An ottery sleeping bag 2

By Strega

Lake Wahachi was known for its otters, huge yet cute water-weasels larger than a man but gentle and harmless to humans.  It was against the park rules to swim with them but people occasionally did  just the same and other than the rare scratch from a wayward stroke of a webbed paw's claws people rarely came to harm.  If they had wanted to they could easily overturn boats and overpower any person in the water (or even out of it, some of the otters being ten-plus feet long) but the fact was they didn't and the otters were the main reason people came to the lake. They were a major tourist attraction and woe betide anyone who hurt an otter.

Unbeknownst to nearly everyone there was one otter who wasn't as inoffensive as the rest, for a peculiar incident some time back led it to think that sometimes humans would willingly feed themselves to it. The only man who knew about it was in no position to pass along that information since he was too drunk to realize what was happening at the time and had long since been consumed by the otter's digestive juices.

So it was that the big otter padded through the woods from campsite to campsite, so low-slung it could pass beneath the branches, and listened to what was going on. Loud music, not to its interest.  A quiet conversation around a fire, it moved on. Two people laughing a bit too loudly and the stink of alcohol made it pause, though. Its lone human meal had smelled powerfully of that and so it moved around the campsite until it was on a downhill slope. There it settled down to wait with its muzzle facing up the hill toward the camp.

It waited over an hour, periodically creeping a bit closer until it was just at the edge of the firelight and it could watch what was going on.  Two humans sat across from one another at a campfire, laughing, joking and slugging back drinks. Eventually the male rose unsteadily to his feet and grabbed a flashlight. The light flickered in an arc as he made to stumble his way to the bathroom then swung back toward the otter.  The man saw something, a green flash of eyeshine as the light went by, and instead of heading past the tent toward the outhouses he wobbled his way down the slope.

"Hey Katie, check it out!" The otter lay perfectly still though the man was only a few feet away now.  The man turned off the light but in the glow of the campfire the woman made her way down the slope and a sharp intake of breath showed that she'd seen it too.  A great long torpedo of an otter, eyes staring fixedly past them and mouth gaped wide in the hopes that a drunk human might simply climb in.  It had happened before, after all.
"Oh!" The woman took an abrupt step back and sat hard on the grass, only a few feet from the otter.  "Derek, get away from it! Look how big it is!"
"Aw, it's harmless," slurred the man, and pushed his hand into the squelching wetness of the otter's tongue.  Like the last time it tasted human the otter's saliva began to flow, lubricating its throat for the long swallow it hoped would follow.  It could have sprung up on its short legs and bowled both humans over, but it still didn't view humans as something to be hunted. That didn't mean it wouldn't eat them, though.

The two humans mutually staggered off to relieve themselves amongst the bushes and the man got back first.  The otter's eyes brightened and it surreptitiously yawned a bit wider when the man sat down and slid his feet into a set of ottery jaws. Saliva had by now rendered its gullet as slick as oiled metal and by the time it heard the woman approaching the man was in its jaws to the hips. Only when she came into view did the man suddenly shriek and flail about and the otter's composure almost cracked.

"Ahh!  It's eating me!  Help! Help!" The woman recoiled in horror and the man burst out laughing before pulling his drool-covered legs back out.  It took all the otter's will to not clamp down and start swallowing but it stuck to its plan and just lay there jaws agape. It didn't understand why the first man fed himself to it but it lay there hoping these two would do the same.

"God, honey," the woman said, and the man just laughed and pulled her close.

"See, it's in a trance or something," he said, and they both laughed drunkenly. Hands began to wander and the otter lay there watching as bit by bit the two humans lost what little clothing they were wearing. Too much gin and beer left them not thinking clearly, to say the least, and when the man guided both their sets of feet into the otter's wide-open maw the woman only giggled.

There was an odd sensuality to the stroke of slippery throat along their skin and when they were both to the thighs in gullet the man rolled on top and began to thrust. The woman clung tight and neither noticed the slope the otter had so carefully chosen. Each thrust moved the woman a fraction up the incline and each time she sank back down the otter's open jaws and slick throat were waiting,   Bit by bit they slipped down the slope and into its gullet and the perfectly still and harmless-looking otter seemed such a non-threat that even the scrape of a fang across a buttock only excited the man to make love that much more vigorously. The otter was just part of the background now and neither realized how much of their conjoined bodies had already slipped down its throat.

With the great bulge of two moving bodies slowly stretching its neckfur the otter finally began to move.  The last time this happened it'd been asleep until half its meal was down its throat but it was awake now and ever so slowly and carefully it eased its jaws forward.  Each time the lovers slipped a fraction down the slope it crept that much up it, seemingly doing nothing at all but in fact doubling the speed of their trip into its gullet.  Slick wet throat soaked the pair in saliva and lubricated both their lovemaking and the ease of their downward slide and it was not long after that the otter's jaws slipped up over their chests and around their shoulders. Very little of the lovers touched the grass any more and when the male began to groan and shake as he approached orgasm the movement started the final slide.

The woman was lagging behind the male and her eyes went wide as she noticed the sinking sensation, but by then there was no stopping it. They slipped down the slope together and the otter seemed to smile as its whiskery muzzle closed over the lovers' faces.  The male shuddered through a brief climax and then lay confused in the woman's arms as he drunkenly wondered why slippery flesh pressed in from all sides.  The slope the otter lay on still had them gliding easily down its throat and the glow from the campfire shining between its fangs was the last light either of them ever saw.

Even if they'd thrown off their drunken stupor it was too late to resist. They were just a massive bulge swelling out the otter's neckfur and chest and it lifted its head, noting that unlike its last meal this great lump of food was so bulky it wanted to stick where it lay in the gullet.   The last time it took a human meal it had simply let the man slip down the slope into its stomach but these two had volunteered to be food as well (as far as the otter was concerned, anyway) and for the first time the otter swallowed, stretching and arching where it lay. A great rolling contraction of its swallowing muscles gripped the two lovers, who only now began to wonder what was really happening, and squeezed them down its throat into the otter's lengthy stomach.

Two naked humans well-slicked with saliva made a massive bulge in the otter's middle and there was a brief, confused struggle and muttered words as they tried to push their way through strong ottery muscle and oily pelt. The warmth and softness pressing in from all sides wasn't that different from the satin lining of a good sleeping bag, albeit a rather damp one, and with a drunken giggle the woman decided it must all be a dream and began to press herself against the man once more.  Just as drunk and just as confused he reciprocated and a wriggling motion in the otter's guts communicated their lovemaking until with a long belch the otter let back out most of the air it had swallowed with its meal.  

Gradually the movements inside it diminished as the stomach squeezed them together and digestive juices began to flow. In the warmth and wetness of an ottery stomach the two passed into unconsciousness never realizing where they were or what would happen to them next. Alcohol is a powerful social and sexual lubricant and, it turns out, also makes is much more likely that you'll slide down an otter's throat.

Soon enough there was stillness and the otter rose on its short legs, licking its whiskery muzzle and a little more than comfortably full thanks to the great bulge in its middle.  It sniffed disinterestedly at the abandoned clothing  and flashlight then turned to waddle down toward the lake, belly dragging.

The movements squeezed the air out of its victims' lungs and the otter let out a last burp before stretching out near the water.  This was almost the exact spot it had taken the last human meal and this time too it dozed as its stomach gurgled and churned.  An otter's belly is powerful and quick and by the time the sun rose what had been a lumpy bulge obviously not a natural part of the water-weasel was now just just a chubbiness that made the otter seem cute and cublike. Otters don't normally tend to fat but most otters don't swallow two humans in one meal and it had spent the night efficiently processing the two into calories, nutrients and fat. More than half of them was still nutritious mush filling its guts but to the eye it was simply a very fat otter.

It slipped into the water for a morning swim before any human could remark on its exceptional plumpness and as it was too portly to easily catch fish in its current state it would work off the fat in a mere week or two. Two more humans had been utterly consumed by its digestive system and there was even less evidence this time than last, since there wouldn't be a pair of underwear making its way through the otter's bowels.  These meals had been entirely naked and an otter's stomach knows what to do with a big meaty meal, fish or otherwise. Humans would find the abandoned clothing but with not a drop of blood or paw print in the grassy slope to show what had happened they would just scratch their heads and wonder.  Most likely they would blame in on their fellow man, for human on human violence would seem vastly more likely to them than what actually happened.

Over the weeks that followed the otter considered the recent events in its simple ottery way. Three humans had ended up inside it now but a dozen more attempts yielded nothing save some drunkards flicking pebbles into its open maw and one woman who petted it where it lay before losing interest.  It connected this experience with failed attempts to catch fish by simply waiting for them to swim into its maw - what worked for snapping turtles did not work so well for otters. In the absence of appealing bait it took an awful lot of luck for lunch to walk willingly down your throat.

It was after yet another failed attempt to secure a willing human meal that it finally occurred to the otter that it was going about it all wrong. It padded through the campsites disappointed that the drunk couple it had just left didn't want to climb into its maw.  It was as irritated as the habitually happy otter ever got and it paused by a small tent, noting that the flap was open and glancing inside.

It was a warm summer night and the male human inside lay atop his sleeping bag, head toward the otter and bare feet bulging out the far end of the tent. Saliva immediately wetted the hungry otter's mouth as it remembered the large and filling "fish" it had eaten recently.

The otter's first human meal had been both sleepy and drunk, the second lustful and drunk.  Alcohol had gotten them both into an otter's stomach but lust, drink and fatigue all had the same basic effect of making one unaware of his surroundings. Was a sleeping human that different from a drunk one? Hungry as it was, did it even care if its meal was willing?

Silently it stepped into the tent, working its jaws to unhinge them as it approached the man's head. It was only a question of how far it would get over its meal before the man awoke, but if it got even as far as the armpits it would be enough.  It could just step forward, swallowing as it went until it, and the new bulge in its middle, were the only occupants of the tent.  It had not given up on the idea of lying mouth agape and hoping humans would feed themselves to it but this time, at least, it would take the initiative.  This particular man was going to get a nice ottery sleeping bag to spend the night in whether he wanted it or not.