(Dear Gods I haven’t written anything like this since the beginning of my vore phase. Bare with me.)
It was a fucked up world. Or at least it had been for years now. Normal society was entirely uprooted after the appearance of a new species of humanoids, the shortest ones being the size of two story houses, and the tallest ones rivaling sky scrapers. Maybe if it hadn’t started the way it did, with humans immediately rushing to lock them up, experiment on them, and profit off of them, then maybe things would be peaceful. But leave it to typical human ignorance to lay down a foundation of rage and vengeance. It wasn’t long before the enormous humanoids, broke free of their captivity and dismantled human society as everyone knew it. With whole cities crushed underfoot, and the most so called powerful humans in the world all eaten, people say things changed in the blink of an eye.
The massive humanoids made a name for themselves, Gods. And honestly…that’s exactly what they were. What they are to this day. In this world, humans and Gods exist side by side, but you’d be a fool to think that they’re equals. The Gods are at the top of the food chain, literally and figuratively. Humans tow the line between assigned livestock that you could find ground up at the grocery store, and workers living their day to day lives in what can only be described as a sick imitation of their past way of life. Let me explain, human children can still go to school, but they also go to school with God children. If a human child in anyway discriminates or threatens a God child, they have three strikes until they’re sent to a farm. If a human child ends up crushed by a God child, it’s written off as an accident. If you get the same job as a God and you’re both going for the same promotion, don’t be surprised when the police write up your disappearance as a complete mystery. Or to add insult to injury, ‘an act of God.’
One could go on and on about the fucked up stories of humans in this world, but this particular one is about a young woman named Emily. A human making it to age eighteen is a miracle in this world, so one would think that a human with a completed education would seize at whatever opportunity they had to rise in the world? Hell no. Emily had no interest in trying to land an office job where there was a fifty percent chance of becoming CEO and a fifty percent chance of getting smashed under a rival’s fist. Ever since day one of making it to adulthood, Emily had been making a plan to survive, and there was only one job that was both safe for human women, and paid a liveable wage…stripper.
Not the most dignified thing on the planet, but the greatest plus side of working at The Toy Box, was one simple rule. Under no circumstances were Gods permitted to touch the dancers. And since the bouncers and security were also Gods, people had a tendency to listen. And so after a successful audition, Emily secured her spot as a dancer, even managing to get in good favor with a frequent customer. He was the son of a casino owner, and VERY heavy tipper, who only went by the name Ace, as far as anyone knew. For two years, it was a perfect life, but of course a wrench is always thrown in just when the gears start turning smoothly.
Emily took her usual route to work, a narrow alleyway that so far only the hands of nosey God children could fit into. Being guaranteed protection on the job did NOT
mean protection for life in general. After finally being let inside, she took off her coat, revealing a silver two piece outfit with ribbons in the back and the word KISSES across the chest, trying to imitate the iconic candy wrapper. An outfit like this would be suicide anywhere else, but in this particular line of work it was provocative, blurring the line between food and sex, and certainly catching the eye of most Gods. “I don’t see why you bother still coming in at your old age.” A voice hissed. Emily rolled her eyes. “The fact that you’re bitter, and worried about losing this job to one of the new auditions, doesn’t change the fact that I’m only twenty, Farah.”
The other woman just growled, and flipped her ponytail of crimson hair. “For your information, I’m only in jeopardy because some bitch framed me for robbing Andrew.” Andrew was the owner of the Toy Box. He was…nice, if you didn’t mind the Monopoly Man creeping on your dressing room. But regardless, anyone with a brainstem would be well aware that Farah was guilty, seeing how she was a notorious pick pocket. But it was shocking she’d be stupid enough to rob a God, and her boss. “Well guilty or not, we both know he’s going to kick you out as soon as he can get a replacement. My condolences to you, unless one of the regular dancers break a leg.” Out the corner of her eye, Emily saw a God with dark brown hair, and reddish brown eyes, dressed in a black suit with a silver tie, being led to his seat.
“Speaking of which~ Wish me luck.” Emily smiled at Farah as she put on her stilettos. “Break a leg, bitch.” She muttered. Emily rolled her eyes and began walking across the stage, which was more of a massive table with built in poles and a glass divider with holes in it, so the Gods could still communicate with the dancers. “Well, look who it is.” Ace smirked, watching Emily stride towards her pole with the confidence of a Goddess. For years now, he’d been drawn to, and only watched and paid for her performance, and really she was just his type. Shoulder length jet black hair, cat like green eyes, a long slender body with a slight hourglass outline, honestly more elegant than just sexy. “Did you dress up just for me?”
Emily giggled and shook her head. “You think I look like this just for one set of eyes?” Ace pouted. “That’s too bad, because I have $5000 for the first little lady who makes me feel special.” With one of his fingers poking through the holes, Ace tapped against the glass as if impatient. “It would only have taken $500 for me to boost your ego.” She began climbing up the pole to get up higher and lean closer to lick Ace’s fingertip. Suddenly a scream echoed throughout the area, almost startling Emily to the point of losing her grip.
First off, I’m a shameless villain lover so obviously tall, conventionally attractive, dark haired, well dressed, probably very wealthy or intellectual as in I was either bought from some sketchy obscure website, or have been targeted by a scientist mixing pleasure and work. Secondly though I have a huuuuge tummy fetish, not just with vore. So a giant with a dad bod that could use certain body parts to pin me down, also a great option 
I’m so sick of half of me sticking out and being cold
🥤