If Sandy could hear you, she gave no indication of it. She casually dropped you on a small dinner plate and brought you over to her counter. “Let’s see, now for the seasoning…”
She then started sprinkling, salt, pepper, and all sorts of other spices and seasonings on you, causing you to cough and sneeze. “Please stop! I'm not food! I'm a person!” you cried, but she still did not answer.
Once she finished adding to your flavor, she pinched your waist between her thumb and index finger and brought you up to her wrinkled face, licking her lips. “NO! PLEASE DON’T!” you screamed. She had to have heard you that time, right?
Didn't matter. Her lips parted and you started down her moist, warm maw. Saliva slouched off the roof of her mouth onto her tongue and hot, smelly breath washed over you.
You were plopped onto her squishy wet tongue and her lips closed, trapping you inside the hot wet cave. Her tongue then began to beat you. For an older woman, she had a very active tongue. It mercilessly slammed you around. Against the roof of her mouth, the insides of her cheeks, and her closed lips. You were pushed against every part of her mouth before her tongue lifted you up and you began to slide.
“NOOOOOO!” you cried, desperately trying to keep from sliding toward her waiting throat, which opened and groaned hungrily for you.
A loud wet “GLUCK” practically deafens you as you're pulled into the tight, wet tube and begin your descent. Your face presses against the inside of Sandy’s throat as you slide slowly but surely to her waiting stomach.
You squeeze through a fleshy ring and plop into a small tomb made of wrinkled walls and a pool of acid and bile. You thrash and scream, trying to get her to throw you up, but her stomach begins beating you. You are being churned like the pathetic little snack you are as Sandy lays down for nap.
“That was the most delicious one yet.” you hear her say as her stomach continues to break you down. “I do love it when they still think they're people. It’s hilarious when they beg and cry.”
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