Rita, End of the line
4th Stop


Written by Septia.


“Okay, I know what you're thinking, but you really gotta consider my point of view here,” the man spoke with a tremble of nerves on his lips.
	-Ggllluurlrgk- In response his frame sank deeper back into the clutches of the woman's throat, lips undulating as they warped over his shoulderblades and crept ever closer up to his head -shhchhlllp-. 
	“Hey ha-haaay, woo okay back there. Just gimmie a minute. I told you I didn't know who you were looking for, and I really can't give you more directions to a chick I've never heard off, right?” 
	“…” Rita made no reply, glancing down to half of the man winding down her throat, the rest of him clogging out her gullet in a jostling dome of futile struggles to contort her frame, broad bulges of dark skin burgeoning out of her coat and swaying with the oblong leg squirms. -Oompgmmph- Another swallow sent his shoulders barging down her face, cheeks swelling and warping along the bumps to form hills of flesh protruding her cheeks into the guise of a chipmunk -Ffgllgrlrrths- -Gllomph- cramping the man's arms pinned against his own cheeks, compressing his own as he stuffed her's bloated in mangled girth. 
	“Aashea w-wait, hang on, let me rephrase that,” he hurried, “what I mean to say is… I wouldn't know how to help you if you were to s-swallow me. W-who knows, I might have some hidden connections. I might know people who know how to find people, h-heck I could hire a detective if you need this girl so damn much. How's that sound, ay?” 
	Rita didn't even look down this time. She walked out of the store to the ring of the entrance bell and back onto the streets. 
	The person trapped in her maw perked up. “Aha, I got you. Why would you walk out in public? You fool. Hey, everyone, help, I do not consent to-mmpghh.” 
	-Ggllulphh- This gulp sent the man's head barrelling past her cheeks, concaving to siphon his frame through the bulges bubbling through her cheeks, siphoned into her neck. In the reverting crunch of crumbling together an oil-soaked plush toy in rubber gloves, the man's shoulders and head sunk beneath the grasp of her lips, and disappeared -Kggrlluuglllssshct-. His hands still flailed from over the perimeter of her lips, a pair of tendrils pinched together in the wrap of soft, chocolate deep lips. 
	“Wmgfft, mmwwgnngrtg,” came a diffused mumble from behind the seam of Rita's lips, her cheeks protruding and swaying to and fro like a pair of inflated joysticks as the man's shoulders slobbered around in her grasp. 
	She continued her walk down the street, with flailing arms in tow. Some glances were shot her way, though passersby veered out of her way rather than confronted her, if they even cared to look at all. She carried on, bare soles clacking in the rhythmic taps of hardened skin on rock, her abdomen starting to sway, wobbling with the man sinking ever further into her depths. 
	“Where did she go?” 
	“She took my wallet.” 
	“How do you crash through a brick wall head first and just keep running?” 
	There was, some sort of commotion. Rita kept walking. 
	“And what about her hair? Was that some sort of costume? I dunno about anyone with hair, that, big.” 
	Rita stopped walking. 
	“Anyone reported her yet?” 
	“Already on it, ok. Yes, hello? I want to report a disturbance. Long yellow hair. Well… well more ‘big’ than long, no longer still but that's not the point. Female I think? Tattered clothes, running towards Bakgata street, in the direction of the bay.” 
	Rita turned. Staring in the direction thecrowd was facing. 
	-Bwwwrrz- Her gullet vibrated, buzzing with mechanical flair. The man started shivering, undulating down her throat. “W-What in Bebai?” came a muffled grunt from within. One arm snaking back into Rita's neck, a broad wake of a dome displacing along her gullet, before it shifted higher, and Rita let her mouth hang open for the hand to make its way out. “Mmrofg fghmmm mmyhou,” he mumbled. 
	Rita grabbed the phone out of his palm, a long tether of drool travelling between phone and his fingers, which broke when she snapped the folded mobile open and put it against her ear. A voice murmured into her ear. 
	“I heard.”
	The phone kept rumbling. Rita nodded against the receiver. 
	“I am close,” she confirmed, listening a while longer, before clapping the phone closed against her bare forehead. She tilted forwards, fist grabbing the phone flat against the bottom of her stomach, pushing. Her stomach concaved with a strain of a furling broil, -Bbgrllpf- and a stretching of old rubber encased in molten cheese -Chhrlggglrptch-. Her maw parted, chin sinking down to her chest, in an oblong oval of an orifice. She hawked -Hgguroooourk- her abdomen contracting and hoisting high, belly flattened as the bulk shot right up into her gullet, swelling it out in a cascading dome spanning from just below her chest all the way up through her engorged cheeks, twisted and contorted with the collated frame of the empty trail. Another hurk, and the bloats swam forwards, up through her gullet and through her burgeoning cheeks, until the man billowed out of her splayed maw, her body expelling him in the manner a balloon deflated, retracting to its slim state as a cavalcade of human vaulted out her maw with a hail of spittle falling behind him in a comet's trail, which abruptly smattered around him in a rorschach of drool and spry stomach acids -Ppthdbbtwwwb- -Scrllltpthtplhth-.
	“Phhfrgaaa, mmphaaa Haa…” the man wheezed, quivering as he righted himself on the pavement, a circle of bystanders broadening around him, whilst Rita stiffened her spine upright. 
	She turned to the direction the fugitive had escaped to, and walked. 
	“W-wait wha… What the… Was that all? Was it enough that I handed you your phone?” he called out to her. 
	Rita delayed. “Worthless.” 
	“Don't you try to twist this further, how could it be? It was enough to-.” 
	“You are worth less than the fuel I would gain.” 
	A bystander grabbed a hold of the woman's shoulder. “Ok, now you listen here…” they said and looked down at the name tag on the overcoat, “Cylvia…?” 
	Rita walked, stepping out of the bystander's hold. Her feet drumming to the ground in steady falls of lightning bolts crashing into boulders. “Cylvia is waiting at the bus stop. My name is Rita.” Her name became the period to the conversation, head fast in the new direction, weighting the information garnered from those nearby. She plotted a course, eliminating possible routes, crossed the street diagonally in the most effective route. She was close. And so was she.