literature

Sandra's Throat (Part 2)

Deviation Actions

TheJacksmith's avatar
By
Published:
51.9K Views

Literature Text

Carl stood frozen with fear on the desk as Sandra’s massive hand calmly reached forward for him, the creasing folds of pale palm flesh casting an ominous shadow over him as she flipped her appendage over him like a roof, her fingers outstretched.  Lowering her heavy, soft palm onto Carl’s head, she pressed down, forcing him into a crouching position.  For a terrifying and high-inducing moment, he felt like she was forcing him to bow before her.  Snapping back to reality, Carl tried to crawl out, but found a gigantic thumb smashing into the ground right in front of him, blocking his path.  He grabbed hold of it, trying to push it out of the way, and was amazed to feel the thickness of her skin, and especially the sheer, rock hard muscle underneath when compared to his own relative strength.  After tugging for a few seconds, he backed up quickly and found soft fingertips, each one easily large enough to cover his stomach, smushing against him.  Embarrassed, he felt Sandra’s pointer finger sliding casually between his legs, working up against his dick.  Her other fingers pushing up against him with just enough pressure to grasp him, Sandra lifted Carl up from the desk as if he were lighter than a thimble.  

Cold air rushed over the parts of his body not being pushed in by Sandra’s doughy hand flesh, and soon he found goose bumps covering his skin as he stopped, right in front of the most incredible-sized mouth he had ever seen.  The deep crevices of the cracks in her smooth lips seemed to quiver independently of the rest of the pink, plush skin as the room light beamed off of her lips.  Slowly, she parted them, and Carl watched as her lips inflated slightly, no longer having pressure applied to them.  Darkness rushed away from her mouth, revealing her gleaming ivory teeth.  Inside the depths of her throat, Carl could make out her uvula, dangling like a sack of slaughtered meat.  Her tongue laid at the bottom of her mouth: porous, thick, mattress-like, with a small cluster of spit bubbles floating on its river of hot saliva flowing back towards Sandra’s throat.

She clacked her teeth together loudly three times as if chewing something, clearly to tease Carl, and then spoke, releasing another muggy assault of warm breath that smelled faintly of peppermint.  “It’s been a pleasure being your doctor, Carl, no matter how short a time it was,” she chuckled, poking her muscular tongue between her lips hungrily.  Carl shook violently, trying to free himself from his prison of grooved, plush fingertips, but it was no use; despite her soft hold, she had him so firmly in place, particularly on his crotch, that he couldn’t move at all.  He began to whimper pathetically, the reality of his situation setting in.

“S-Sandra, p-please… you… you can’t possibly actually… I mean…”

“Why not?  This is what you want, isn’t it?”

“Well… y-yes, but…”

“But what?”

“Why would you w-want to do this yourself?  Isn’t there something wrong with…”

She laughed.  “I’ve had many of my patients ask me the exact same question, and that, like this whole process, isn’t complicated.  I just like how little men taste,” she smiles.  “I’m a very simple woman, Carl, with very simple tastes.  I have a steady job, and a good life.  All I want now and again is a little… pick-me-up.”

“MANY?  But then you mean… how… I mean, many patients, that means…”

“I know what you’re thinking, believe me,” said Sandra, shifting her grip slightly, digging her soft fingertip a little harder against Carl’s genitals.  “And yes: I do this to all of my patients who talk like you do.  And since cases like yours are what I specialize in, well…” she sighed, smiling sunnily.  “…you’re not that hard to come by for me.”

“But… but Brian!” gasped Carl.  “He was fine, he told me that…”

“Brian was cured, these sorts of measures weren’t necessary,” smiled the bespectacled goddess.  “YOU, on the other hand…”

“Oh, God…” gasped Carl, out of breath, shivering profusely.  As he did, Sandra began to calmly knead his little body in her hand, running her smooth fingers along his sides and cheeks.

“Don’t be afraid, Carl,” she soothed.  “I don’t care how it was you planned to kill yourself.  Hanging?  Shooting?  Jumping off a bridge?  All of those can be pretty messy if you do them wrong.  But with this?” she said, opening her mouth wider and allowing Carl’s convulsing body to stare a back into the shadowy depths, a lake of frothy spit floating around her gigantic red muscle, which was sliding along the slick bumps of her teeth like a snake.  “This, I’ll pop you like a pill, and no one will ever hear from you again.  No need to complicate things greatly.”

“But… but won’t it feel like…”

“No, Carl, it won’t hurt at all.  I promise you that,” she cooed.  “I’ve done this many, many times before.  I know how to make sure you won’t feel a thing when you die.  It’ll probably be somewhere in my esophagus; you might manage to get some air for a little longer before you run out, but other than that, it won’t last long at all.”

“But!” squeaked Carl, pissing in utter, unknowable terror against the soft fingertip cage.

“Trust me, Carl,” she said reassuringly and slowly, while adjusting her glasses so she could peek seductively at him over the rims.  “I’m a doctor.”

With that, her tongue slid over her teeth and past the wall of her lips, sliming everything it touched as it crawled forward.  Sighing slightly, Sandra extended her tongue as far as she could outward, clenching and inflating the muscle, tubing it up as she hungrily advanced on her helpless captive.  A steaming dribble of thick saliva rolled down her tongue, sliding off the slick, taste bud-coated edge, but caught itself on a long, phlegm-soaked stream, dangling like a hot, smelly stalactite from her tongue.  Dribbling like a liquid yo-yo for a few moments, it broke the strand and plopped far below to the desktop, where it splattered with a soft squish against the wood.  Carl felt Sandra’s tough fingers shifting, bringing him closer to her expecting lips, which seemed to be quivering with excitement as she continued smiling as kindly as possible to him.  Then, she slid her tongue inside the tiny cage of fingers she had created, holding Carl precariously above it as she soaked her own palm in spit.  Gently, she released her hold on Carl, leaving him sitting like a bird on her extended, bent pointer finger, which still was clenched lightly around his genitals.  Grabbing his hands desperately against the grooves of her fingertips, Carl found himself slipping off of her finger.  

He landed with a disgusting slop on the slippery mass of flesh and writhing muscle, his body hanging sideways along the thing.  Wincing as he hit it, the entire front part of his body instantly becoming caked in Sandra’s gooey mouth juices that were slathered all over her tongue, he suddenly realized how precarious a drop it was, and in terror, clenched his arms and legs around it as tightly as he could.  His fingers began slipping almost immediately as he stretched himself across it, trying to grasp onto the tiny handholds of her taste buds, but these were like rubber soaked in swamp water, because he couldn’t hang on, no matter how hard he tried.  This was quickly remedied, though, as Sandra helpfully tubed her tongue up around him.  Instantly, the rest of Carl’s body that hadn’t been soaked already by the titanic doctor’s tongue was clenched tightly in her sopping pink flesh, working him into it tighter like a burrito of pure, dripping muscle.  His drenched hair hung stickily against his face as if he had been dunked in a vat of Gorilla Glue, because as he reached his arms forward and gripped at his hair, trying to move it aside, he realized that Sandra’s mucus-lined solvent was so thick, it had actually managed to stick his hair to his forehead.

He shuddered, moaning quietly, wanting to yell, but knowing he had the strength to do it, nor a good reason to do it: he and Sandra were the only ones for miles around, except for passing cars outside on the road, driving simply by the unassuming, tiny, privately owned practice of Dr. Sandra Adams.   Unaware that she was about to end a real, human life in the depths of her toned stomach with a friendly smile and a sigh.

As Sandra’s tubed tongue more tightly clenched itself around Carl’s puny body, dribbling saliva into his nose so much that he almost couldn’t breathe, he became conscious of the taste buds vibrating almost independently of the tongue.  It was subtle, and he doubted he would have noticed it if he weren’t so small.  They were surely releasing digestive enzymes onto his body, the process of his consumption having already begun.  He gasped, trying to push against the rough flesh, but only found the slightest bit of give in the pink walls before his hand met the tightening, throbbing muscle underneath, which quickly clenched against his frail fingers and forced him back into an obedient fetal position.  Then, slowly, Sandra began retracting her tongue back inside her mouth with a soft sucking sound.

“N-No…” breathed Carl, hardly daring to believe what was happening, as he placed a hand on her cushy lips as he slid past them, still held tightly in her tubed tongue.  With a soft pop, her tongue slid upward toward the roof of her mouth, and his grip was broken as her lips were pushed slowly back together, a deep, pleasurable sigh echoing through the damp, hot cave as darkness covered Carl completely.

Carl slid off to the side of her tongue, bonking his head against one of her perfect teeth, and landed face first at the bottom of her mouth.  Her tongue quickly slid up, coming down slowly on top of him like a hippopotamus sitting down on him.  He tried to crawl out, digging his fingers into the soggy floor of Sandra’s mouth, but this only quickened the tongues descent.  A second later, all that could reach the edge, and oxygen, was his face, his entire body being compressed tightly between the base of Sandra’s mouth and her slaver-laced muscle.  She held him there for a moment, rubbing her tongue from side to side, digging his dick against the rippling, fleshy floor while flexing the impressive muscle of her slimy tongue.  Carl squirmed under its heavy, scalding embrace as wave after wave of gummy drool slid down his face, dripping from the roof of Sandra’s mouth, and the center of her bone-crushing molars.

After a few minutes of this, Sandra finally lowered the rest of her tongue across her unfortunate patient’s body as he screamed for mercy, unheard by anyone.  His face was then dunked completely downward; this buried his nose and mouth in the flowing river of glistening sputum, warming his body so much he began to sweat, saturating every inch of his frame in Sandra’s damp enzymes and mucus-mixed mineral water.  He felt the base of her mouth rumbling like a heavy vibrator, hurting his ears and shaking his entire body.   She was laughing; he could tell, he could almost hear her doing it, and he guessed she probably looked sweet and gorgeous as she did it.

Running low on air, Carl had no choice but to gasp desperately for breath directly into the pool of slobber surrounding him, gluing him down under Sandra’s oppressive, steaming tongue.  Waves upon waves of hot spit began falling into his mouth and down his throat, providing no air, and instead bringing choking heat and sliminess to his system.  He sputtered in surprise, his oxygen running low and his lungs being compressed, and accidentally blew a bubble into a large globule of Sandra’s mucus, which was floating through the clear lake.  It instantly attached itself greasily to Carl’s face; his arms were pinned to his side, so all he could do was suck hungrily for air against the thick phlegm wad like an air bag.  It was no use.

Just as he felt himself begin to die, however, Carl felt the incredible weight of the tongue lifting off of his body.  He watched, shrieking with delight as Sandra’s lips parted again, allowing a cool breeze to rush in and, more importantly, air.  He sucked it in greedily, feeling his lungs return to normal, as he clawed his way toward Sandra’s lips.  He didn’t even want to think about the explanation for this right now, but it looked like she was going to have mercy on him.  She was going to release him.

Just as he placed his hands on her teeth to pull himself out, though, Carl watched in abject horror as Sandra slammed her wet lips back together with a sloppy smack, taking away his light, coolness, and oxygen in one swift motion.  On the verge of tears then, Carl felt the saliva around his feet and legs bubbling slightly as the squishy cavern of Sandra’s mouth began to vibrate.  He was knocked helplessly over as Sandra’s cheeks began popping in and out, the squishy skin slamming into him and sending him skating through the swamp of boiling spittle before sloshing against her other damp cheek.  She was swishing him in her spit, he realized, as he slammed his head against her top row of teeth rather painfully.  Strings of thick mucus began to hang themselves along his arms like velvet badges, coating him and allowing even more soupy saliva to cling to his sweating body.  With a final smack against her cheek, he felt her sweltering tongue grasping loosely underneath his body, jamming him upward.  He crashed hard against the ribbed roof of her mouth, her tongue pinning him powerfully against it, utterly immobilizing him.  He struggled to continue getting breath from the little supply of oxygen still resting in her muggy mouth, but there wasn’t much left.  Finally releasing him back onto the top of her tongue, Carl yelped in surprise as he found himself rolling painfully along her tongue, back toward her throat.  He yelled lightly, the sound almost swallowed up completely into the jungle-like environment, another intense throatful of churning spit rolling into his mouth as he was dragged roughly by the sticky, soggy adhesives onto Sandra’s tongue one final time.  He grasped painfully at her taste buds, but found them slipping out of his squishy reach, his body becoming so thoroughly covered in juices that he couldn’t hang onto anything, his skin beginning to prune as if he had been in the bathtub for a long time.

Every muscle aching, he crumpled himself into a ball, powerless as he was lodged against the opening of Sandra’s throat, feeling it pulse like a heart valve against his legs.  Then, with a groaning rumble that reached up from the back of Sandra’s throat and culminated in an ear-popping gulp, a massive glob of mucus and broiling spit pile-drove Carl into her throat as she swallowed him.  The thin tube of Sandra’s throat began to hug at Carl, the slick, sticky walls so condensed that they pushed his entire body against itself as the gigantic doctor’s mouth muscles slowly worked the poor patient down into her esophagus, her grimy throat walls rippling like waves on an ocean as they calmly drug the defeated man toward his bubbling, putrid doom in her stomach.

“Oh, please God…” begged Carl in his mind, his lungs so thoroughly crushed inward he didn’t think he had much left, so he decided he had better act fast.  “I didn’t mean it, what I was thinking about.  I swear I didn’t…” he thought, and then realized how wrong this sounded.  “Okay, okay, I know… I know… you know, too… I did mean it, and I was going to do it.  But I never thought to understand… I mean, I never understood…” he struggled in his mind, his arms pinned so tightly against the throbbing walls of Sandra’s esophagus that it forced all the blood from his limbs.  Carl thought hard as hard as he could, forcing the lies he was trying to tell himself and whatever higher power was out there out of his mind, purifying himself.  He figured it would be best to go out with these particular thoughts in his head, rather than the fact that he was lodged tightly, preparing for death, in a woman’s oily digestive tract.  He pictured his warm bed in his uncle’s house.  The calm street outside.  His worrisome, financially broken yet caring parents.  His neighbor’s friendly dog.  His friends, even including Brian, who had gotten him into this mess on accident.  Food.  Clothes.  The wind.  The sunshine.  A kind word.  A smile: from anyone, even a stranger.  “Please.  I want my life.  I love my life.  Please, please, please… just give it back…” he wept, his microscopic tears becoming lost in the endless raging, sticky waterfalls of Sandra’s throat slime.  

As he felt himself taking his final breaths, shaking with pitiful sobbing, he heard a deep grumbling emanating back up from the dark tube of Sandra’s esophagus.  Then another, and another.  Wet gurgles, rushing upward.  He felt the gooey walls shaking, convulsing against him, pinching his body against their rubbery material.  Then, suddenly, along his feet, he felt the rushing liquid becoming thicker, and more dense.  Then it began to engulf his entire body, drowning him in some newer, thinner liquid that smelled like rotten food.  As it rushed past his body, completely encasing him in the goopy goods, he was dragged not downward, but back upward at a rapid pace.  Before he had time to blink in the pitch blackness, Carl found himself rocketing back into a wider tunnel: the opening of Sandra’s slimy throat.  He was tossed mercilessly over her rippling tongue muscles, which bopped hard against his legs as he bounced his way forward.  He felt his body ram hard against Sandra’s teeth as the flowing, rotted liquid began to engulf him again to a high level.  Then the wall of Sandra’s lips parted, letting light in, and gravity shifted downward as she began to spit out what must have been bile from her stomach.

Carl clung tightly a slippery row of perfect teeth, but the ruthless waves of backwash took hold of him and he tumbled out again into the colder world, although his body was still warmed mostly by a thick, dried layer of goop and mucus that surrounded every inch of his body.  Sandra’s gigantic hand shot out, and he bounced against her plush hand heel for a moment before rolling, exhausted and short of breath, into her soft palm.  Dizzy beyond belief, he closed his eyes, blurring out the feeling of cold water suddenly rushing over him, Sandra’s tender fingertips working over his entire body, flipping him over calmly and gently onto his back so she could rub along his shoulder blades and ass with the water.  The feeling was so amazing and cool, that Carl began to convulse, hardly daring to believe what was happening to him as Sandra calmly worked her finger flesh over his battered body to clean him off.  After a few minutes of this, then, he felt cold air rushing past his body, and then Sandra’s soft hands falling away.  He grabbed at the ground, finding himself on cool, marble tile of the office’s hallway bathroom.  

He blinked, looking upward at the 350-foot-tall goddess of a doctor, her business suit still perfectly pressed, not a shining black hair out of place, her cute glasses still resting on her nose as she stared down at him with her swirling green eyes, clasping the arm joint of her glasses between two long fingers as she stared down at him.  She seemed miles high, so terrifying, her feet like leather-heel clad school buses.  Carl’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he blacked out.

Coming to, Carl looked around, still naked, but did a double take as he realized that the bathroom was no longer a miles high cavern, but instead an average room.  He grasped at his sides, trying to gauge how real it was, his body still dripping slightly from the cold water of the sink.  Then, his fingers found his clothes, folded in a neat pile right next to his body.  He quickly pulled them over himself, covering his exposed junk in case anyone would see him, but there was no one in the bathroom, not even his carnivorous doctor.  He dressed himself quickly, panicking, as he raced for the door.  He had to escape while he had the chance.

As he slammed the door open and turned to his right to leave, he found Dr. Sandra Adams leaning against the door, one leg bent and curled behind the other, her arms folded, her long fingers resting comfortably on her forearms.  She smiled sweetly at him.  Completely shocked and terrified by this development, Carl fell to the ground, cowering at the feet of the woman, shaking.

“NO!” he screamed.

“Carl…” she said, smiling reassuringly in a lower voice.

“NO!  Just… just shut up!  You can’t… you can’t eat me, you… you just CAN’T!”

“I can’t?  And why not?” she asked smarmily, grinning at him.

“Because I want to LIVE!” he bellowed so loudly it echoed through the walls of the entire tiny office.  He started breathing heavily, silence suddenly cracking through the sound.  Both of them waited, Carl’s chest rising and falling steadily, Sandra’s fingers drumming against her arm.  Finally, she opened her mouth (which made Carl shake a little in terror just to see it in action again) and she spoke.

“Oh, you do, do you?” she said, practically staring into his brain with her drilling green eyes, giving him a knowing smile, and suddenly Carl understood everything in one blinding, painful epiphany.  He conked his head against the ground, his breathing returning to normal.  Sandra clacked over toward him in her heels, extending a large hand to help him up.  He clasped it and stood up, brushing himself off from the ground.

“Dr. Ad…”

“SANDRA,” she said with emphasis and a laugh.

“Sandra… I just don’t know… I mean, I can’t…”

She raised a hand, pressing a finger against his lips to silence him.  “I know.  Don’t say anything about it, Carl.  You’re here now, and everything is all right again.”

“But…” he said, speaking against the cool flesh of her finger.  “Why am I back to…”

“It was only a temporary effect; about half an hour long, and you become normal again.”

“HOW did you…”

“The tea.  Special family recipe,” she said, winking.  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you more.  Nor can you tell anyone what happened here.  Don’t forget your contract,” she said somewhat sternly while still smiling.  Carl nodded profusely.

“Of… of… of COURSE I won’t, never, but… but…”

Before he could finish his sentence, Sandra had placed both of her large, soft hands on his shoulders.  She leaned in and kissed him lightly goodbye on the cheek before letting go of him and moving toward the door.  He stumbled after her, dazed.

“I think we’re done here, then, Carl,” she said sweetly, opening the door.  “Promise me something, though.”

“I… of… of course, anything…”

“Enjoy your life.”

“Enjoy…”

“Yes.  I want you to go out there and be happy.  Be everything you could be and wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t decided to show up here today.  Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.”

She nodded, knowing he was telling the truth.  “I’m glad.”

“Thank you… Sandra,” said Carl, stepping out into the sunlight with an entirely new lease on life, the pain of his trials still a lingering force in his mind, but not overwhelmingly so anymore.  The thoughts of goodness he had experienced while lodged in Sandra’s wet throat were at the forefront.

“You’re welcome, Carl,” she answered simply, batting her gorgeous green eyes, blowing a quick kiss to him, and shutting the door to her office softly behind him.
A depressed man seeks psychological treatment, but ends up getting more than he bargained for when he shrinks in the office of Dr. Sandra Adams, who has an unusual appetite.

A giantess vore short story, Part 2 of 2.

Let me know what you think!
© 2013 - 2024 TheJacksmith
Comments36
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In

I for one loved this story, was curious if you’d do a sequel or an alternate version of this story?