When it came to partaking in pony prey, the more diminutive and curvy contours of a mare meal were easier to wolf down than the broader build of a stockier stallion snack. The more obtuse anatomy of their shoulders requiring a little more effort to eat, unlike the sleek and sensual shapes that made up an equally appetizing female figure. It was because of this some experienced equine eaters like Bug preferred to devour feminine food, even if the bundled-up bulge sagging their stomach was a little smaller than if they had indulged in male meat. Sure, a struggling stallion would slip down the grey glutton’s tight throat just as easily as a mewling mare, though if she could choose what she could consume, she would pick the delectably doughy tenderness of chevaline that only came from the fairer sex any day of the week, as it was simply a more enjoyable eating experience.

How much they squirmed during swallowing didn’t really matter, as once the slate snarfer had wrapped her ravenous lips around the back of their head, the element of surprise was normally enough to subdue them before they arrived at their digestive destination. The dour devourer long since learning that head first was the no-fuss feeding method, as it allowed her time to get a good taste for the tantalizing treat threading past her tonsils, without any incessant squealing from her sizable snack ruining the mood. Not like Bug was opposed to a flailing feast though, as an unwilling serving was infinitely more interesting than the feeble fidgets of compliant cuisine. The sublime feeling of their weak writhing fading to nothing as they succame to the stomach simply divine, as the last spasming sputters of a failing survival instinct carried them through one last belly dance before their ultimate conversion into calories to fatten the flanks of a more worthy equine.

A flavourful belch more often than not sufficient putting an end to their pathetic pleading, as suffocation sat in, leaving just a large lump of luscious lunchmeat twitching in the mardy mare’s misshapen midriff. Bug perhaps using a firm hoof to tuck their head in, as they settled in to stew, though for the most part, the majority of pony-sized portions naturally curled into an economical fetal position once the kneading stomach started to squeeze. From there the churning cavity would break down the marinating mare regardless of breed no differently than any other meal, until nothing remained of the moody mare’s sizable supper other than a sizzling soup of pulverized pony proteins gradually draining into her intestines.

Of course, that didn’t mean Bug didn’t have favourites when it came to what she slotted into her stomach, and if the opportunity presented itself, she would always engulf an earth pony like herself if given the option. The choice purely logistical of course, as she loved to savour the tingle of magic or stray feathers on her burps, but when it came to bolting down one of her fellow Equestrians, a vanilla earth pony was simply the most straightforward of the three most common menu items especially in a public setting. The reason being that they were a cakewalk to pack away on account of their streamlined shape, as they lacked a Pegasus’s flapping wings, or the annoying glowstick that clad the foreheads of every unicorn. It was just a matter of Bug slipping their muzzle into her mouth before they started screaming, and using her buxom bulk to pin them to a wall or other hard surface long enough to successfully glide them into the skin-tight sleeve of her accommodating gut with a swift string of grabbing gulps.

It was not a particularly clever strategy, but with the disorientation that came from a sudden ambush on her side, Bug had found much success at intimately introducing many a pony to the damp embrace of her insides. This particular encounter playing out like most, as a friendly hello from a couth-looking cellist had quickly transformed into the wet slurping sounds of an impromptu grab and gulp with a hungry lunge. The dour devourer ignoring the tart tang of hairspray and make-up tainting her palate, as each coasting chug claimed a couple of inches of grey fur with an almost frictionless efficiency. The spicing of cosmetics just informing the dour devourer, that her musical meal was somewhat meticulous about maintaining her appearance, no doubt in preparation for a stint on stage that was no longer coming, as Bug was committed to claiming the classical chow currently sheathed in her peristaltic pipework.

It didn’t take long, as her conquest met all the criteria peckish pony had for the perfect prey, and with a few undulations of the overpowering oesophagus, her snacks fumbling forelegs were helplessly pinned at her side. The whining mare’s articulate mannerisms and practised formalities worthless at this point, as now Bug’s throbbing throat had a good grip on her, she was locked into a terminal trip to a cramped stay in her stomach. The grey glutton’s tummy already growling in anticipation for the massive meal to come, and as such the voracious equine wasted no time inhaling the luckless instrumentalist. The slate snarfer’s oppressive throat only offering enough give, to allow the wriggling morsel to ooze ever deeper into the sweltering snare of her obliging interior.

From here she could take it steady, it was not like Octavia was in a place to resist her relegation to a hearty helping of female flesh. Bug using this opportunity to relish the organic spice of her snack, though in truth the performer seeping towards her stomach was rather bland, like the expensive food that oft filled the tables at Canterlot garden parties. Not like this was enough to convince the predator to disgorge her dinner though, and Bug just rolled onto her back hooves and tilted her head back, to allow perpetual asset of gravity to help her cram down the chubby cheeks currently clogging her gob. The earth pony’s risqué tongue lapping at the quivering loins of her large lunch, before with a saliva-slickened “ulp” Octavia’s round rump began to sink into the humid expanse of the steamy gullet with a please purr from the soon to be well-fed mare….

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

When it comes to selecting mares to munch, Bug is not a particularly picky pony, though there were certain traits that make it more likely for a perspective prey item to earn a terminal trip to her tummy. Unfortunately for Octavia she happened to tick all of these boxes during an encounter with the grey glutton in a toilet at one of Canterlot's prestigious garden parties, resulting in her getting rather intimate with the experienced equine eaters insides....

My eighty-seventh sketch from  Silent_E 's patreon.

This interesting angle of a feeding Bug was kindly coloured by my friend  plaguetyranno .

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