Barry and the lions

By Strega

"I pay you to do what I say," Barry snapped. "Go back to camp and wait. I'll let you know when I need you."

"Sir," the tall native guide said, "It is not safe to hunt alone. A man can only look in one direction at a time, and there are many dangers."

Barry just glared at him, and eventually he shrugged. "Yes, sir."

He and the other guide watched Barry disappear into the tall grass. It was shoulder-high here and yellow-brown, just the color of a lion - or a lion was just the color of the grass, more like.

"You know what's going to happen to him," said the older guide.

"He might get lucky," the younger said, but he had to laugh. It was hideously illegal to guide a poacher, and the penalties were severe. It helped that, at least in this stretch of savannah, two poachers went out for each one that came back. It's hard to squeal on your guides when you are inside a lion, hyena or python. They'd twice seen a honey badger much larger than the norm, and the second time it'd had an alarmingly human-shaped bulge in its middle - probably not coincidentally, right after one of their clients disappeared. There was even a rumor that some of the local herbivores weren't adverse to a human meal. Not that it mattered, the soles of a rhino's or elephant's feet were just as deadly as a visit to its stomach.

The two guides shared a look, then the older guide spoke. "He did pay us half our fee ahead of time."

Neither said anything when the tall grass parted a hundred feet away. Impassive amber eyes in a mane-fringed face looked them over, and the younger guide pointed in the direction the poacher had gone. An instant later there was no sign of the lion.

"That's that, then," said the older.

"The rest of his money must be in the camp somewhere," the younger said, and without further talk they made their way back the way they had come.

Barry was sweating despite his light clothing. He had found a spot by a termite mound with a good view of the surrounding area, and already had seen zebra and several impala. There was plenty of food here for lions and it was only a matter of time before one showed up.

The guides had said that in addition to the local pride there were several nomadic males and it was one of those he was after. He had seen lion tracks, great soft-padded prints in the moist border of a little spring. Soon he'd have his lion, and all the expense and the expected trouble of smuggling the pelt (and maybe even a taxidermied head) back to the States would be worth it.

Barry's safari clothing was as grass-tan as a lion's pelt but it did not cover his entire body. The lioness watching from the undergrowth was rather better camouflaged. A lion's mane has several functions, making him look bigger to intimidate rival males being one, but it also made them bad at hiding in undergrowth. The sleek lionesses on the other hand were veritable shadows in the grass and she waited with a smile on her muzzle, knowing the man had no idea she was there.

Barry had to scan a lot of horizon to keep watch for his prey and each time he faced away the lioness crept a pace closer, freezing each time he turned to face her, staying low and behind cover. When she was nearly within pounce range she moved behind the termite mound. There was a risk here, but she could still hear the man, and she moved those critical few paces closer while listening for any sudden movement or the click of a rifle being readied.

Barry froze as the tall grass parted fifty yards away. There was a flash of dark tawny fur as a lion's mane poked up past the grass. Breathlessly Barry checked the action of his rifle, knowing he need merely wait for the cat to take a step into the clearing and he's have his shot. So focused was he on his target that he missed the whisper of padded paws from behind and the first he knew of the lioness's presence was when great jaws clamped around his neck.

Barry dropped the rifle as he was dragged from his hiding spot, his vision going gray. The great cat could kill him in any number of ways now, from simply twisting his neck until it broke, to gutting him with its hind claws, to biting him to death with the finger-long canine fangs that had slipped past either side of his neck to pass in front of his Adam's apple and lock him into the thing's mouth. He fumbled for his hunting knife, knowing he was at its mercy, only for a clawed paw to sweep down his side, ripping most of his clothing off including his belt and knife.

As he gasped for air the male lion he'd planned to shoot emerged from the grass and paced closer, unhurried. A smile twisted its black lips as it sat ten feet away and looked him over.

Outweighed perhaps five to one by the two great cats Barry couldn't decide whether to play dead or try to fight. He settled for reached up past his cheeks and grabbing at the first lion's head, finding only then that it was a lioness that had him in its jaws. A padded paw effortlessly peeled his fingers from the lioness's face and the watching lion chuckled.

"Maybe if you go limp she'll let you go," the lion rumbled. Barry gasped. It could talk! He thought the stories of talking animals were just myths. His wide-eyed astonishment made the lion chuckle again.

"But let's be honest here, man," the lion said. "It doesn't matter what you do. Play dead, and she'll swallow you alive. Fight, and maybe you'll go down her throat in more than one piece. In a little while you'll be in my mate's stomach. Its just a question of how many chunks you'll be in when you get there."

The grip on his neck was so tight and powerful it kept Barry throttled into submission. Every time he tried to reach up toward the lioness's head she clamped down and with her atop him the only halfway effective tactic he had was to elbow her. The powerful huntress ignored his blows. She was at least twice his mass and solid muscle from jaws to hindpaws. He could still talk, though.

"Swallow?" He grunted through his compressed neck. "Lions don't swallow people whole."

"Don't we," the lion said slyly, and as it spoke one of the lioness's forepaws slipped beneath Barry's chest and lifted him from the ground to pin him against her breastbone. The powerful jaws gripping his neck loosened only for the lioness to twist her muzzle. Her canines stayed against one side of his neck as her cheek pressed against his and Barry blinked in surprise as her mouth opened just enough to let his entire head pop into her maw.

Her hind teeth squeezed his skull and he was forced to stare into the wet folds of flesh at the rear of her mouth. He was looking into the lioness's gullet, a wet salivating chute that if the male was to be believed, could take him in whole. Not that it really mattered. The lion was right, he was completely at her mercy. Whole or in pieces, if she wanted a meal he was hers.

"I like poachers," the male lion growled. "Even the game wardens don't mind when you just...drop out of sight." It was the last thing he heard it say, for at that moment the lioness's raspy tongue gathered itself beneath his chin and pushed him facefirst down her throat.

Slick flesh slithered over his face and neck and the lioness swallowed his head at a gulp. He could feel the bulge he made in tan neckfur and how it shifted downward as the lioness began to work her maw over his shoulders. There were a series of pops as her jaws somehow disjointed like a snake's and wrapped in her forepaws Barry went stiff with horror as the lioness engulfed his upper arms. Belly down on the ground with her atop and with his arms pinned to his sides by her advancing maw he could could only kick ineffectually at her hindpaws. She was already past the broadest part of his body and suddenly it seemed all too likely he was on his way to her stomach.

Barry kicked in desperation but hit mostly air as the big cat's forepaw held him tight. Fanged jaws worked over his upper arms as the lioness twisted her head from side to side, advancing first on the left and then on the right. Bit by bit he was sucked in and swallowed, her powerful throat muscles refusing to let him pull out even when she yawned to take in more of him. Canine fangs left welts in his naked skin but worse than that was the gurgle he could hear building up ahead of him. An all too short distance down that throat was the lioness's stomach, ready and waiting for its meal.

It was a brief meal, horrible for Barry, satisfying for the lioness. When her jaws reached his waist and he was entirely helpless she raked him once again with a forepaw, stripping away the last shreds of clothing. She stepped backward, letting his legs slide out from under her at last, and he could only manage a last few despairing kicks as what must be the male lion's fangs plucked the boots from his feet. He was all but naked when she pinned his knees to the ground and simply lowered her head. Trapped between the savannah dirt and her maw there was nowhere for his thighs to go but down her throat and slippery gullet slid over and around him as he was swallowed to the knees.

When she sat back on her haunches Barry knew he was doomed. His head and upper body were already stretched out in a sloshing caustic pocket of flesh, stomach juices stinging his naked flesh as she began to digest her half-swallowed meal. The lioness heaved her head upward, bolting him deeper. With the first toss he was reduced to a pair of naked white calves kicking from its jaws, and the lioness's throat had such a grip on him now that he wasn't sure someone could pull him out even if they were there to grasp his ankles and tug.

There was no one there to help in any event and the lioness swallowed, then swallowed again. Each gulp pulled him in faster and though his arms were now in her stomach and free to move was no leverage, nothing to push against that wasn't muscular stomach wall as slippery as oiled glass. All too soon a last toss of the lioness's head got his feet into her mouth.

Fangs scraped over his toes as the lioness stood up once more, and as she stretched out her nose and swallowed Barry found himself slithering helplessly down her gullet. In a matter of seconds that lioness's throat muscles squeezed the double bulge of his feet down the furry column of her neck and pushed the last of him into her swaying, bloated belly.

"Oh, ye of little faith," the lion growled, and grinned as his mate let out a burp. "You are not the first hunter we've met."

With a yawn the lioness popped popped her jaws back into place until the next time she needed to swallow someone. It was her turn to grin as she spoke. "Hopefully you won't be the last."

The lion had kept its word and here he was, curled up in its mate's stomach. Five minutes before he was surrounded by sunlight and savannah and so he still was, save for the addition of a couple of inches of lioness-flesh and fur. That was all that was needed to digest him, given enough time.

In the sweltering wetness of the cat's stomach Barry kicked and screamed but he wasn't getting out the way he got in and he knew it. The inward-pressing walls of her stomach squeezed him into near immobility and the rising pool of digestive juices told him it was only a matter of time before took its course. He was made of meat, and a lion's stomach knows what to do with that. No wonder he'd never heard of any trophies brought back from this area. It wasn't that the rangers were especially vigilant. No, it was because the hunters came here and never left!

There was no escape from the hot gurgling dark of the lioness's stomach. A powerful pulse throbbed through him and ribs creaked as the bulge he made shifted. There were two living things inside her pelt, the lioness and the man that was to be her meal. Soon enough there was just the one. Barry struggled to the last without changing his fate in the slightest. The last thing he heard was a long belch and a chuckle as the two lions rubbed cheeks.

"Next one's mine," the male rumbled, and the lioness grinned.

The two guides had stripped most of the gear from the camp, stowing the loot in their ancient Land Rover. It was clear now their employer wouldn't be returning and they had a pretty shrewd idea what had happened to him. They were right.

The taller guide slapped the other on the shoulder and they watched as the tall grass parted fifty yards away. For a moment impassive amber eyes looked them over once more, then the lion ducked his head and stepped forward, a rifle held crossways in its jaws. Neither guide moved as the lion approached to within a few yards and lay the weapon on the ground.

"Thank you," the lion rumbled, and behind him the lioness's belly swayed as she turned away. It didn't take much imagination to make out the shape of a curled-up man in her swollen middle. There was a horrible sloshing sound as the partially digested poacher shifted in her swaying belly.

"Told you," the older guide said as the lions disappeared into the grass. His companion shrugged.

Their occupation was a risky one, but it could be worse. They had taken the place of a previous pair of guides, ones less willing to negotiate with the local fauna, and dangerous as their work on savannah was they would take it over a short trip through a lion's guts any day.