It was always the /doorway/ that was the hardest part. You'd think it would be the growling stomachs, bounding predators, or the registration process, but nope. It was the stupid door.
 
Gris stood there a moment longer. He reached again for the doorknob, then (for the fourth time) hesitated. What if the preds here were overeager? What if no one liked him? What if it went like last time--and the time before that, and before that?
 
/Calm down,/ he ordered himself, taking a deep breath. /You're here to have fun, just like everyone else. Nothing wrong with that./
 
/But what if we get rejected? It won't be fun then, now will it?/
 
/That won't happen,/ he firmly told his inner voice.
/Now we're going to go inside, have a great time, and get home late and happy./ With that, he grabbed the doorknob and twisted, throwing the door open with a /bang/.
 
He almost immediately regretted it, seeing the amused eyes of the cougar at the registration desk. "Hey, welcome to the Prey Party," she said, waving him forward. "You been here before?"
 
"Uh, n-no, I don't think so," Gris said, his voice turning meek and unsteady.
 
"Ok, well: it's $45 for preds, $35 for prey. Something tells me you fall in the latter, cutie," she said, winking him.
 
Gris blushed. In places like these, it was usually pretty obvious where everyone stood. "Y-Yeah, I do." He got out his wallet and pulled out $35 in cash, handing it to her.
 
"Great." She placed it in the cash register, pressed a few buttons, and handed him his purchase receipt, a name tag. "Now after you can fill that out, you can be on your way." She handed him a pen.
 
"T-Thanks."
 
He looked down at the name tag. Unlike a blank one, or even a "Hello, My Name Is" variety, this one read:
 
 
/Name and Pronouns:
Gender:
Eat Or Eaten:
Sexuality:/
 
 
Gris swallowed hard. This is what he'd been afraid of.
 
Nervously, he filled out the card. Gris. He/They. Male. Eaten (duh). And. . . He hesitated, a pit of dread forming in his stomach. Finally, he wrote "Asexual" on the tag, put it on and turned to the cougar, holding out her pen.
 
"Great!" she smiled, and Gris could see her reading his name tag. Her smile seemed to falter at the last part, and she looked /embarrassed/ for a reason Gris knew all too well. "Well," the cougar said, clearing her throat, "have fun!" She waved her hand toward a curtain to the left, where chatter was filtering out.
 
Gris swallowed hard. /It's not too late,/ he told himself. /You can still walk right out that door./
 
/Not a chance./
 
/Even if this is all a waste of time? Even if no one wants you, _again_?/
 
He sighed.
 
/I want to try./
 
/Alright,/ he told himself. /Don't blame me if you get disappointed./
 
/I won't./
 
Taking a deep breath, Gris took a few numb steps forward, and slipped behind the curtain.
 
He walked into the room, making sure to keep his breathing steady. There was a lot of people here--more than he expected. /I guess this club's pretty popular,/ he thought glancing around the room. It was like he read online: people were walking around (most clothed, some exposed, all with name tags) browsing the selection, chatting and hanging out. On the walls of the room were numerous doors, each of which led to a hallway with private rooms.
 
Gris hoped he could get in one tonight. But that tended not to happen.
 
"Hey there."
 
Gris jumped and turned to the speaker: a white lion, looming over him with a track suit and a smile. Their nametag read: /Dave, He, Cis, Eat, Pansexual./
 
"You look handsome," he said, grinning menacingly down at Gris. "Are you as tasty as you look?"
 
Gris blushed. "I . . . um . . ."
 
"Hold on, lemme read your nametag," he said. Gris braced himself as Dave skimmed the tag. And watched in real time as the smile on the guy's face shrunk back into his face. "Well," Dave said, turning to Gris, "if you're asexual or whatever, then what are you doing here?"
 
Gris sighed. Always the simplest questions that had the hardest answers. "Just because I'm ace doesn't mean I'm not horny," he finally replied.
 
Dave grinned. "Cool." Awkward pause. "Well, good luck, man." And he walked away.
 
/First of many./
 
/Shut up./
 
/You know it's true./
 
/Shut _up!_/
 
Gris lifted his head, took a deep breath, and continued on his way.
 
. . . An hour later, he was already exhausted. Sure, Gris'd had a few approaches, some conversations--heck, he got into a little debate about the best '90s anime. But nothing had turned into the encounter he wanted.
 
"Well well, what do we have here?"
 
Resisting the urge to let out a sigh, Gris turned around--and almost ran into the massive frame of the grey wolf who was standing there. Looking up at the towering figure, Gris met ice blue eyes and a surprisingly friendly grin.
 
"Uh. . ." Gris scratched his head, unsure how to answer the question without revealing his tiredness.
"Just read my name tag," he said, the snap in his voice surprising even him.
 
"Oh, ok," the wolf said, smiling. "Sassy prey. I like that."
 
Gris shivered at being called prey--/God, yes, fuck/--but quickly reminded himself this was probably another disappointment. He'd been with the beefcakes before, and even the ones who accepted him always had more than a few conditions.
 
"Gris, huh?" the wolf asked, reading the tag. "Nice to meet you. I'm Dwayne."
 
The wolf held out a paw. As Gris shook it, he took the chance to read Dwayne's own nametag: /Dwayne, He/E, Genderqueer, Eat, Not straight./ Gris chuckled at the last bit, and Dwayne looked down at him with a satisfied smirk. "Like that, huh? I haven't been satisfied with 'straight' guys in the past; figured I'd put that on my tag to scare them off."
 
"I know what you mean," Gris said, smiling lightly. "I should've done that too--I've had more than my fair share of shitty encounters."
 
"That sucks." Dwayne said. The wolf paused for a moment, then carefully said, "So . . . you're ace?"
 
Gris cringed. Well, the moment had to come eventually. ". . . Yeah," he said quietly. "I know that's a detriment for . . . some predators. But it's something I want to be open about, y'know?"
 
"Totally," Dwayne said, nodding.
 
Gris took a breath, bracing for the "nice to meet you", moving-on bullshit. But instead, the wolf said, "I have a few friends on the ace spectrum, so I'm pretty knowledgeable about it."
 
Gris looked up at him in surprise, and Dwayne smiled. "You got nothing to worry about," he said, putting a hand on shoulder. "And," the wolf said, scratching behind his ear, "we can discuss particulars in a private room, if you'd like."
 
Gris sucked in a breath. Was this really happening? Before he could think he was saying, "Yes, fuck yes! Let's do it."
 
Dwayne grinned. "Fantastic.
 
"I'll lead the way."
 
__________
 
The room was quiet--probably soundproof, Gris realized as they stepped inside. The walls were covered in what looked like smooth foam, and various play equipment and instruments lined the area, the most innocuous being a black spanking bench at the center of the room.
 
"Now," Dwayne said, switching the sign to Occupied and closing the door behind them, "tell me what you like."
 
Gris cleared his throat. This he could handle. "Being belittled, treated like a snack, called a treat, stuff like that. I like it a little rough. Getting pet on the head feels nice, and getting touched in general, too--I'm a very sensory person."
 
"Gotcha. And what do you want to avoid?"
 
Gris swallowed hard. "I don't want . . . anything related to sex. If you can avoid my vagina, I'd appreciate it. I don't want contact with your dick either."
 
"That's not a problem," Dwayne said, much to Gris's relief. "Anything else?"
 
He thought for a moment. "No biting or scratching!" Gris added quickly. "I didn't clarify that one time and, well, now I have a scar."
 
Dwayne turned to him, his eyes wide with concern. "Seriously? Damn man, I'm sorry."
 
Gris shrugged. "It's my fault. I should've been more specific."
 
"I'm sure it wasn't your fault. But anyway: safeword. Any preferences?"
 
"I'm good with red, yellow, green. I've found that to work best," Gris said. He looked up, and saw something behind the wolf's neck. /Wait a minute. . ./
 
"Are those . . . wings?"
 
Indeed, a little pair of blue wings poked up from the shoulder blades. Dwayne shrugged. "I'm blue jay on my mom's side. Genetic disorder made them pretty tiny."
 
"They're cute," Gris said. "Can I touch them?"
 
"Sure!"
 
Dwayne knelt down, and Gris reached out, giving the wings a hesitant poke. They felt soft to the touch, but too firm for some reason. They twitched under his finger.
 
"Can you control them?" Gris asked.
 
"A little, if I concentrate," Dwayne said. "They mostly move on their own."
 
Gris stared at them for a moment longer, then removed his hand. "You sure you want to do this?" he asked the wolf quietly. "I know I'm a . . . special case."
 
"Of course I'm sure." Dwayne answered without hesitation. "That's not a problem for me. /You're/ not a problem for me." He put a hand under Gris's chin and forced it up. "Got that, snack?"
 
This time, when Gris shivered, he felt his vagina twitch. God, he was getting horny. "Thanks."
 
Dwayne smiled. "Now," he said, walking over to the bench and sitting down, "I'd like to treat you like the cute little treat you are, shove you down my throat, and keep you in my stomach for a while. What do you think of that?"
 
Gris immediately nodded. "Oh yes," he said excitedly, "I'd love that. Please."
 
Dwayne grinned. "Go against the door and count to ten.
 
"Once you turn around, we can begin."
 
"Alright." Dwayne stood up, and Gris walked over to the door.
 
When he counted to ten and turned around, the wolf was staring at him with hungry eyes. "Well hello there, my sweet little treat," the predator purred, walking up to Gris until the human was forced to back up against the wall.
 
"I was worried I'd go hungry tonight," Dwayne said, reaching forward and running his finger along Gris's chest, causing the human to sigh contentedly. "Thankfully, I found something to satisfy my appetite."
 
The wolf reached forward and lifted Gris off the ground with no effort at all, his hands secure against the human's arms. His mouth opened, revealing a tantilizing blue tongue and drooling saliva, all surrounded by sharp teeth. "Down the hatch, snack."
 
With a slurp, Gris was in the mouth--the journey had begun, and the tongue wasted no time in licking every part of him, tasting every inch of his head. An "Mmmmmm!" echoed everywhere; the sound created vibrations that caused his skin to tingle. And then, with a /gulp/, his head was in the tight throat.
 
Down, down he traveled, hearing the heartbeat get louder as he approached it, then fade out as he distanced from it. It didn't take long at all for him to reach the stomach, and he entered it with a small popping sound. Here he was, his favorite place: the spacious cavern of acid where only food like him belonged.
 
Above, his chest and legs were still outside the mouth, and a few gulps later, Dwayne was up to his hips. This was usually the part where preds gave his vagina an "accidental" lick, but to his relief, nothing touched it, and the rest of him slipped into Dwayne's mouth without incident.
 
With only the legs left, things were starting to get tight in the stomach, and Gris knew (and loved) that he'd need to curl up soon. Some tight chomps swallowed his legs, then the feet, until only his toes hung out. Dwayne gave them a teasing lick, and Gris giggled--he loved the thought of being savored by a predator.
 
One last swallow, and all of Gris was inside Dwayne. Soon he was all emptied into Dwayne's stomach, making him curl into a ball in the tight space, his legs bent and pressing against the secure walls.
 
This was the part Gris loved the most. He sighed and leaned against the bubbling, living enclosure--they were a bit thick, he noticed--feeling the pliable, smooth material designed to digest him. Above him, Dwayne's heart beat steadily, unmoved by the prey below.
 
Gris closed his eyes, placing a hand on top of his vagina. For a while, he just listened to the stomach growl around him. There was something so good about being treated like a snack.
 
/I almost want to--/
 
"Hey, Gris? Hello?"
 
Gris jumped, and with a /snort/ he was fully awake. "You alright in there?" Dwayne asked. A small bit of pressure poked in from outside--probably Dwayne's hand or arm. "Just want to check on you."
 
Gris blushed. He'd never had a pred check on him--mostly because all the preds he'd had were so focused on satisfying their dicks after swallowing him. "I'm fine?" he squeaked.
 
"You sure? You don't sound sure." The wolf sounded worried. I can get you back out early if you need to."
 
Now his entire face was red. "I'm sure," he said, his voice more resolute this time. "Thanks for checking on me."
 
"No problem. Keep me posted, ok?"
 
"Ok."
 
/God, this guy is so fucking _nice_,/ he thought, closing his eyes again.
 
It felt like a few hours had past by the time Dwayne poked the stomach again. "Time to go, little snack," the wolf said. "Can't keep you in there too long if I want to savor you again."
 
There was a familar /lurch/, and soon, Gris was starting the journey upwards. His head went first, being sucked into the squeezing throat and reaching the mouth all too fast. It was only a minute by the time he was outside, and caught in Dwayne's arms.
 
The wolf set him down on the spanking bench, gently petting his hair. "All good?" Dwayne asked.
 
"So good," Gris breathed, smiling. "Thank you.
 
With a start, Gris realized he'd never felt this /safe/ before. Well, safe before in general, but specifically at one of these parties.
 
He always felt so compromised at these things--a devalued snack full of red flags, who deserved to be tossed away after use. But here, with Dwayne, he didn't feel like any of those things.
He felt . . . good.
 
Dwayne removed his hands from Gris's back. "How you feeling?" the wolf asked gently.
 
Gris turned to him. Before he could think, he blurted out, "Do you want to get dinner sometime?"
 
The wolf blushed, then laughed. He put a clawed hand under Gris's chin. "Technically, I just had my dinner, didn't I?" Dwayne teased. Gris felt himself blushing /again/--was was this, the fifth time? "Or did you mean having a meal where you're /not/ the main course?"
 
Gris clearned his throat. "Yeah, I'd like that. You're really nice, and . . . uh . . . it'd be cool to hang out, or something."
 
/Really?! "Hang out, or something?" Come on man!/
 
But Dwayne didn't seem to mind. "I'd like that too," he said, grinning happily. "It's a date."
 
Gris smiled too. "For sure. It's a date."
 
Dwayne petted Gris's damp hair, which caused the human to sigh contentedly. "Now, if you want one, I give a killer massage," he said. "Interested?"
 
Gris nodded, and the wolf went behind him, knedding the human's shoulders with such comforting force that Gris felt his whole body relax. He sighed, and leaned against the wolf's furry chest, feeling Dwayne's heartbeat (from the outside this time).
 
He couldn't wait for that date.