“Sssshhh…” I cooed softly into his ear, nuzzling into the soft fur there. My forked tongue flicked between my lips, and my coils spiraled even tighter around his body. When I pressed a claw to his mouth, his sobs died to whimpers.

The rabbit still shivered with fright. His teeth chattered, his muscles quivered, and his big, wet eyes flicked around wildly. He struggled and kicked even though he had no real hope of escaping.

That was fine with me, as long he remained quiet. I could taste his fear on the air around him, between the salt of his tears and sweat, and the tang of his rut from a few minutes earlier. I folded him against my chest and wrapped him into a tight hug that sent his bodyheat coursing deliciously through my cool skin and scales. The sensation was almost as pleasant as a morning bask on my rock, but right now I couldn’t be lazy – I had to be cunning. I held him against me, stroking my claws through his fur and hissing lullabies until his shakes calmed and his breathing evened out to just hiccups and stifled sobs. “Ssshhh, bunny… Ssshhh.”

Even while I petted his head my coils wound their way up legs and hips, moving him toward my tail where I would be able maneuver him more easily into my throat. Thirty feet of muscle and scales and intestines is a lot of me to feed, but as it turns out it’s hardly enough to get a really good hold on lunch. While I cuddled his upper half and whispered into his ears, I wrestled with his legs for better position. My scutes skittered tantalizingly over the corded muscles in his thighs and calves, making my mouth water in anticipation of all that meat.

As my tightest grip scooted further toward my tail, down near my cloaca and and the sex buds buried on either side of it, I moaned a little and squeezed him just a bit tighter. For a few tingly moments I gave up wrestling just to rub against him and please myself, and his gurgles of fear and my murmurs of pleasure mingled. Nothing came of it – my grumbling belly wouldn’t be put off for such a trifling pleasure – and I don’t think he ever realized that I was masturbating with him; the poor dear was clinging to me and had buried his face between my breasts to cry like I was his mother.

Even if he had realized, he couldn’t complain. That’s what he had been doing when I’d caught him in the tall grass. He had been hunched over when I first spotted him, hands working furiously between his legs, eyes pinched shut and grunting while he nibbled his lip. I had watched him for a few minutes, thrilling at my own voyeurism before I made my approach. Even if I had made a sound while I slithered up within striking distance, I doubt he would have heard it. I don’t know if he was more surprised or embarrassed when I pounced him to the ground.

“There now, that’s enough.” I peeled him away from my chest, holding him at arms’ length so I could look into his eyes. With my thumbs I wiped the tears away from his eyes, being especially careful not to scratch him with my wickedly-hooked claws. “No more crying now, bunny. It’s time to be brave.”

I could have just bitten him, of course. There would have been something scrumptious about my long fangs sinking down into the soft flesh of his neck and pumping his veins full of venom until his body was as limp as a doll in my arms. He would have been perfectly quiet then, and I wouldn’t have had to worry about the kind of trouble his cries might bring: scavengers, or a dozen of his brothers bent on revenge. Or worse: plenty of predators wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to snack on a lamia too busy gorging herself on bunny to make an escape. But I could always bite him later if I had to. Until then, I was willing to take a little risk. I wanted more than calories from his body.

I lifted his chin with a finger and smiled at him. My moss-green eyes caught the limped brown pools in his face as they rose from my chest and held them tight. I wasn’t the most skilled, but I had a bit of a knack for mesmerism, and rabbits were weak-minded. Sure enough, his mouth went slack and his small sobs faded. His strong legs still squirmed a bit, but I was enjoying that. “Are you brave, bunny?”

“Y-y-you’re g-g-gonna eat me, aren’tcha?” More tears welled beneath his eyes.

“Sssshhh…” I cooed again, running my claws through his fur and scratching behind his head where I thought he’d like it. “Yesss.”

It was a quick cruelty, and I relished the whiff of sudden terror in the air before I continued. “But I don’t hear you sympathizing with the plants you eat or the bugs you squash with those clown feet of yours, do I? You’re my food. It’s natural.” My torso swayed slightly as I held myself near to him, and the subtle motion caused his lids to droop and his mouth to fall a little more slack. His feet moved only occasionally now.

“Will it hurt?” he whimpered.

“Mmmm…” I answered, still feeling too cruel to lie to him. My claws traced down his neck and chest and over the little bulge of his belly. This young rabbit was a lucky find for me – he was the perfect meal. He was nearly grown to his full adult size – his body was meaty and well-developed – but he was still plump and incautious and naive with youth.

“It will be like a kisss,” I hissed into his ear, “except over your whole body, and it will never ssstop.” My hand had lingered below his belly, and now my fingers curled around the shaft of his still-partially-erect phallus, squeezing and then pumping to fill it with blood. His phallus did nothing for me – it was nothing like the lovely shapes that would fit into my crevices – but this wasn’t the first young bunny I’d ever had for lunch, either. I knew ways to make my meals pliant without pumping them full of poison.

“I- I’ve never been kissed,” he gurgled back. His lids were scrunched shut, his buckteeth nibbling his lower lip with an expression of pleasure and anticipation not unlike the one I’d giggled at before I pounced.

“Oooh… a big boy like you?” My hand continued to squeeze and stroke his now-firm phallus while I shifted and curled to reposition him, to bring him up above my head where gravity would help. I could already feel my throat beginning to dilate and my ribs stretch wide. Thin, oily saliva filled my mouth and dripped down my throat; I licked it from my lips. “I find that sssso hard to believe…”

Just for fun, because he was so cute with his eyes pinched shut, I kissed him. It was nothing too serious – even thinking that way was gross – but his lips puckered back against mine and he moaned with pleasure. His mouth opened greedily and his phallus surged in my hand; I let it go hastily – I didn’t want him making a mess in my coils.

I think his eyes opened to see why I’d pushed him away, because he yelped in surprise. The last thing he would have seen was my wet, pink mouth stretching over his face and turning everything to black. Oh, how he kicked then! I slipped my tail up between his legs until my sex buds were squished right in between where his thighs squirmed and squeezed, and it was my turn to giggle with pleasure. With strong, wriggling thrusts I pushed my mouth further over his wedge-shaped head, slickening his fur with my saliva. He squealed through his tightly-clamped jaw and kicked with such strength that I had to squeeze him just to the point where his bones were ready to crack before he relented. Once I had my tongue beneath his chin and my fangs behind his skull, it was only a matter of a few gulps to drag his head to the back of my throat. I took a few deep breaths while I gathered my energy for the hardest part.

It’s long, difficult work to swallow a creature whose shoulders are more than half as wide as your own, especially when you have a torso closer to the shape of one of those humans than a proper predator. His head was ready to slip down my throat, and the feeling of that bulge there – and the anticipation of it in my stomach – was plenty of encouragement to keep swallowing. I had to empty both my lungs and his to fit him in, and he still got stuck. I began to despair that he was too plump, too meaty, too scrumptious. I knew my eyes weren’t bigger than my stomach, but both were bigger than my jaws. Still, even at that moment of the most pain, when it felt like my lips couldn’t possibly stretch any wider, it was worth it. Once I had his shoulders into my throat he just slipped right down, and I could feel the lumps of his head and elbows and hips and knees and huge feet squishing down through the almost-too-narrow passageway between my spine and lungs. We were both in a race against time the last few moments. Neither of had been able to breath for minutes, and until I’d pushed him all the way through my torso, through the “finish-line” gateway of my vestigial pelvis (and, incidentally, the vestigial pleasure buds his squirming body triggered there), neither of us had room in our chests for a breath. Of course I had the benefit of practice, and I knew I could hold on despite the burning in my lungs and the light-headedness and the stars creeping into the corner of my vision, but he was mad with fright and still fighting me. He must have been been pretty close to blackout before warm waves of pleasure washed through my hips and he spilled down into my gut.

I could feel him breathing then, sucking in great heaving gasps inside of me, and I curled around the bulge squirming just below my waist.

My stomach sack had swollen, as it always did with meals as big as him. The skin there was stretched so thin I could nearly see through it – and I wish I could. I’d love to watch his face, to stare contentedly into his terror-filled eyes, to watch him beg for mercy even though it was clearly too late. Instead, I had to content myself with watching the bulges that were his shoulders and face and belly and knees squirm through the rubbery pink flesh. As thin as it was – thin enough for air to pass through, I guessed, since my meals never seemed to suffocate – it was far too strong to worry about him breaking out or even clawing through, though I suppose it would hurt if he tried. My claws gently raked over the skin distended between my scutes and I sighed with pleasure.

He was a perfect fit. Even basting in the thick, slimy, narcotic pre-juices my stomach had begun to secrete around him, he could barely move. With absent-minded pleasure I lightly drew the outline of his shoulder, the bulges of his face, the lumps that were his folded long ears, and traced down his back to his big, meaty hips and thighs. His breath was still ragged and frightened, and heavy enough that I thought I could almost feel it through the membrane lining of my sack. If I clapped my hands down over the shape of his mouth I could probably suffocate him and end his desperate struggles, but why would I want to? Each time he moved I groaned with pleasure, and my stomach pumped out more of the drugged pre-juices that would, over the next few hours, put him and me both into a blissful stupor. Sometimes I spoke to my meals as I felt them move, telling them how much I enjoyed them, taunting them to try to escape, and I think they heard me, even if they never answered. With this rabbit I just sighed.

Finally, after a doleful grunt that was meant to indicate my dissatisfaction that I couldn’t just curl up here in the tall grass, I unwound to slither slowly back toward my burrow (though at this point I would take and dark, private place I could find). It was too dangerous to remain so exposed once his real digestion began. I had no idea if the euphoric stupor would carry him through the slow process of melting away to bits of bone and teeth, or if it would wear out and he’d spend a few minutes or an hour or a day in pain. I didn’t really care. For the moment we both squirmed with pleasure, and soon I’d be asleep, curled around my warm belly. With any luck I’d spend the next few days of the tall grass, of plump, juicy bunnies, and of big watery eyes too filled with the terror of me to look for an escape.