Fortuitous that ‘Atligili’ (the creature’s name) happens to be fermi-fermi-fermi-fermi-pico from ‘alligator’.   An alternate title might have been All things devours, but that’s both too directly cheesy and also taken.  Anyway I’ve been wanting to write something like this for a while now, though I don’t think it’s quite developing the way I would normally send it.   Living costumes, of course, are a thing straight out of Swatcher‘s repertoire that you should enjoy, and the trash can I blame on a random remark of Kamatz‘s that probably intrigued me far more than it should have.

I looked at the costume in its box and tried to resist the temptation to put it on again. I had only worn it three times before, but each time….

I didn’t want to think about it, because I knew it would get me horny again.

And if I got horny again, I’d put on the costume again.

And if I put on the costume again, the beast would get hungry.

And I was already running out of stuff.

But I couldn’t stop looking.

It was a gorgeous alligator suit, the kind that inflates around you, making you look like a big shiny pool toy. When worn. Just then, though, it looked all sad, stuffed in its box all rumpled like that. I never did put it away properly… when the thing’s hunger faded and I was in control again, I hadn’t taken any chances and hid it away as quickly as I could.

I figured I ought to at least fold it up properly.

When I picked it up, though, I knew I was trapped again.

It was the smell of it! The pure smell of vinyl, or whatever it was that it—that he was really made of entered my nose, bypassed my brain, and went directly for my crotch.

Before I realized what was happening I had already torn my clothes off—I mean literally ripped them off my body. I didn’t know I was that strong.

The smell was so powerful! He shouldn’t have smelled so clean—I had left him covered in the remains of what he’d eaten—crumbs and spills of food and drink… paint… I couldn’t convince him paint wasn’t for drinking, and he’d gone through five cans and it was so sour in my stomach—and blood, I’d forgotten… how the cat had struggled… but he was clean now, somehow, and…

I was forgetting again now, now that he was controlling me again. I climbed into him through the opening in his chest. I closed up the airtight seal and pulled up the oversized costume zipper that covered it. And I turned on the built-in pump under his tail that would give him his shape.

He never spoke, but I felt his satisfaction: I was his dependable slave, if unwilling. And I felt his hunger, too. As soon as the air had filled him full and fat and round—so beautiful, so majestic, I thought, as I glimpsed him in my bedroom mirror—he stretched out, hopped on his big feet experimentally, and barreled purposefully out the door.

My house, as I’d mentioned, was already mostly empty.  The beast sniffed at the air and, though I didn’t smell anything, he must have gotten a scent from something.  He ran into the kitchen. The cupboards were still empty; I hadn’t dared to refill them and had been eating out.

He grabbed the trash can.

Please, no, I pleaded.

He opened his jaws wide, forcing mine open as well.  He poured in the contents of the trash can, and I tasted styrofoam, greasy fast food wrappers, and a few day-old French fries.

I felt  like I was going to be sick as the monster forced me to chew and swallow.  But he wouldn’t get sick, so neither would I, no matter how much I wished it.

The gator moved a big paw down over his belly.  I knew what it was thinking: Still empty…

He sniffed around again, but I could tell nothing left in my house interested him—today he wanted meat.