fic goatgirl oc vore junkeating burps stomach noise unfin(?)

To most creatures, the warm rays of sunlight that greeted the Earth during the dawn of a new day would serve as a waking call, a universally-understood sign to embrace another morning and to begin one's day in earnest. Birds would begin singing their songs, cattle would lumber out from their stables for the wide open pastures, and the lights of the modest yet industrious town of Valle would gently flicker on, as if to respond in kind to the Sun's glow. It was a practiced ritual, as if it was all part of Mother Nature's grand plan for her world, and even the grumpiest of beings wound find it hard to resist the allure of warmth and energy brought on by the break of dawn.

Sapara, fortunately to some, was not like most creatures.

It was hardly unusual for her to sleep well past daybreak, buried in her cozy blankets and snoring soundly, and whether it was spurred on by another oversized meal or mere laziness, anyone who knew her would hardly bat an eyelash as she championed her lethargic cause and dozed well through until noon. The energy of life outside her crude window would hardly stir her most days, and unless she had somehow find a way to wake up ecstatic and not have it involve gorging herself up several pants sizes, she rarely had it in her to drag herself from the warmth of her bed and greet the sunlight doing its best to infiltrate her humble home.

Still, even she couldn't stay in bed forever. It was half past noon when her carefully practiced scheme of flopping around her pillows failed to keep the light from her eyes, and she resigned to sitting upwards, bleary and none too happy about waking. For a short time, she would stare at nothing in particular, until finally giving a yawn interspersed with an audible gurgling noise and rubbing whatever sleep still clung to her eyes.

As she slowly pulled the thick blankets off of her body and swing her equally-thick legs over the bed, a soft yet unladylike grunt escaped her lips, her usually-amiable disposition partially soured by her usual morning grumpiness. Still, there was no going back, and as she stood up, another damp yawn slipped through her lips, stirred by her motion.

By all means, she was a unique specimen. Standing straight, she was a mere few inches from reaching six feet tall, though she hardly seemed it given her proportions. For more reasons that one she had a rather unusual appearance, the least of which could be attributed to her padded frame. Meaty hips that blossomed into a magnificent rear were one of her defining traits, as well as an unmistakable potbelly poking out from beneath her too-small sleeping shirt, ever-so-slightly misshapen from her physiology. It was clear as day that the young lady lived a life of gluttony and sloth, and while someone with such a solitary and almost rugged habitat being so plush was a bit odd, it was nothing compared to the rest of her.

The sound her feet made upon reaching the floor was not that of soft flesh, but instead of hard keratin, clacking on the stone of her room when she stood; both of her legs taped off into hooves, a bit scuffed from everyday wear and tear, and they contributed to her above-average height in a rather obvious way. Equally as incriminating were her horns, a pair of small but noticeable nubs protruding from her shaggy hair and capping off her decidedly animalistic shape alongside her short, thin tail. Although she could pass as a normal human, simple inspection of her gait and body would reveal the tubby girl to be quite a bit more.

Blinking and glancing around, Sapara rolled her shoulders, wincing slightly as the last of her residual soreness left her body from her less-than-optimal sleeping posture, and reached for her closet. She wasn't much of a fashionista, but even a girl like her had a handful of outfits, and she mulled over it for a moment before pulling out cleaner clothes and dressing herself. A few moments later and the telltale click-clacking of her hooves heralded her arrival in her cramped kitchen.

Although pantries were typically used to contain food, the now-fully-awake goatgirl's cabinets lay barren save for a handful of suboptimally-preserved fruits and vegetables. She fancied herself a handful of cherries, clearly past their prime but by no means inedible, and as she popped them into her mouth, she could feel her innards kicking into gear. Another interesting quirk of her physiology was the multitude of stomach chambers she possessed, perhaps explaining her eating habits, though more than a bit of her belly was simple pudge. The movement of the small fruit entering her guts caused a soft, airy burp to slip past her lips, though she paid it no mind.

Content with her snack's ability to tide her over until her main course, she made her way to the door and stepped outside, glancing behind her at her house. It wasn't much, a simple stone indent in the rocky hills she loved, but her handiwork had converted it into a more than passable abode, bits and bobs of repurposed junk serving to accentuate her efforts in making herself a cozy respite. Sure, the humans in the town had more proper homes, but it never bothered her; she wasn't one for jealousy.

She began to make her way down the trail, humming to herself and letting her mind wander to the treats in store for her. The truth behind her understocked kitchen lay in her locale, sweeping hills forming the outskirts of Valle, and the lesser-appreciated fruit of the humans' labor could be seen plainly as she overcame the crest of the hill: a wide, crudely-cordoned off section of flatlands had been converted into a landfill for the meek town, piles of metal and plastic stretching high enough to catch anyone's eye, yet not quite high enough to eclipse the town itself. The sight was enough to fill her with renewed vigor, and she has to keep herself from skipping as she finally began to descend the slope, sun beginning to set at her back.

---

It was evening by the time she reached the dump proper, blue skies having gave way to crisp orange and red hues, and she slipped past the poorly-maintained fencing with practiced ease. As always, the lot was essentially deserted; she knew the human workers never showed up on Thursdays, and it meant she had it all to herself, at least for the moment.

Just the myriad of smells had Sapara licking her lips, rust and copper and tin combining with more organic odors, overwhelming her senses and making it difficult to decide where to begin. The wide intruder instinctively ducked behind one gargantuan pile, wary of any unwelcome company, but as soon as she had scanned the horizon for other life, she was gazing over the mound of junk, looking for prizes.

Above her, nestled in the crook of the garbage, was a small aluminum can. To most, it was nothing but spoiled, useless metal, but to the keen eye of the makeshift dumpster-diver it was a miniature treasure trove. A lifetime of life in the rocky hills surrounding Valle had left her with more than enough balance and agility to partially scale the heap, and before long she was cradling the can in her hands, greedily eyeing it over.

According to what was left of the label, it was a tin of peaches, but it was clear by both the smell and the look of it that its contents had seen better days. A small leak in the canister caused some distinctively foul-scented fluid to escape, spilling onto her fingers, and any normal person wouldn't hesitate in returning it to the pile of garbage, but Sapara was far from being a normal person. After all, one man's junk is another man's treasure, although even the creator of such a phrase would likely disapprove of what was to follow.

With a happiness and greed enough to nauseate even the most iron-stomached gourmets, she sank her teeth into the top of the can. The crunch of the comparatively-soft metal was a tingling delight to her, and with one last crinkling pop she succeeded in caving in the poor, brutalized container. Her mouth was instantly flooded with the taste of spoiled peaches, her eyes rolling back at the flavors, and the greedy girl tilted it back, dumping the half-liquefied contents down her waiting gullet.

Like the domestic goats of the northern tribesmen, she had more than enough fortitude to handle such slop, and it was mere moments before she had drained the can. Below, her stomach gave a gurgle, before the abruptly-deposited load of fruit slurry crashed into her gastric chamber with a glunking roar loud enough to concern anybody nearby. She was thankful for her solitude, not embarrassed by her noisiness so much as irritated by having to explain her eating habits, and as she sat upright and let the can drop from her mouth, the contents of her stomach shifted with what could best be described as a greasy bubbling. A content sigh escaped her mouth, followed by a gurgling belch that brought back the taste and smell of her meal, and her eyes glazed over the now-empty can in her grasp before she gave a predatory grin and stuffed it into her mouth as well.

Unlike the peaches, which were soft even without being broken down by age, the tin can was sharp and stiff, crunching audibly as she bit into the side and wrenched off a hunk of the metal. To her "refined" tastes, however, it was merely a chewy, succulent afterthought, and she did her best to force it into a compact ball before gulping it down. From her expression, it was obvious that Sapara was savoring the sensations; feeling the firm mass of metal pleasantly scrape her throat as it slid down, the low groan of her digestive tract stretching to accommodate it, and finally the wet popping splash of it reaching her first stomach, the extra mass causing her to feel the swell and forcing some of the half-digested peach further along her system of guts ahead of schedule. The latter portion of the ride caused a shiver to run up her spine, moaning as her insides bubbled and frothed from the combination of "food", and she wasted no time in taking another chunk out of the mauled can.

Moments later, it was gone, and she lay back on her throne of garbage, both hands clutching her stomach. The energy emanating from the mound was palpable, thick bubbles of gas squelching up from her latter chambers and mingling with the groaning and churning of her primary stomach from the mass of peach-coated aluminum within. One particularly virulent pocket of air popped, the upwards rush squelching and grumbling as it fled her innards, before an immensely deep and satisfying "huurrrrooooaaap" escaped, alongside a splattering of peach-saliva and a scrap of the can's faded label, and she wasted no time in stuffed it back into her mouth, rolling onto her slightly-distended belly, and resuming the search for more.

Her entire evening would follow the same pattern, as she dug around for more flavorful snacks and uncovered a trove of wonders for her tasting pleasure. Sometimes, she would find discarded containers of food, perishables long since past their due date, and spilled drinks that shared their flavors with the garbage below them. Other times the garbage itself would catch her eye, sampling not only tins and cans of edibles but anything else she could find, from unidentifiable hunks of wiring and circuitry to remotes, shoes, fans and even mostly-intact yet defunct engines that she did her best to scarf down. The more she ate, the larger and more deathly her internal backlog became, until she finally reached a limit that no amount of casual eructions would relieve.

Chewing a mouthful of copper wire and groaning, Sapara lay idle in an alcove of twisted metal, one hand covering her mouth to keep her rusted morsel in and the other resting on her stomach. She was stuffed, far beyond what most people would consider reasonable, although having four stomachs gave her an edge in such machinations. The smallest of the four was busying itself with the most easily-passable of her meals, squelching fruit and meat compressed into a thick soupy mass that weighed down on her lower body and practically frothed with airy gas. Above it, her third gut was almost entirely taken up by a misshapen chunk of crude rubber she had gnawed off of a lonely tire, and the gluttonous girl's secondary sac of scraps throbbed and ached pleasantly from the amount of miscellaneous junk forced into it, strained and overflowing with jagged metals and collapsed plastic.

Most magnificent of all was her belly, her biggest and most overtaxed stomach, the graveyard of several lifetimes worth of materials past, present and future. It was utterly enormous, bulging out from her comparatively-lithe body, and as her hands caressed what they could of it, they felt each misshapen contour and irregular bulge of her taut, overstretched upper belly, groaning and creaking with every movement. Even as she gulped down the last of her evening's meal and immediately refilled her mouth with a brassy cloud of unpalatable-smelling gas, several nearby bits of junk rattling from the force of her belch, she could feel the individual chunks of solid weight struggling to escape to her marginally-less-crowded lower chambers, every attempt heralded with a queasy cacophony of gastrointestinal distress from pained blorping to deep groaning and quaking, the lethargically-delighted girl's trash compactor of a stomach forcing out another throaty "bhhraaaap" just from the glutted goat rolling onto her side and curling around her belly.

Sure, it would be awkward when it left her system, but for the time being, there wasn't a lot Sapara could do to keep herself from slowly dozing off, lulled to sleep by her own tingling, aching midriff and its nonstop attempts at rectifying the horrendous indigestion she had gleefully inflicted on herself.


---

Unlike her morning routine, Sapara found herself waking up after a much more reasonable nap, moaning and flopping on her back as she felt her somewhat smaller stomach resettle in her lap. The sun had set while she slept, and although the landfill was dark, she could still see more than well enough to drag herself to her feet and hobble down the small mountain of trash.

Most of her stomach's contents had been pushed down into her lower guts, making her visually smaller, but she could still feel every kilogram of her binge toiling away within. Simply standing up was enough to dislodge a gassy eruption from the depths of her belly, the content girl licking her lips of the flavors brought back up by the deafening blast, and as she slowly began to meander back towards her home, her mind was filled with thoughts of napping and digesting further.

Until she heard it, that is.

The instant her ears picked up the sound of rummaging, she froze, shoulders slouching and eyes darting around the dimly-lit dump. The first thing she saw was the fence, the opening she had entered through cut wider than before, and her eyes followed the dirt path around to the opposite side of the pile she had been slumbering in. Slowly, minding her hooves on the junk, she crept around the mountain, until she finally laid eyes on her unexpected company.

"...fuckin' chavs dumpin' shit in th' one place..."

He certainly wasn't a worker, given his mangy coat and filthy beanie, and the way he was digging through the base of the junk would be suspicious even if it wasn't the middle of the night. As she watched, cheeks puffed up slightly from a lewd belch she forced herself to hold in, the stranger finally seemed to find what he was looking for. In his hands lay a small, inconspicuous box, and he wasted no time in opening it and dumping several pristine pearl-and-gold necklaces into his hands, far too clean to have been merely thrown out.

The man was muttering something about fences and payouts when he turned, eyes going wide beneath his cap as he can face to face with the bloated goatgirl, and he instantly buried his fistfull of ill-gotten goods into his pocket. There was a long period of silence between the two, Sapara tense and waiting for him to make a move, before he slowly lowered his hand to his side.

"...The fuck you doin' 'ere, freaky lil' scamp? There a probl'm er somethin'?"

As he spoke, her eyes were following his hand as it slipped into his coat. Said coat was covered in tears, stains and gashes, and she couldn't help but feel her already-packed stomach churn a bit at the unusually appealing sight. His own gaze was locked not onto her eyes, but onto her gut, the irregular bulges of metal and plastic clearly repulsing him. Still, his hand kept moving, and...

There. She saw it, the telltale glint of polished steel. Without so much as a second thought she shifted herself sideways and raised one leg, swinging at his shin. The extra weight of her hoof added more than enough weight to the blow, and as it collided, he gave a strangled cry. Almost instantly he was on the ground, cursing and spitting, and the switchblade lay next to him in the mud.

Doing his best to keep the fight going, he pushed up off his non-injured leg and threw both fists at her, only for her own hands to grip his neck in an iron grasp. Rage turned to fear, his eyes widening as he choked, and as Sapara found herself staring down at the weakly-flailing assailant, her expression of anger slowly melted into thoughtfulness, then outright malice.

"W-What are...", he sputtered, before his eyes shot wide open at the sight of her widening, toothy grin. "Oh Christ, no, n-no! Stop! You can't, this, this isn't-"

His cries were silenced as she quickly and brutally shoved his head into her maw, teeth scraping over his jaw and the back of his neck. The beanie filled her mouth with so many flavors as to temporarily daze her, though his wild kicking snapped her out of it before he could do much else. He was screaming, muffled by her gullet, and as she knelt slightly, her eyes rolled back from the strain of his head beginning to slide down her throat.

The shoulders were trickier, but nothing she couldn't handle, and she dug her fingers into him as she called on all of her stout strength to force him further into her maw. The overfed girl's stomach was already bubbling, and she could both feel and hear him yelp in pain as his face was poked by the remnants of her metallic meal from earlier, but she was too busy salivating at the taste of his clothes and torso to care. His head was already in her stomach proper, even though his shoulders had only just begun their descent down her esophagus, and the almost-unbearable groan of her expanding guts caused her to shiver with delight.

It was a short while before she had him halfway down, using her swollen belly to prop his lower half up on, but as she reached his waist she knew she was in the final stretch. Speaking of stretch, she was painfully, unbelievably full, both from his mere size and the way he was pounding on her stomach walls, bulges coming and going in her upper belly. Still, she wasn't going to quit now, and the last of his coat's padded goodness slipped down, followed by his waist.

Somehow, his jeans were a whole other buffet of tastes, and her tongue lapped at his thighs as she physically forced him down into her creaking, groaning body. Both of her hands were on his feet, and her legs were bent at the knees as she pushed, gasped through her thankfully-unobstructed nostrils, rumbled, and pushed again. He had finally begun to run out of air inside her, and his writhing was becoming slightly less frantic, but she knew he wouldn't be truly silent for a while longer. The thought only excited more, though, and she slowly pushed herself into a straight-standing position to better feel his fists stretching her stomach, legs dangling from her mouth.

Finally, his ankles reached her lips, and with one last shove both of his shoes went into her gullet at the same time. For a brief moment, she was afraid that she was actually going to burst her throat from the size, but with watery eyes and an eager breathlessness, she gulped them down, belly surging out one last time. She fell to her knees, both hands on her writhing, sloshing belly, and gave a loud, throaty groan, followed by a repulsively wet blast of hot gas from the depths of her innards.

Sapara was stuffed. Truly, fully stuffed to bursting, her stomachs struggling to hold the writhing man within as well as the indigestible load of trash she had scarfed down previously. Even if she had wanted to, she was powerless to stop the series of booming, bassy belches from exploding out of her, equal in volume to the deafening chorus of noise coming from her taut, distended midriff. Each of her four guts sang out with rumbles, squelches, groans and bubbles, trying to pass on as much of the load as possible to the next, and she could feel the soft mass of the crook's acid-and-saliva-cap grinding and groaning down between chambers, one hand's fingers tracing its path and eliciting another unbearably humid burp as it pressed on her taut skin.

Throughout the whole ordeal the goatgirl herself was moaning, gasping and keening loudly, tears pricking her eyes from the all-consuming yet pleasurable agony wracking her body, and the mere thought of moving was enough to send watery, gurgling ripples of sound and movement throughout her torso. Still, she knew she couldn't stay forever, lest she be found, and she was about to hobble to her feet when, through the blur of fullness, she saw the jewelry littered on the ground.

A small, meek part of her mind was telling her that it would be better to return the goods to their rightful owners, but this was clearly a night of wild inhibitions, and with shaking hands she scooped each string of pearls and priceless metals up, gripping them as best she could. Heaving and groaning, she struggled to her feet, already feeling the aftermath of her belly-busting meal building up in her thick rump, and as she turned her clogged, overfilled body around, a surprisingly powerful kick from her prey dislodging a gurgling, bubbling belch from the glutton, she raised the jewelry to her lips, tilted her head back, and sucked them down. After everything else she had eaten, they were like insignificant strands of spaghetti, though they didn't stop her from queasily lurching and giving a rumbling "brraaahhhpppphh" that echoed behind her as she waddled towards the rocky trail and put the shadowy dump behind her.