The raccoon nudges you playfully with its nose, and you fall to the ground. Almost as soon a you hit the soft, earth, the animal scoops you up into its mouth. You lay a minute, petrified, in the squishy prison as the jaws close; you can't see a thing. But you can sure feel the warm, wet tongue pulse underneath you. The raccoon swishes you this way and that, causing you to rub up against its teeth and the roof of the mouth. Soon you are coated with slimy saliva. Satisfied, the raccoon pushes you to the back of the mouth. Light pours in as the predator yawns. For a second, all you can do is stare down into the hot, rank abyss of the throat, glistening and very much alive. Motion jolts you out of the trance; the tongue pushes upward, squeezing you down into the raccoon's esophagus. It's a tight fit, but you easily slide down the slick tube. As you slide down the raccoon's throat, you can hear its stomach gurgling, and you can feel the temperature rise. After a few more swallows, you are pushed up against a tight, muscular ring, the entrance to the stomach.
It opens at your touch, and you fall into the acidic juices of the stomach with a splash. Just as you settle into the caustic bath, curled up in the fleshy sack, you feel the raccoon move; waves of acid wash over you, stinging you. It stops.
A torrent of water enters the stomach as the raccoon drinks from a stream, and you're now wading in the pool of the raccoon's stomach. The water is high enough that you might be able to reach the entrance to the throat.
You...
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