“Everything the light touches...”
Simba looked out at the incredible expanse before him, equal parts green and orange, dotted with rivers and valleys and the imprints of other creatures making their way in the world.
“...Is our kingdom.”
Mufasa stood back with a proud grin, looking out as his son stared on with wonder.
“A king's time as ruler rises and falls like the sun” The elder lion continued with a more grave expression on his face “One day, Simba, the sun will set on my time here, and will rise with you as the new king.”
Careening his necks upwards Simba looked at him, surprised, somewhat solemn. The idea that his father could be one day gone from him shocked the little lion but when he looked out again, that all changed.
It was so beautiful, this vast land with all of its strange and wonderful inhabitants, and it would all be his?
Simba could barely believe it.
“This will all be mine?”
“Everything the light....”
“Everything the light touches....”
Simba repeated the mantra and then stalked around to marvel at it. Then returned the gaze back at his father, feeling a strange feeling suddenly swirl within him, something the cub had never felt before.
Resentment.
His father was withholding all of this from him, hoarding this great land until the day he passed. And when would that be? Years certainly, decades perhaps. Until then the cub would have to wander around in purgatory, waiting, waiting, waiting.
Resentment gave way to jealousy, and then to anger. But Simba tried not to show it, silently stewing away in his innermost feelings.
“Simba?” Mufasa questioned and moved closer, getting a sudden sense of what he mistook for fear “there is a large amount of responsibility of course. And it may be overwhelming sometimes....”
The only thing that overwhelmed Simba was a need to have this land now and not later. To usurp the throne and take his rightful place, why should he have to wait? He could easily take control now.
“But you will grow into the role over time, and when I'm gone you wi-”
Mufasa never finished his sentence for, before he could act, his firstborn son spun around and hissed. Then without another moment’s hesitation sprung forward with those cub jaws wide open and launched into Mufasa’s face.
Tiny cub teeth pinched into Mufasa’s forehead and he reeled back, growling but with enough self control not to attack like his instincts told him too. “Simba!” he growled back “What is this? Remove yourself!”
The voice was big, booming and loud but Simba couldn’t hear anything, his eyes were focused firmly ahead and with another gulp he propelled himself forward, past his father’s angry eyes and richly furred forehead. The entire dome of his father entered the jaws and hit the back of Simba’s gullet.
“Let go!” Mufasa roared, a cry that should have ricocheted around the inside of the cub and torn him apart, but instead it came out muffled and weak. Barely audible as the lion’s head piled into his only son. All around Mufasa was flesh he had helped create, to prosper and grow. Now that same flesh was tight packed around him slick and mean, Mufasa barely able to breath and every breath he managed to get in caked in a devious smell. A delicate but decidedly predatory scent that Mufasa was very familiar with: the smell of a proud predator in the midst of snacking on a fine, delicious meal.
Had Simba stopped to even think for a moment, taken his determined gaze off the wriggling hide of his own father struggling to escape, he may have reconsidered. This was a vile act no doubt, condemning his own flesh and blood to a slow, digestive doom. And all for the sake of an early ascension to the throne. But none of this concerned Simba. He was too full of aged, beefy, deliciously matured lion meat and high off his own importance to care.
Something had broken inside Simba when he had looked out upon the land, his land, and then back at his weaker father. The smell of the older lion wafting towards him and filling the cub’s mind with incredible, vivid images. Visions of him reclining with a massively gorged belly bubbling away as it digested his king. After that he had no choice but to act, and his method was crystal clear.
Simba swallowed again and shifted downwards, up to Mufasa’s strong and sturdy chest now. Tiny tongue slurping at the furry mane soaking it in drool to make it slick and easy to gobble up. Behind him was a sight that unfortunately no one would ever see: Simba’s belly, filled with lion head, was stretched to the utmost of its capability and then some. Every single inch of Mufasa’s taut face, Contorted in horror, was visible on the bulging surface his eyes clenched and terrified, teeth bared but unable to attack the two attentive ears pulled back now in terror as his furry muzzle jutted out. The entire delicious image complete with a twitching, searching nose picking up all the horrid smells of a cub’s stomach. All of it was so clearly defined on the tawny, sparsely furred surface of a pink cub belly.
Another slurp and Mufasa’s front paws began to curl up, Simba almost back on the ground instead of hovering in midair attached to Mufasa’s cranium. “Simba '' the elder lion tried again, less angry and more pleading this time. Bargaining, the fourth stage of his long grieving process. “Perhaps we can discuss this, I won’t be angry if you just let me go. Come now, let’s discuss like the kings we are...”
“Not king yet,” Simba would have replied where his mouth is not full, “but I will be soon. All you have to do is shut up, and die.”
He didn’t say that. But when another resounding “omph!” sound echoed through Mufasa’s smelly, slick flesh prison he got the picture, His front legs slipping forward, toes curling up to enter his son. Now his grief started in earnest. The lion finally moved onto anguish. This was the end for him, betrayed and devoured by his own boy. He didn’t sob but hot tears began to bink past his formerly proud eyes upon feeling the tongue slurp at his matured, pink paw pads. His entire upper body encased now in tight, slick cub flesh. Skin, bone and muscle shifting to dominate the king of this land.
“Simba '' he cried out with a voice half cracked and desperate “please! You have to let me go, you’re too young to take the throne. You still have so much more to learn. Do you really wish to ascend to the throne with the weight of the fat I will create holding you down?”
This was the wrong answer, as it turned out Simba very much did wish to become and mighty and fat off of his own father. To carry the former king around as a layer of cream pudge, use it to boss around other members of his family. Nala wouldn’t be so confident against the combined weight of both Mufasa and Simba telling her what to do. The lion cub grinning at the thought, his teeth jutting into Mufasa’s spine and soft belly. Halfway through and past the point of no return. No regrets infecting his mind.
The bulge of Mufasa’s head now was more of a wriggling, stretched expanse of cub. Simba’s ample rump and tail was up in the air, back legs kicking free and beneath it the digestive, slimy cage Mufasa now found himself in. His feet and front toes now bulged out along with his shins, ankles and calves. Bony, bulging impressions that were all to show for the lion’s existence now. All it would take was a few careful gulps and then a long digestive process spanning days, perhaps weeks, But it wouldn’t be until morning that Mufasa would expire and the kingship passed onto Simba. And by then nobody could reverse what had happened.
And all it would take was a few slow, careful gulps....
**omph** **slurrrrrp** **Unnnmp**
Simba bound through the back half of his father, slurping at the soft and tender belly getting a few choice wriggles from his dad in response. Then moving onto the rump, not all that interesting to Simba, too old and male for his tastes. Finally the lion was in a position where he could tilt his head up, entire body now watching as a bulging digestive vessel with all four of his legs off the ground, and slurped up the slender backs legs and hindpaws of Mufasa.
They slid in nice and easy. Tawny, furred and just as delicious as the rest of Simba’s father had been. The lion inside still pleading, begging now as a thick slime began to seep from the walls and burn at his mouth, his fur, his eyes. Soon the only part of Mufasa that remained outside was the long, twitching tail with a tuft of brown fur attached to the end.
Simba focused his gaze again and....
SLURRRRRRPPPP
In it went like a long, strong piece of meaty spaghetti, Sliding down to join and curl up with the streamlined, hyperventilating and twitching mass that was its owner. Joining with Mufasa to await his digestion.
“Ahhhhh” Simba sighed, moving about to get a more comfortable position on his now massive body, a paw sliding out to rub at his swollen flanks “Long live the king-BURAAPP”
The belch slipped out from between his lips, long and stinky, framed with the digestive wrath of Simba’s belly hard at work to digest all of the meat within it.
“king.” Simba finished with a chuckle, and fluttered his eyelids to go back to sleep.
---
The next few hours was hell for Mufasa as the thick, heavy humidity of the air grew to an almost unbreathable head. He felt light headed and every once in a while he would become aware that he couldn’t feel anything above his belly. His paws, tails, rump was already beginning to numb and then slip away into Simba’s digestive tract. All the while the snores, meat fueled hiccups and dreamy chuckles of the cub surrounding him filled Mufasa’s tattered ears.
This was it, this was the end. Eaten by his own son. His legacy would be one of regicide in quite possibly the most absurd method ever committed.
But he wouldn’t be around to see that, for after almost a full night of this Mufasa finally succumbed to the unbearably hot, oxygen starved whims of his increasingly melting brain and slipped into blissful unconscious.
By the time Simba awoke in the morning and trotted inside to tell his shocked and confused mother what had happened, his belly would still be massive. The cub’s feet back on the ground but dragging his heavily distended, squishy belly with him. The imprints of Mufasa are still visible on the surface but bonier, squishier than ever before.
---
Warning: Disposal scene
Simba crouched at the edge of pride rock, his fat rump hanging over the edge while his swung into the air. He looks so much different than the night he had stood here and eaten his father. Fatter, rounder, more regal than ever before. In some ways the lion resembled a housecat, spoiled and rich with layers upon layers of cub fat that made him look like more of a furry balloon than a cub king. But the glint in his ears frightened every bird that flew near, the glint of a vicious predator.
The pressure in his gut shifted down and he felt the imprint of the turd press upon his tailhole, grunting he pushed it out and down it fell to the ground below in a heavy, smelly lump of brown fecal matter, white lion bone and tufts of slimy, undigested fur.
The last evidence that Simba’s father had ever existed. And they fell with a splat at the bottom of pride rock where they would either be rolled away by dung beetles or buried by the passage of time.
But Simba didn’t care about that anymore, he was king. And after a few more grunts, a curious sniff of the air and another long, resounding roar of a burp that shook the rock around him. Simba sauntered off, the king of this land.
“Long live the king” he grinned one more time. All the while the taste of Mufasa remained on his lips, beefy, masculine, distinctly feline. Simba licked his lips to savour it one more time, pondering how a young, female cub in the shape of Nala would differ in taste….
