A cleaner version without all that slime can be found here, but why would you want that? The droolier the better! =9

My very first vore(ish) piece! =D It's a commission for  mikedavins! What an intriguing fellow. I’ve been a fan of his surreal art for years, and he’s just such a nice guy! But how can you not like someone as birdy as he?!

He’s also quite the explorer! And when you dive into the kind of caves that he does, being semi-incorporeal has its benefits, because they are caves that are deep, dark, slippery, have points of no return, and… well, alive. I guess you can say, when he likes you, he likes to get to know you inside and out!

After having the pleasure of talking with him, I have been the lucky recipient of such a visit one evening while napping at my computer. I’m assuming he found his way into my beak during a long yawn, I wouldn’t know. When I pass out at my desk, I’m out pretty cold! But once it ended, Mike found himself somewhat cramped between my tongue and the roof of my beak. Straddling my tongue and flicking on a dim little flashlight, he pointed it back toward the darker end of my mouth to take a look around. Fairly standard avian maw, all things considered, at least compared to the plethora he’s been in! Right off the bat, he was hit by a powerful gust of steamy osprey breath blasting from the pit beyond and the sharp odor of fish it carried. The stench wasn’t standard for birds, but it certainly is for ospreys.

My tongue, however, is rather thick for a bird, though still pointed; he certainly wouldn’t be able to straddle it much further back, as much fun as it was when it undulated beneath him. A lack of swallowing during my sleep left my maw oozing with saliva just as musky as my breath. Thick strings (practically pillars, at his size) oozed down from the roof of my beak onto my tongue, forming a slimy river right down the center crease. The rushing humid air caused the strings of drool to bow and break, sending droplets flinging in Mike’s direction and into his feathers. No one ever said maw spelunking was a clean job! Watching the circular orifice all the way in the back of my beak expanding and contracting to the rhythm of my respiratory system, Mike pulled himself up, found his footing on my soft and squishy tasting appendage, and carefully trod forward.

The gentle opening and closing of my beak caused sounds of the outside to fade in and out, replaced with low, muffled rumbling and gurgling whenever they were silenced. He would occasionally turn his flashlight off to allow the natural shape of light allowed within just to see the interior of my mouth in its most natural state, or what food would see before being swallowed into darkness.

The feeling of my bumpy tongue felt good against Mike’s feet as he took gradual, careful steps deeper in! Warm, smooth, softly-textured, and the pools of saliva that would form around them were oddly welcoming! He’d have to play a bit of tongue-surfing every time the massive muscle writhed beneath him in order to avoid being tossed around, but having been in so many maws, it’s practically instinct for him. Dodging my dripping saliva became a bit of a challenge, however, especially as the humidity in my breath made handling the flashlight somewhat difficult. Thankfully, the pungent smells emanating from my throat and spit became more tolerable the longer he lingered inside as well. A pretty nice maw, once you get to know it! Mike would have to remember it for the future.

Creeping toward the entrance to my throat, Mike planted his feet at the very last treadable section of my tongue as he leaned forward and pointed the flashlight downward. Seeing any more than a short distance into ridged throat was complicated by the way I sat in my chair as I napped. Leaning forward caused a bend in my esophagus that prevented a clear view to the entrance to my stomach. Mike only had a moment to feel disappointed, when suddenly the leviathan beneath him rose…

Stirring in my sleep, I adjusted my beak for a moment, causing the little parrot within to rapidly adjust to the constantly changing size of his movable space. As my tongue squirmed in all directions, flinging more drops of my viscous drool, a stream of it oozed around Mike’s feet, denying him stable footing. Swip! As his feet slipped out form under him, Mike’s rump made contact with the back of my tongue, and from there it was a short slide forward and into the steamy pit of my throat! Reflex caused me to take a big gulp in my sleep, oblivious that I had just swallowed a tiny parrot. Although Mike was instantly squeezed by the slimy, powerful walls of my esophagus and his entire world became a lump in a tube constricting quickly being pushing down toward my stomach, on the outside, my disturbance was minor as I smacked my beak a couple times and continued to sleep peacefully in my chair.

But of course, none of this was new to Mike; he has seen nearly as many stomachs as he has maws! And now, he’ll get to see the inside of an osprey’s. He just hoped to spend a little more time in my mouth, perhaps to see what more that thick tongue of mine is capable of. But all it means is he’ll have to come back again some other time I’m napping!

In the meantime, he’ll just make it up over the rest of the trip. There’s a LOT more in this bird to see!

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