Shaklik responded not with words but with her body. The sphincter at the base of her belly begins to pulse with uncontrollable excitement, and the acid surrounding Xarces begins to<span style="font-style: italic">glorp</span>away. Simultaneously, her stomach begins to contract, compressing and squeezing in upon itself, pushing Xarces towards an exit only normally used after those muscles has broken a meal down into a nutritious, meat-and-acid stew. Xarces – as his body began to enter the sphincter – felt its continued pressure as a series of intensely intimate hugs, one after the other, as if Shaklik's stomach could not bear to be parted for him.<br/><br/>Yet, inexorably, he was being parted from it, pressed down into the tight winding tube of her intestines.<br/><br/>{Warning: Scatological}<div style="padding: 3px; background-color: #FFFFFF; border: 1px solid #d8d8d8; font-size: 1em;"><div style="text-transform: uppercase; border-bottom: 1px solid #CCCCCC; margin-bottom: 3px; font-size: 0.8em; font-weight: bold; display: block;"><span onclick="if (this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display != '') {  this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display = ''; this.innerHTML = '&lt;b&gt;Spoiler: &lt;/b&gt;&lt;a href=\'#\' onClick=\'return false;\'&gt;hide&lt;/a&gt;'; } else { this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display = 'none'; this.innerHTML = '&lt;b&gt;Spoiler: &lt;/b&gt;&lt;a href=\'#\' onClick=\'return false;\'&gt;show&lt;/a&gt;'; }"><b>Spoiler: </b><a href="#" onclick="return false;">show</a></span></div><div class="quotecontent"><div style="display: none;">At first, it wasn't so different. Tighter and narrower, but also longer, a feeling more akin to stretching than being crushed into a tight ball. Remains of the nutritious sandwich mush cling to the walls, nutrients gradually osmosing through them into Shaklik's body, leaving only waste behind. As her gut works you further through her intestines, bending you this way and that to suit the tube's curves and the shape of her body, the environment gradually becomes fouler. As her body gradually strips her digested food of its nutrition, all that remains is shit. From her gaunt figure, you can tell Shaklik hasn't had a good meal in some time, so things could doubtless be worse, but your width is clearly greater than any body that's been this way for some time. As she passes you, you're scouring her intestines clean of old, half-dried sticky mess. It'll probably be good for her – you can tell its good for her, from the sound of her increasingly noisy moans – but its foetid for you.<br/><br/>“No-one will pay any attention,” Shaklik reassures you, between contractions of her diaphragm, forcing you out, “everybody knows what it's like for a little lizardess to dump a big meal.”<br/><br/>From the increasingly loud poots and pfarts sounding before you, you can tell you're nearing the end of your journey – but there is no light at the end of the tunnel. Instead, you can smell increasingly fresh shit – the remains of the sandwiches you so recently fed her. Some of the mass ahead has already been expelled, but not all, and as you approach it your own body stretches her intestines, loosing its grip on the mess ahead. Moments later, you're forced face-first into it, smearing her guts rejects across your nose and up your forehead. You can close your mouth and eyes, but there's nothing you can do about your nose, and the stench is almost unbearable.<br/><br/>Then you're through, feeling the tight grip of her sphincter on the crown of your head, and being pushed out through it. The base of her tail is raised high above you, and at your first gasp of fresh jungle air she turns, so that as she passes you you'll fall onto fresh grass, not a pile of lizardfaeces.<br/><br/>Shaklik, you realise, is screaming <span style="font-style: italic">very</span> loudly now, and while your head and shoulders dangle from her body – your hands still trapped within – a flap of scale parts and the great pressure within sprays you with a thick, creamy fluid far more pleasant than those you've been immersed in for the past hours. The remaining, smooth afterglow hugs of her sphincter are almost anticlimactic, as the rest of your body slips free. A few gobs and spatters of <span style="font-style: italic">stuff</span> follow you out, but most of it misses you.</div></div></div><br/><br/>“That,” Shaklik says, turning to you on shaky legs, “was<span style="font-style: italic">amazing</span>.” Her lizard-snout wrinkled. “Please tell me you've got some magic way to clean yourself up. I'd love to kiss you right now, but-” her pause makes it clear that, no matter how divine your blood might be, there were things a lizardgirl was and was not willing to do.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">Everyone</span><br/><br/><img alt="Image" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v475/emberice/templeapproach.png"/><br/><br/>{I'm assuming everyone is waiting close by, maybe watching through the forest or something, having gotten closer as night closes in. The roasting fire is among the Blackscale huts at A4, surround by Blackscales. It appears only a single mule was roasted, and the Blackscales are devouring its well-spiced flesh. The Poison Dusk huts are at A3 (where Shaklik and Xarces are), although most of the Poison Dusk are clustered around the east side of the Blackscale huts, devouring the scraps of offal they've been allowed (bones and organs and so forth). I'm going to assume the rest of you are in the jungle west of the Blackscale huts at A4 (either a bit north or a bit south, first to post can decide). The temple is to the north. The small square just south-west of A4 contains a cage holding a Girallon.<img alt="Image" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/_DSs2bX13hVc/SpC3W6Xau7I/AAAAAAAABTs/fCL-rOIQRa8/s320/whiteape.jpg"/>}.<br/><br/>With a sudden moan, one of the Blackscales collapses, and proceeds to start giving his barking laugh and scratching at the ground. Within minutes, many of the other the other Blackscales have begun to be affected – with the notable exception of the large andornately decorated High Priestess, and three of her acolytes. “Our Faith is under attack,” she snarls, rising to her full, impressive height. She beckons the Poison Dusk come-hither with a snap of her claws. “Half of you,” she addresses them, “are to search the encampment for your treacherous poisoness and whatever force backs her. Half,” she continues, “are to remain and purge the stomachs of these gluttenous fools,” she says, kicking the sole Blackscale Acolyte who's fallen prey your trap, who's rocking back and forth, his claws beating a tattoo against his scaley forearms. “Thanq will oversee you,” she snaps, jerking her head at one of the other three. “You two,” she indicates the others, “bring them and follow me,” she says. Each of them hoists a fellow Blackscale, choosing the least affected of the warriors, and the five of them begin a brisk walk back towards the temple.