Semen spurt out from both him and the man getting eaten alive, their junk going limp, and Pamela finally sucking them both into her body.
 
 
The man, now getting a coating of his own jizz, was quickly pulled in and swallowed, his feet lapped up by her big tongue before disappearing down her throat, squeezed tightly by strong waves of flesh, the last bit of light shining on his toes before her lips sealed him in.
 
 
The boy, his cock no longer hard, met a similar fate. Pamela reached down and pushed up on his soles, feeling as his legs slipped up inside her pussy, her Cervix wrapping around his waist and beyond. Wet slurps followed his toes slipping up between her lower lips, and she gave a deep sigh as a long-coming orgasm washed over her whole body. She rubbed her belly, taut and now full with prey, and closed her eyes to feel the boy finally sealed into her womb, imagining him curled up inside her uterus.
 
 
With a small moan she was done, bending down to pick up her muzzle, smushing the two boys inside her tummy, then placing it back on her face; the crisp scent of leather bringing sanity flooding back.
 
 
Just in time as her boss came down the stairs to see what all the fuss was about. He saw the huge puddle underneath her feet, and threw a mop into it.
 
 
“Did you get fatter in the small time I didn't see you? Clean that shit up before you go, and take a fucking shower.” He said, completely unaware of what just happened.
 
 
Pamela rubbed her tummy, a wide grin spreading across her lips as she felt the men inside squirm around. She could almost feel her digestive acids pour into her stomach, the squirming in her stomach increasing as he shouted and cried, begging to be let out. She simply giggled again, picking up the mop and wiping up her juices, humming to herself as other people watched her stomach bulge with movement, making muffled screams.
 
 
--------------------
3 Weeks Later
--------------------
 
 
“Excuse me, miss, have you seen this boy?” A Russian man in a suit had walked up to a fat lady in the train station, trying to ignore her rubbing her bulging stomach.
 
 
She leaned on her mop. “No, I'm afraid not. Is he in trouble?” She asked with a smile.
 
 
“No. We are just looking for him. Thank you for your time.” He took one last glance at her belly, trying to decide whether she was pregnant or just fat. He swore he saw something move, almost a hand print pushing against her skin, but didn't have time to investigate, moving on with his group to ask people inside the station.
 
 
Pamela began mopping again, rubbing her bulging stomach every once in awhile. She had long since digested the man who threatened her life that day, his body adding to her breast and ass size, along with the amount of shit circulating the sewers, but the boy remained trapped in her womb. He called out everyday, to those walking past Pamela on their way to the train station, trying to get help, wanting to escape from the fat woman's vagina.
 
 
Whether they heard him or not, they kept moving. Pamela enjoyed his voice traveling out from inside her, thin vibrations cutting out from her uterus and spreading along her spine. He liked to squirm, pushing hands and feet against the soft, fleshy walls, sometimes getting a bump or shift translated on the skin pulled tight around Pamela's fat.
 
 
She responded with more rubbing, and occasionally humming to him while she worked. When they were alone she talked to him; like when she was parking the bus for the night.
 
 
“We had a scare today, baby. The men who were trying to hurt you came back. I wondered if they would catch me, but even when you're right in front of them they don't know your there. I'll keep you safe, baby, don't you worry. You'll stay with me forever. Just keep squirming for me.” She giggled, rubbing her tummy as the boy inside struggled against her claustrophobic womb.
 
 
She got up, closing the bus, and walked home with one hand on her tummy. She would curl up that night, hands and legs pressed against her tummy, wrapped around her baby. He was the only one she'd ever need now, and she loved him for it.
 
 
He didn't know if she could hear him or not, but he always yelled and screamed until he wore his throat dry. Every day and night, if nothing else, he wanted the woman who had stolen his life for herself to at least know his name.