Kira's Cauldron Absolution


Written by Septia.


The autumnal evening excised its mandarin glow over the forest. The usual mum of creatures and critters laid silent within the confines of the clearing. A clearing sprawling with makeshift tents, crates and wagons. A bonfire stood at its center: the charcoal long since doused, thought its firewood remained a day fresh. The only inhabitants were scatterings of cloths and armour: rags, chain mails, and plats strewn around the bonfire and outside the tents. Many coats bore the brand of a tendril spiralling inwards to grasp a crown – the insignia of the Tu-hung bandits. Yet, not a soul remained in the camp. 
	-Pfbbhhrrppfbbbrthhs- A cloud of hot steam flushed out of a tight-knit patch of verdigris foliage at the edge of the clearing. 
	“So… stubborn one can be… You cretins can not evennnnf… deign to endure your penance…?” Came the gruff words from a melodic voice. Another few putters of flatulence followed -Pfrrpts- -Bbrrpspft-. Then back to the silence. 
	There remained, but one inhabitants within the desolated camp. 
	“Uuugh, be that way.” With that the figure rose from the bush works. The frame of tangerine scale refracting the evening glow as if she had stepped out from the light itself. Her form broken up by the mane of well-kempt purple trailing from her head back along her tail. Her muted opal underbelly was tinted a yellowed brass in the afternoon light. She stepped out of the bushes, first to emerge was her bloated midsection – the gut acting as a ram for the vegetation ahead – jostling and bounding with each step. Last was the meters worth of her portly tail dragging along still a good few strides out of the bush. The naked, wingless dragon surveyed the camp. Her stomach growled with the displacement of meat and gruel -Ghhrbrllsugush-, the odd bump forming along the scaled skin and sailing down the length of her swollen abdomen. 
	“Tssk, a foul sort you art. Certainly stirs up trouble, be this beset upon the villages already under the struggle of taxation.” The dragoness cradled the bottom of her belly, groping hard against the plush flesh, trawling her palm upwards as she massaged a lump of blubber in her grasp, til she reached the stomach's peak and let go, for the gut to jostle into a bob of lurching meat -Ghbbrllgpghh- -Grlrwwwnnngs- -Chhrgglllgrg-. “Or taxing my stomach with your struggles beset upon my stirring insides.”
	-Mfmggm- -Gmmspgg-.  A muffled vocalization escaped her stomach.
	Kira's eyebrows furrowed, pestling her clenched fist against the side of her gut, feeling it crater inwards and emitting a squelch of an obese toad forgotten in a stew -Bbggllpruuggshh-. “Still holding on? You were the last to enter my cauldron, yet by know you should know your fate is sealed, as it was the moment you absconded your ways for a life of extorting the innocent.” Kira berated her gut, and whatever of the bandits still lingered therein. She turned back towards the bushes, and scoffed. “A paltry sort, yet a chunk of you still managed to vacate me, something the rest of the dregs in my gut could heed,” she said and sat back against a carriage wheel. 
	Palms grasping her gut, plying into it, exploring the supple texture that had been so taut mere hours ago -Chll- -Gllorlch-. “To me, it matters not, I will impose the penalty of smmfs, digestion upon you, until the rest of you are fit to reenter this world; to be unveiled as the true wretched slop you are… So why not show a modicum of redemption in your foul hearts, and melt by your own accord…” She hummed. Kira leaning back to knead into her gut, as her insides ate away at its occupants, macerating them into a pungent batter -Chhglrlpghh- -Bghrlgugurlsp-. 
	 Her stomach stirred. Kira felt a burble of carbonation trickle up her neck, her cheeks swelling… -Bgbrllpggush-. She unleashed a belch that rippled past her muzzle -BHAhhooouuuaaarllp-. A rib – half molten by her gut's purifying acids – lobbed out her maw to unceremoniously topple into the grass -Cllsth-. 
	She reached for a scrap of discarded clothing to wipe her muzzle, and noticing the swirling insignia branded onto it. “Mmm, the Tu-hung, you wear this for the purpose of intimidation. Some villagers could stand against a handful of armoured bandits, but few dare to impose on a symbol that carries so much more merit, a promise of vengeance…” She proceed to wipe the drool on her lips off on the cloth and bundle it up in her fists. “Yet, I welcome the rest of you to come, to seek me out, to dare assault any village again… I will defend them.” She tossed the damp fabric aside, and traced her talons over her belly, watching them form soft grooves under the bumped contorted scales. “A lady of my caliber are prone to pangs of hunger…” She scoffed, leaning back and spreading out her legs to let het gut slough free in the cradle of her thighs -Cllsutgsh-. Her tail swaying bulldozing the grass behind her in its gentle sways. 
	 The stomach roiled in a bubbling gurgles -Gllgpghghs-. Her palms sweeping in smooth motions, plying and gyrating down into the stuffy clogs in her belly… Until a muted crack rippled through the abdomen -Twwrxlkkgkth-. And Then a few more, pops and cracks of enzyme riddled calcium crumbling -Kcklth- -Crlrlthgh- -Krtlxskt- and mellowing out, kneading her stomach down to a pillowy lump bloating out her frame. 
	“Mmmmf pha… there you go… The Tu-hung are a disease, and if you are but the symptom, then just maybe I can lure out the root to this rot and redeem it through the flames of my guttural remedy.” She plied and brushed along her frame, letting out a soft sight as her stomach laid quiet. “A slew of silent slop… Though, if your associates are to judge, you will not remain this placid until I can rid myself of your remains.” She sighed, palms clinging to her stomach. She shuddered as she pried and massaged the lumps smooth, to one uniform dough of brewing bile -Ghblllprghhs- -Chhgrlpgghhsh-. 


After some time of basking the wingless Dragoness heaved herself up, giving her stomach a few idle pats to which the gut reverberated with a turgid drumming -Thwnglblgl- -Tghllgssbblp-. She fished out her kimono and obi sash from the back of one of the wagons, the black cloth struggling to meet in the middle of her protruding hill of a gut, though the sash kept it in place, enough. She finished loading the stolen cargo into one wagon to the best of her abilities. It could provide some aid back to the village. The steeds she could not manage were released into the wilds. Perhaps they would even run back home, and draw more of the bandits to her. Her stomach squeezed out a grunt of congestion -Gbrhgllpggs-. She clicked her tongue, brushing the jostling fabric. 
	“Tsssk. Mmm, perchance, there will be a gentleman in the village who could… provide some needed exercise to properly… excise these wretches,” she mused and loaded up on the carriage. She was looking forward to some relief after this ordeal, while her gut was still churning.