You (Isabelle) groan as you manage to sit upright, your belly hanging out far past your breasts and spilling all over your lap and even over your skinny knees. You feel your belly for signs of life, even as part of you wonders if, now that everyone knows you can vore, you can let out the boy who so sweetly gave himself up for you. A darker urge swells up, one more primal than even the desire for a mate, as your body cries out to be allowed to keep its meal. But all of this is irrelevant until you find out whether Brad is even alive still.
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