It was hard to keep track of time while digesting inside of a predators stomach. The outside world was drowned out by constant organic sounds gurgling in an endless chorus all around, irregular churning activity from the stomach walls oozing digestive fluids and undulating to grind over its meal. even the more rhythmic noises like the drum of a beating heart or flow of inhaling and exhaling lungs that reverberated through the stomach walls couldn't be focused on well enough to use them as a way to measure time. Attention from the predator was also not reliable, since they were just as likely to completely ignore their meal as dote on them with constant teasing. It all made for quite a zen like experience that easily lulled prey into a trance of timeless euphoria, soaking in belly fluids and being stimulated from every possible angle for seconds that lasted an eternity.

However long it lasted though, eventually the stomach rumbles with the finality of digestion as the splashing soup of stomach slime drains from the bottom of the organ chamber. Often taking the prey down along as well, unless the predator wrapped an arm around the bottom overhang of their stomach to keep their prey inside or the prey themselves braced against the belly walls to keep from being flushed along. But being digested was an intense experience and more often than not, the prey blearily was sent down out of the stomach and through winding fleshy tubes of guts in the lower half of the predators body. The trip down and out of the predator was smooth and swift, but often was delayed by a lengthy detour. Being soaked and marinated and digested in a stomach made prey soft and malleable like soggy noodles, and just as ripe for being sucked up. It didn't take more than a slight lean for a prey to be snagged by a worbling nub of villi lining the intestinal walls, and within a second they would be slurped away into the small straw of flesh.

With a disorienting noisy shluck the prey is yanked from the lower guts and is deposited into the predators pudge. Oppressively soft walls of padded fat encase the prey in a skin tight embrace, a feeling not unlike being stuffed into a vacbed of organic marshmallows. Like being sandwiched between corpulent well fed stomachs but from every possible direction all at once, encasing every square inch of the preys body. Holding them close and tight and overwhelming them with the warmth and softness until they cannot tell the difference between where their body ends and the layers of fat begin. The lines blur and the difference becomes purely semantic. They are pudge, able to feel the stimulation of contact from paw rubbing across the expanse of freshly plumped curves, the ripples of mounds wobbling with every step as their predator continues on with their day to day as their newly pudged prey contribute to the extra jiggle on their hips. The predator becomes their entire existence, a feeling that is all consuming mentally and physically. At least at first, since the experience of being digested was so intense, because the prey is often worn and wracked by the time they settle into the confines of predpudge.

It is a herculean effort to even twitch a finger after spending who-knows-how-long digesting in a stomach, so the possessive embrace of pudge becomes a welcome comfort. There's no need to move or even think, the prey can relax in the folds of fat for as long as they need to recover physically and mentally. They can feel the imprint of hands rubbing across the surface of the carnivores well fed body as if the contact was directly against their own self, and shudder from the soothing casual dominance of being owned as an internal extension of their predator. Drifting in and out of awareness, since it was so easy for a prey to lose track of themselves within the jiggling ocean of pudge that they were contributing to and adrift in the midst of. Too worn out and weak mentally and physically, there's nothing wrong with a bit of indulgence while they recuperate since there was little else they could do even if they wanted to.

Once they did recover, catching their breath and feeling rejuvenated in core and limb, an unspoken question would receive a silent answer from both predator and prey. The question being that of an exit from the predators fat, a way out from the folds of jiggling pudge. And the answer being whether the prey can or will take that exit, or remain within the bulk of rapacious body for the foreseeable future. It takes two to tango, and just as many to allow for a prey to extricate from chub.

If the predator leaves the exit unlocked then the prey is free to take it at any time, once they recover their strength they can wiggle their way against the embrace of pudge surrounding them until they wedge themselves back out from where they came, deposited back into the bowels to finally complete their tour out (or wiggle their way back into something to be digested once again, such as the case may be). And while a predator may sometimes wish for a prey to evacuate from their body, if the prey wishes to remain than they can brace themselves within their bed of fat to stay right where they are regardless of how much stimulation and effort the pred exerts to evict them.

And in the same way, the predator can lock the exit as they wish and retain their prey as a part of their mass indefinitely, whether the prey consents or not. For the prey to be released then that release must be desired or allowed by both predator and prey, but their confinement can be eternal should either one want for it to be so. It is a binary, a switch that is in either one position or the other. The decision might not be made consciously, but subconsciously a predator is either greedy and retentive or content to be a temporary residence. And in the same way prey may either long to stay snuggled away for five minutes more in perpetuity or long for agency and release, even if the concentrated thought in the front of their mind contemplates otherwise.

A predator runs their hand over their belly and can feel the consigned away presence of countless former meals, tucked away into the infinite cells of soft chub that plump out their mass. For each and every individual one they have been tucked away into a welcoming respite or locked within their new home, though perhaps their mind can change for any one of them at any moment. And even then it would be then for the prey to decide whether they ease out of the endless internal expanse of soft squish to slip their way out of the predators body either while they wake or slumber. Occasionally the pred awakens to find their flank slightly less occupied than when they tucked in for bed. But in the end that just means the released prey can simply be hunted down enjoyed and devoured once again!

Over and over again, so often it's easy to lose count. Easy to lose track of time. Easy to let go and enjoy, being swallowed, being digested, being pudge, as many times and for as often as they please.