Deep in the Belly of a Whale
The old windjammer rocked from side to side as the waves splashed against the hull. My hammock rocked with it, and I swung lazily back and forth as I listened to the rainstorm outside. Occasionally the thick glass portholes would flash with lightning, but for the most part, all I could hear was the creaking of the steel hull and the low drumming of rain from the decks above.
And, of course, the snoring of the crew all around me. For reasons of space or passenger accommodation, I’d ended up bunking with them in their general quarters amidships, and now the day shift was snoozing all around me in their own hammocks. Not that I minded; I’d certainly slept through worse on my many voyages across the ocean before. I had stayed up to listen to the rain, and perhaps do some light writing about my day, by lantern-light.
A clattering of hooves upon the treated wooden decks pulled my attention away from my journal, however. I turned my head to look, and my eyes widened. The ship’s Bosun, an earth pony mare of average build but incredible girth, had stumbled into the crew’s quarters. And I do emphasize that she stumbled; she appeared to have drunk half a bottle of something alcoholic, and her eyes wandered hungrily across the sleeping forms of her crew.
My own eyes wandered downwards, and—not for the first time—my vision played across her wide, rolling flanks, a cutie mark of an anchor broadly spread across them. Her legs were well-toned from walking the desk and hauling cargo, but the bulk of her weight won out overall, resulting in a heavyset mare wrapped in thick layers of both muscle and fat. Most fascinating of all was her stomach, and particularly tonight; it rippled with every step she took, and it swung lazily from side to side just like my hammock. And just like my hammock, it seemed to be occupied.
I was no stranger to vore, and it seemed the Bosun wasn’t either. Despite the rocking of the ship and her own squirming belly, she kept her balance admirably as she wandered closer. Eventually, her eyes met mine, and then she took in my own thin body with barely a glance. The life of a traveling writer certainly gave its fair share of exercise, but I was merely average. I’d always been proud of my rump, but as I was laying on my back, her focus instead slid across my body. My equine cock had quickly escaped my sheath at seeing her, and she drank in the sight as she licked her lips.
“Mister Writer, wasn’t it? Enjoying the view?” She turned so we were broadsides to each other, and her bouncing belly was fully exposed. My cock bounced in arousal at the sight, and her tail flicked in excitement. “As I thought. My nethers are satisfied tonight, Mister Writer, but I find the hammock in my quarters is cold. Could I trouble you to share your own?”
“Of course!” I agreed eagerly, “I am a passenger after all. Though I’m unsure if my hammock can fit three…”
“Oh, it won’t be long until it’s just the two of us...” crooned the Bosun, as she leaned back on her hinds, and hooked her fores over the edge of my hammock. The canvas strained downwards as she pulled her weight over me. I felt as though I were paddling a lifeboat under the stern of a warship as she blocked out the light from my lantern, and my journal fell to the deck.
As she settled atop me, we found our new balance in our hammock, though the metal support beams that it was tethered to creaked and groaned as they were put to the test. Her writhing belly spread out across my body like the tide, and I found my cock being pressed against my own underside as I was pressed downwards into the canvas. I prepared to be pressed even tighter for the rest of the night, but to my surprise, she held herself above me using her fores, and our muzzles were close enough that we could kiss.
Not that she looked like a kissing mare; instead, the Bosun smirked again at how I shivered against her gut, and how her gut flexed against my own body. I glanced down at the great mass of wobbling belly, and felt the movement running along my pinned shaft. Whether by accident or by intention, whoever was entombed within her stomach was slowly stroking my length, when the Bosun herself couldn't reach it.
“Who-hmmph,” I groaned at the heat, the pressure, and the slow shifting of the Bosun’s belly. “Who’s the, ah, other passenger?”
“My supper,” and the mare emphasized this by rubbing her belly with a forehoof, which was met with another shiver from within, “was some nameless cabin colt that worked the ropes, and volunteered himself at the end of night shift. Couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen. I didn’t bother to get his name; he’ll be added to the list when he doesn’t show up for his shift tomorrow. After all, ponies are lost—or dumped—overboard all the time when crossing straits as hazardous as this.”
As I watched, I started to find definition in the shapes being squeezed and compressed by the stomach. The colt inside laid on his belly, his hooves behind him, and the Bosun chuckled as she lowered herself further. The shape of his crotch, and the firmness I could feel even through the flesh of the Bosun’s gut, was pressed tightly against my own. The former cabin colt thrust against the inner lining of the stomach, and the fur of the Bosun’s belly thrust along my own length. We were frotting, thrusting our cocks alongside each other, despite the stomach lining between us.
“Of course, pegasi are so squirmy, as I’m sure you yourself know. I had to tie him up before I could swallow him...but I think, with his hooves pinned behind himself, he may be a bit wound up with no way to relieve himself a second time…” I panted as the Bosun lowered herself further, and I was fully compressed against the taut canvas of my hammock. She continued, “You’ll have to forgive me, I think; I’m so used to being in control, even of my prey. I like to be in control of when they’re allowed to squirm.”
The hammock swung from side to side as another wave crashed against the hull, and it gently rocked forward and back as the colt and I ground against each other. It was all we could move, with the weight of the Bosun pressing us so tightly together. I would never know the colt’s face, or his name, and he would never know mine. But we shared our pleasure, and I resolved myself to help the colt find release one last time before the end of tonight, so he wouldn’t succumb to his Bosun’s stomach with his final need left unattended.
I panted and wheezed, as the soft, yet plush and heavy bulk of the Bosun lay atop me, and kept the colt pinned between us both. It was like being trapped below a massive silk pillow, and as fur stained by sea spray ground against my own, I felt the colt’s thrusts grow erratic.
I sped up my own thrusting to match him, and he pressed his face against the stomach’s lining as he could. A faint bulge pushed against the outer expanse of the gut, and I pressed my own muzzle against it. We kissed, through the belly between us, as we thrust our cocks together as fast as we could while being compressed into a lump of pony, musk and precum. The colt would soon be just that within her gut; a lump of pony, fit only to be broken down and added to the Bosun’s flanks, thighs, and her swinging, heavy pot belly.
That thought was what pushed me over the edge, and perhaps his imminent finality did the same for the former cabin colt. We came together, thrusting and humping and wheezing as one, kept separate by so thick a layer of mare blubber. My own cum, hot and creamy, spread outwards across my belly, for I didn’t even have the space to properly squirt. It was barely allowed to ooze outwards from the point of our denied coupling, and the pressure from above almost instantly squeezed it outwards, soaking the hammock for which I was being used as a bed warmer.
Inside the Bosun’s stomach, the colt’s own hot cum was mixed instantly with the juices within her noxious gut. Almost immediately, the white jets of his last load were dispersed throughout the sloshing stomach acids, and disappeared from sight as the belly growled around him. They faded without a trace, and as the colt slumped, exhausted, against the lining of the stomach, his own teenage body was soon to follow.
I felt another rumble from within the Bosun’s stomach, as it finally began to work over her meal, teased and kickstarted by the colt’s final load. I know he heard it too; he shuddered and shifted sluggishly, maybe realizing far, far too late that his doom was upon him. I felt the stomach tighten and compress his body as it was pressed against mine, and the Bosun let out a deep, acidic belch as the last of her meal’s air was burped out.
Together, the Bosun and I pressed ourselves tightly against the colt as he struggled. Slow-burning acid, noxious bile, and the meaty chyme of his own body overcame his head, and replaced the air that had kept him alive within his predator’s gut. He could only hold his breath so long, and when he couldn’t hold his last breath any longer, he was forced to open his mouth and breathe deep of the Bosun’s juices.
We both felt him stiffen suddenly, and begin to thrash, fighting fruitlessly for his life inside her belly. The Bosun hummed a quiet shanty to herself as she rocked the hammock from side to side, and sloshed the contents of her belly back and forth across my own. After only a few seconds, the colt’s movement slowed, and he curled up as the belly tightened further. Even before he was dead, the belly was crushing him into a tight, dense sac of nutrients. In his last moments, he surely felt the pressure all around him, like the deep, dark waters of the ocean. In those lightless waters, he finally drowned, and his body went still as it was pressed against my own.
The Bosun let out one last acidic burp across my muzzle, and then she closed her eyes as she laid her head on my shoulder. “There he goes. Mmmm… He was a fun one. It’ll almost be a shame to make the journey up to the ship’s head in the morning; I’d like to keep him for myself, instead of letting the sea take his remains.” Then her eyes snapped back open, looking deeply into my own. “Of course, I’ll need to grab a snack before that, so I can go straight to my shift. I expect you to report for duty when I wake; I’ll need some help softening up what’s left, before you’re dismissed.”
I groaned and tried to thrust against the bulk of the Bosun, and all of the ponies she kept as fat on her flanks. I was due to join them by this time tomorrow, and I would be amazed if I got any sleep tonight with her bulk pressing me into the hammock, and the weight of that erotic thought keeping me trapped in anticipation.
Author's Note
I've mostly stepped away from writing vore aside from passion projects, stories owed to friends, and short little stories like this, but I'm still very much writing! If you'd like to keep up with me and have an interest in Dark Souls and Ponies, why not swing on over to my main account and give The Hollow Pony a shot? It's a crossover novel that's just on the cusp of 60,000 words as of the new chapter published today, and I'm very proud of it!
https://www.fimfiction.net/story/463271/the-hollow-pony
