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Feeding Information

by Declan Xavier

TW: The following contains descriptions denoting non-consensual sex and vore leading to death. Please read tags carefully before proceeding

Peter's ears swiveled as he heard the tumblers in the heavy lock on his cell door fall. He didn't even bother looking up. The light from the hallway would turn any of the guards into indistinguishable silhouettes. He had tried, at first, to differentiate which guard was coming to use and abuse him by the way they walked, but the clattering of hooves on paving stones echoed too much, especially when they came in groups. It was rare that only one would come. Usually, Peter was a team activity.

Then he tried to determine them by smell. They each had their own distinct odor, but it was muted by the fact that they all wore the same uniforms, laundered in the same place, ate the same food and lived in the same base. Not to mention that his nose had been frequently bloodied, and his room reeked of piss and horse cum. He wouldn't be able to tell them apart by their musk until they were right on top, or sometimes, inside of him.

As the guard approached, he counted the hoof beats. He knew how many it would take before he could determine who was who, and after half a dozen steps had been taken, the prisoner finally looked up. It was Astros. Astros had some kind of rank. The fox wasn't too sure of the hierarchy of the equine army, but it was always clear that whenever Astros was involved, whatever he said went. Peter hadn't been introduced to any male who could tell Astros anything and expect to be obeyed.

"Break time come so soon?" Peter asked, knowing that the guard was the only one he could really banter with. Peter's humor was the only thing keeping him from cracking. After he stopped speaking, however, he opened his muzzle, letting his tongue loll out between what remained of his lower teeth. He winced, but not from the ache in his jaw; he had come to accept that. It was the fact that he had once been a proud warrior, and he now rolled over so submissively. Another part of him rationalized that he was just saving himself more pain and discomfort in the long run.

Astros just grunted. "You wish, codpiece." The guards had nicknamed the vulpine after the piece of armor that they all stuck their dicks in. The only piece of armor they wore around the barracks. The piece of armor that, unlike other visits, Astros was still wearing. Peter closed his muzzle, looking quizzically at the horse but dare not asking. Maybe he didn't want to know the answer...

"Captain wants to see you," Astros answered the unasked question, unlatching the manacles that held Peter's arms to the side. He nearly fell muzzle-first onto the floor, but Astros's hand shot out and grabbed him. Getting the prisoner onto his shaky legs, the equine didn't even bother to bind the vupine's paws.

As they walked, Peter seeing the outside of his cell for the first time in...he didn't know how long, He couldn't imagine the state that he appeared in, but rather than focus on that shame, he looked around the halls, searching for any opportunity to make an escape. He didn't have the strength, really, and he'd probably get killed in the attempt, but he'd much rather fall trying to escape than continue living like he was. They passed other equines, some of whom Peter recognized from 'break times' in his cell, others were strangers. Did they know about him and were just disinterested? It was possible.

Stopping at a door, Peter took a deep breath as Astros opened it without knocking. The interior of the room was not what Peter was expecting to see. He expected to see...well, he expected to see the Captain, perhaps flanked by a retinue of guards. Instead, thin wisps of steam hung in the air near the door, and just beyond that was a pool of water being fed by a fountain. A slight aura of steam surrounded the soft flow of water.

"You are to be washed before seeing him," Astros explained. From the other side of the room, a pair of servants, or perhaps slaves, came to take the fox away from his equine escort. Astros lingered in the room, ensuring that there would be no way that Peter could overpower these people and escape. He watched, lips curling into a lurid sneer, as the pair of workers set to cleaning the cum-and-filth covered prisoner.

They said nothing, but their touch was gentle, and the hot water felt better than it had any right to. Peter wanted nothing more than to just sink into that pool and relax. His arms and wrists hurt from the bindings, his jaw and ass hurt from the fucking, his very spirit cried out for just a moment of luxury. The soft paws worked through his fur, using no soaps or oils, just getting the worst bits of it free from him. It was like a dream, and like a dream, it was over all too soon.

A coarse towel was applied vigorously over his body, sending little punches of pain through his body whenever it hit a particularly tender bit. His body, remembering what it was like to feel good for a few blissful minutes, now fell back into the pit of discomfort that his recent lifestyle had introduced him to. Everything was so brief, but with his mind not having much else to focus on, he started to wonder why the Captain was wanting to see him. He doubted Astros, as chummy as they were, would tell him if he had asked. Perhaps he didn't want to know the answer.

Freshly cleaned, the prisoner was once again escorted by the horse through the halls of the compound. As if the bath had scrubbed off the past...however long it was...weeks? Months? Worth of shame and degradation, Peter started glancing about, looking for any means to escape. The windows were all barred, though, and the number of armored males that they passed only seemed to increase as they got closer to their destination.

Every few steps, however, he noticed a grunt coming from his escort. Glancing up, he saw the slight pull at the edge of the horse's snout, a bit of a wince. Then, with clear nostrils, he caught the faintest hint of an aroma that he had smelled many times during his stay here.

"The sight of me in the bath do something for you there, Astros?"

"Shut up!" came the whispered but urgent reply, so sudden and sharp that Peter stopped moving for a second and stood ramrod straight. There was no hint of friendliness in that order, none of the usual banter that he had come to expect. He had touched a raw nerve somehow, and his escort had let him know. Astros started to look back over his shoulder, and Peter fell quickly back into step.

The last few yards to the Captain's quarters were carried out in a completely different timbre. He had been careful before, mere glances to look for a way out, but now his senses were telling him that he needed to find a way out, and fast. Any open window, any hallway not filled with guards, any slightly opened door that could promise salvation was something he was willing to at least try. He probably couldn't outrun the stallion, who had recently been fed something other than gruel and horse semen, but the element of surprise and a desperate dash was worth the risk. Maybe he wouldn't be killed, maybe he'd just get his snout bloodied and be dragged to the Captain anyway.

Alas, it was not meant to be, as a pair of wooden double doors loomed at the end of the hall. The two guards on either side saw Astros approaching and, in tandem, slammed their fists against the door once to announce that it was opening, and then proceeded to swing the doors wide to let them pass. After the pair were inside, both doors swung shut with a heavy slam.

Peter's expectations had again led him astray. These were the Captain's chambers, a large and luxurious bed off to one side, as well as a small copy of the pool-and-fountain-combo that had provided Peter with some amount of cleanliness and relief. A few tapestries hung, depicting horses dominant in battle against their foes, and there was a large desk with a map of the area in the center of the room. Aside from that, it was merely Astros, Peter, a mouse dressed in white linens, and another stallion that Peter could only assume was the Captain.

He was slightly older than Astros, if the salt-white hairs through his otherwise obsidian mane were any sign. He also had more wrinkles on his face, and a few more scars. Still, like his men, he was clearly one who exercised aggressively and kept himself to a strict diet. The only item of clothing he wore was a cloak, dyed red, which stood out against his russet-colored fur. This left every inch of the stallion on display.

Peter could have taught medics about the musculature of horses using the Captain as an example. As he moved, his muscles shifted under his skin, muscles that Peter wasn't even sure someone like Astros had. His thighs were like knotted tree trunks, his abdomen sporting half-a-dozen individual muscles with deep valleys between them. And situated between those two areas stood a sheath and pair of balls that, thanks to them remaining unconstrained, hung low.

Not wanting to stare at the male that had ordered and continued his imprisonment, not wanting to gawk at the muscular statue that was slowly advancing on them, he looked at the mouse. Whoever it was, they were visibly shaking, a cloth being rung between their paws, their tail drooped so low as to touch the floor. They were dressed in white linens, and showed none of the signs of abuse that Peter had endured. Were they a servant? What was going on?

Astros announced his name and rank loudly, snapped Peter's attention back to the Captain. "I have brought the prisoner, sir."

"Good," The Captain's voice was deep, deep enough to be felt as much as heard. He stood calmly, arms at his sides, as he looked between the fox and the mouse. Astros moved aside, and once again, Peter contemplated the chances of him making it out of this chamber on an escape attempt. The Captain spoke again, though, and the bass filled his mind as it rattled his chest, putting all other thoughts aside.

"It seems my dinner has been burnt." Ah, so that explained it. The mouse was one of the cooks...

"And it seems that we have run out of useful information. Your kin are adept at weeding out our spies, and it is making things difficult and prolonged."

Hope fluttered in the fox's chest, and he quickly stifled it. They were out there, yes, still fighting, but he had more pressing concerns. Namely, the large horse in front of him that was still talking.

"So, I will make you an offer. Become a source of intelligence for me, or become a source of nutrition for me. Since you haven't wronged me, I will let -you- decide." A thick, sausage-like finger pointed directly at Peter's nose tip, making him go momentarily cross-eyed.

Peter's mind whirled. Could he really do that? Could he really betray his people like this? Would it mean an end to the torment that he had to endure? Safety for him and his family at least? He could see them again, hug them again, but could he live with himself afterwards?

Then he heard a small squeak from behind him, and his nose, purged of the lingering odors of his cell, picked up the faintest trace of urine. He looked back over his shoulder. The mouse had nearly ripped the cloth in their paws in half, and realization dawned on Peter. If he chose to betray his people, he was also sentencing the mouse to become dinner...

Looking back, Peter stood up a little straighter. In the last few minutes, he had gone through every emotion that he could think of. Now, he felt something that he hadn't felt since being captured: a warrior's pride. Looking the Captain square in his chocolate-colored eyes, the fox puffed out his chest.

"I hope you choke on me."

There was a moment of silence, and then, everyone reacted at once. The mouse let out a whimpering sigh, the Captain smirked and laughed just one, harsh note, and Astros approached.

"I don't think I will, little one," the Captain said, licking his lips. He reached out and grabbed Peter's arms, pining them to his sides. His hands were like vices, and no matter how much the vulpine struggled, he could not pull away. Turning to Astros, the Captain spoke.

"Relieve the cook, and you," he said, rounding on the mouse. "You better not fuck up again. We're out of foxes to bail your ass out of the soup pot."

"Sir, if I may...this is the last fox in the barracks, and without some sort of relief we..."

Was Astros really trying to spare his life? Wasn't there a risk that the Captain would put him on the plate if he couldn't get the fox?

"Aw...sad that you're going to lose your little, what do you call him, 'codpiece?'" The Captain's cruelty apparently extended to his men, judging by the condescending tone he employed. "I'll tell you what, since you've been loyal in your service, I'll give you once last go. You get to fuck him down my throat, but you had better not cum in him. I don't let any male's cum in my stomach, you understand me?"

Astros nickered lightly, and Peter felt any hope fade away. That was as far as the other horse seemed willing to push. At least he would put up one last fight in the kitchens, making sure that he didn't go quietly into that terrible night.

But he wasn't destined for the kitchens. The Captain opened his mouth, but not to speak, his jaws opened wider, and wider, and Peter's eyes widened at roughly the same rate. He had heard of this, whispered around the cook fires, that some of the horses were able to swallow victims whole. It seemed that the Captain liked them alive and wriggling. That's what he meant when he said that Astros could fuck him down his throat...

In front of him, a drool-dripping maw, lined with surprisingly perfect, dull teeth grew wider. The pink, fleshy tongue curled and uncurled. He could even see the horse's uvula, framed by a slightly tightening walls of throat muscles. Hot breath rolled over his entire body, heating him in a way that only the water of the bath did earlier. It smelled of nothing but heat, tickling the fox's cleared nostrils. Then, the thick muscle ran up the side of his face, rubbing his fur the wrong direction and tickling him slightly. The Captain's tongue did the same to the other side of the fox's head before the thick, equine lips started to descend.

The vulpine's muzzle slide between the rows and upper and lower teeth, pressing his nose firmly into the cushion of the thick equine tongue. Saliva dripped around his ears as his head was engulfed. As he flattened his ears, the last sound he heard before everything became the Captain's heavy breathing was metal clattering to the floor. He knew that Astros was getting into position, but he could not do anything given his position.

He lifted his tail obediently, as he had done many times in the past for the guard, even as the tongue lapped and tickled at his Adam's apple. Viscous horse saliva matted into his fur. The lips wrapped around his neck, slurping loudly as they closed around the thinner portion. His head was completely encased in the horse's bloated cheeks, and he could feel the Captain lift him, pushing his muzzle back towards the back of his throat.

'This is why soaps weren't used in the bath...' he thought, wondering if the servants knew what his fate might be. Guess it didn't matter any more. He was going down a hero to his people, and not a traitor, and that was good enough for him...it would have to be. He closed his eyes, breathing in the horse's exhalation.

His feet now off the ground, he felt hands grab his ankles and then move up his calves to the back of his thighs. As the lips started to stretch once more to take in his vulpine shoulders, Peter felt rough hands spreading his ass checks The contrast between the familiar feeling of the horse intent on rutting him and the horse intent on ingesting him, made him moan involuntarily as his brain simply failed to understand what was going on.

The blunt head of Astros's shaft, a familiar feeling, prodded at the practiced ring of muscle that it had used so many times. He felt the pressure of the slow hip roll starting to be applied, but rather than penetrate him, it only served to push his nose deeper into the Captain's snout. It was until his nose was firmly within the inner ring of throat muscles, and there was a brief halt to his inward movement, that he felt the cock finally spear him.

If he could open his muzzle to moan or cry out, he would have, but the Captain's throat held his jaws shut. The feeling of the horsecock, something that he had taken many times recently, never failed to spread his insides around its girth. He couldn't even relax, as he had often been instructed to do, providing an extra tight tunnel for the shaft to move through. Only an inch or two sunk in before Astros started to pull out, slamming back roughly, as if knowing that he wasn't going to be able to finish.

The rough thrust from behind added a third inch of horse cock to the fox, but pushed him that much further down the decreased capacity of the Captain's throat. He could tell the change in orientation between his head and his shoulders, that now he was moving downwards, but he was getting less air and his world was starting to spin and go dark. He felt his elbows kissed by the Captain's lips as they worked in tandem with the tongue, and the thrusting subordinate, to pack the fox in tightly.

A rhythm rapidly developed between the three of them. Well, in reality, the two of them, as the fox had little say in the matter. Pushing hard forward and up, Astros let out a nicker of pleasure at the feeling of his codpiece's ass clenching around his cock, and at the same time, the Captain's throat would swallow, rubbing against the fox's face and neck to pull him down. Shoulder and arms to the elbow, and as far down the shaft as the medial ring. It was like a full-body massage as the hot and slippery cavern pulled him further downwards into darkness. There was a slight jolt of dulled sensation as the Captain's tongue ran over his sheath and scrotum, curling up behind his balls to both fondle the fox and tease the piston that was doing all of the hard work.

From his position inside the Captain's chest, he could hear vocalizations attempted. He felt, dully, the shaft starting to retreat. He gave one final clench to the mushroom-shaped head as it exited him, leaving a nice, gaping view between the legs that still dangling out of the Captain's jaws. The superior horse slurped once, craning his neck upwards, and the fox slid in easily.

He was only slightly aware that his nose was no longer as constrained as it was inside the tunnel of the Captain's throat. Something sharp and acrid hit his nostrils, and he felt his feet, usually very ticklish, only tingle as the tongue rolled over it. He fell into a pool of something. It tingled too, but Peter didn't have long to consider that before he closed his eyes and let darkness consume him.

Astros watched as the last tuft of codpiece's tail disappeared with a lewd slurping noise, like he was slurping noodles. His erection, black-and-pink mottled flesh, stood out from his groin, dripping with precum. He panted as he watched the last of the fox's outline disappear from the Captain's throat, and the bulge in his commander's gut be finalized.

The Captain belched loudly, wiping the sides of his mouth with the back of his forearms. His own shaft was starting to spill out of its sheath, hanging as low as his nuts. He snapped his fingers when he caught Astros staring.

"Go finish off in a mouse or something," the Captain ordered, rubbing his now paunchy belly. "I'm going to lay down for a bit and digest this, then we'll report to the yard to work off the calories."

Astros nodded, picking up his codpiece, the real armor, not the nickname he had given to the fox, and glanced back at the commander, who was waddling his way towards the bed. Knowing the fate that awaited people who didn't obey, Astros swiftly left the room, leaving the Captain to his post meal nap.