“Mmmhhh…..”

Bug savouring the feisty fidgeting of her feathered fodder, as though the squawking hen was now mostly swallowed, she was continuing to boisterously thrash against the stifling snare of the gastric tract hot, pulsating tunnel of flesh surrounding her. The frantic floundering doing little to upset the grey glutton’s gut, as she was well used to the griffons, she gulped putting up a spirited struggle once they were safely confined to the claustrophobic conditions of her stomach. Perhaps it was a part of their species being natural predators, or perhaps their notorious pride simply couldn’t stand the humiliation of their packed-away predicament.

Not like this muffled indignation would change the bucking formel’s fate as food though, as apart from the now engorged equine there was no one around to hear the trapped tweeting emanating from her mewling midriff. The library like most suppositories of knowledge in the modern age deserted, and as such the mardy mare had chosen it as the ideal location to score a snack without the risk of being disturbed, allowing her to savour the tenacious twitching of her tucked-away treat in peace. The slightly salty flavour of the feline pleasing upon the peckish pony’s palate, as Bug detected the slight citrus hue of lime on the irate indulgence smoothly slipping down her throat.

The experienced equine eater taking her time, as the mare mulled the pattern of the lovely rosettes on the writhing rump lodged betwixt her lips. The dour devourer’s tight gullet had a good grip on Griffonstone's foremost archivist now, leaving the bird to bleat helplessly, as Bug began to bolt her down at her leisure. Glenda barely able to move her worming body against the encapsulating embrace of the throbbing tunnel of tight muscle she was slowly sinking into. Dusty books and stacks of forgotten scrolls failing to prepare her for the disorientation of being ingested, and in a few more glugs the formel would be nothing more than a quivering bulge squirming ineffectually between the slate snarfer’s legs.

Gravity already helping to assist the filling fowl ooze down Bug’s oesophagus, as the frictionless chute glided over the streamlined hen with only a few peristaltic pulses. The moody mare relishing the sensation of saliva-soaked fur and feathers tickling her rolling throat, as Bug noticed that Glenda was more like a snow leopard than the normal lion of some of the soon-to-be digesting avian protein’s previously partaken peers. This meant that the formel’s feline half possessed the quirk of a depth-gauge tail, allowing the mare to chart how far her protesting prey had slipped into the inescapable snare of her ever-ravenous plumbing. Bug tracing the progress of the hen-shaped swelling sliding down her neck with a curious hoof, as the hen continued her sweltering slide towards the stomach, she would soon spend the next few hours stewing in before she was smelted down into a bit of paunch on Bug’s already plump plot.

Glenda understandably not too enthused about this dank dive, and if Bug’s mouth was not currently occupied with slurping down a fluffy tail like a wriggling noodle, she might have taunted the tasty intellectual she was inhaling. The spittle drenched formel possessing an energetic survival instinct, which the well-fed earth pony would enjoy feeling peter out once the bird began to boil down into a chunky chicken soup. Bug could already picture the mouthwatering tang of that sloshing stew on her burps, as the lounging mare metabolized the griffoness grist she had gifted her already churning gut. A final slow gulp enough to safely stow the agitated archivist, leaving the equine to relish the meeping meal quaking in her distended midriff with an already waning vigour, as Glenda succumbed to the slow cooker-like conditions that sat below the tight knot of the lower oesophageal sphincter. Bug ignoring the distraught opinion of her lunch, as she instead waddled off, keen to find a quiet study room to relax and let nature take its course on the sizable haul of floundering female flesh currently simmering in the muggy abyss of her kneading stomach chamber……

................................

During a business trip to Giffonstone, Bug saw an opportunity to snag a heavy helping of hen meat....

My one-hundred-and-fiftieth sketch from  Silent_E 's patreon. This one features Bug enjoying a filling feast of formel flesh formerly known as Glenda...


This image of Bug slurping a griffoness tail was kindly coloured by my friend  plaguetyranno .

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