Story contains: oral vore, same size vore, fat fur, male Ampharos pred, male Mightyena prey, implied digestion, fatal vore, and a casually fatal and sadistic tone.
      
      There are few things that can bring a wolfish grin to a predator better than an easy meal. “Easy” didn’t even begin to cover the mutton buffet on display. A whole field of mareep and flaaffy, happily grazing and murmuring whatever it is sheep talk about, without a single guard in sight. No growlithe, no herdier, not even a rough-and-tumble furfrou. Nothing standing between him and a full stomach besides time.
      
      It was so beautiful that the lone mightyena almost wanted to cry.
      
      Technically, he should be headed back to the pack to let them know he’d found lunch… and dinner, and tomorrow’s breakfast. But a growl from his stomach convinced him to stay and have the first pick. Besides, they’d forgive him if he got more than one to share, right?
      
      He shifted his legs in the bushes and licked his chops. Red eyes peered through the growth and settled on one of the younger mareep. Their whole species was pitifully slow; he’d be on them and gone before they knew it.
      
      He lowered his body, curved his back, took the first step in his sprint-
      
      And the next second he was pulled out of the bush by his tail and dangling upside-down, ass in the air and all fours off the ground. He let out a yelp and flailed his legs, front paws clawing for the ground and hind paws kicking uselessly.
      
      “And what’s got you hiding in the bushes, pup?” said the thickest, most lyrical Celtic accent that he’d ever heard from a man. Before he could get a word out a second paw grabbed him by the ear and spun him around by his tail, and he was face-to-face with a glowering, towering ampharos Shiny, pink fur glittering in the daylight.
      
      “E-erm… just admiring the view where I wouldn’t scare anyone, sir?” the mightyena lied, tucking his legs in and giving his best innocent smile. Neither lying nor innocence were ever his specialty.
      
      “Oh, is that right?” the ampharos mocked with a humorless grin, tilting his head. “If you’d just walked up and said hello, you’d find that not a soul here would find you scary.”
      
      The mightyena arced an eyebrow, smile dimming. “You’re a bunch of sheep in an open field without your human around to guard you. Fear would be very smart.”
      
      “That’s where you’re wrong, pup,” the ampharos said, grin growing and now full of humor. “Our human don’t need to guard the flock, ‘cause she’s gots me to do it for her!”
      
      The mightyena’s eyes swept up and down, sizing up his captor. The ampharos was exceptionally well fed – too well fed, in fact. His gut was round and heavy with fat, spilling out past his knees and sagging just an inch off the ground. It was like the pink sheep had just swallowed a watermelon, rind and all. He was also sporting a thick set of hips on either side of his chubby belly. His legs had quite a bit more muscle than his middle, but the mightyena could only imagine how juicy and firm the sheep’s thigh meat would be.
      
      The mightyena swallowed the drool that was pooling in his mouth, while his stomach growled. “How’d you sneak up on me like that?” he asked diplomatically.
      
      “Think I’m too fat to be stealthy, do you?” he asked back, smile curling at the corners. “Don’t bother denying it, I saw you eyeing my belly. I just know how to keep all this weight nice and quiet, nothing special.” He gave his stomach a few pats and chuckled. “But I’m not on the menu, friend, today or ever.”
      
      “Obviously,” the mightyena grumbled with a frown and roll of his eyes. “Would you just let me go now? I want to get my humiliation over with. When the pack hears I got caught by a fat, pink, Irish ampharos, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
      
      The ampharos’ mood changed in less than the blink of an eye. The smug grin vanished, his black eyes glared, and through his new scowl he snapped, “I’m fuckin’ Welsh, you daft bastard!”
      
      He let out a yelp, his fur standing on end. “O-okay, okay, sorry, my mistake!” he sputtered. Images of his enraged pack leader flashed in his mind, and the only sort of fury he could compare it to.
      
      The ampharos snorted in rage, but he glanced over to his flock and found them staring. He gave them a wave to go about their business and took a deep breath. “Sorry there, friend, just a bit of a soft spot,” he said with measured calm. “Before you go, might I know your name? Mine’s Arwel, by the by.”
      
      The mightyena eyed his captor suspiciously. “Martin, pleased to meet you,” he said without an ounce of pleasure. “Can I go now?”
      
      “Oh, yes, you’ll be going in just a moment,” Arwel said, his smile back and bigger than before. “But not back to your pack.”
      
      The curve of Arwel’s smile made his fur stand on end all over again. “E-excuse me?”
      
      “You’re not going back,” Arwel said slowly, as if talking to a child. “See, you go back to your pack, you bring back more mightyena, and beating all of your asses blue would just be more trouble than it’s worth. So I can’t lets you leave, you understand.”
      
      “So, what, are you taking me back to your human? Domesticate me?” Martin spat, dreading the answer.
      
      “Oh heavens no, friend,” he said with a laugh. “You’ll be going to my stomach.”
      
      Martin’s ears twitched and eyebrows rose. “Pardon?”
      
      Arwel rolled his eyes and sighed. “I’m going to eat you, you daft pup! Most trouble you’ll be causing me later is a belly ache, maybe a spot of indigestion.”
      
      Martin expected to see the jovial humor in Arwel’s eyes that he had before. The ampharos was obviously finding this funny, but there was no hint of a joke in his gaze. “Haha, hilarious. You’re a sheep; you munch on grass and hay!”
      
      Arwel laughed a belly-shaking laugh. “If that’s what you want your last words to be! Will be quite the riot to tell my drinking buddies, I’ll say. But I don’t thinks you really believe that I got this gut from just grazing.”
      
      Martin was at a loss for words, and Arwel didn’t give him a chance to find any. Arwel tossed the mightyena a few inches upward, and grabbed Martin again with a paw on each hip, his black and grey ass in the air.
      
      “Hope you don’t mind if I start with the juicy part,” Arwel said with a wet slurping sound, licking his lips. “It’s all going to my belly anyway.”
      
      The next sound Martin managed was a surprised yelp. His hind paws were suddenly warm and wet and covered in softness, and the feeling was quickly spreading up his legs. He looked up over his shoulder, and to his horror saw that Arwel’s lips were already up to his hips, his legs lodged deep inside the ampharos’ long neck. “H-hahahah, Arwel!” he fake-laughed with rising panic. “Joke’s over, you can put me down!”
      
      The only response he got was a grunt right before Arwel shoved Martin’s rump into his maw, his tongue right between the canine’s legs. A noise between a moan and a yelp escaped Martin’s lips, and his face turned bright red at the feeling of his bare balls against the sheep’s tongue. He let out the same sound when he felt Arwel roughly suckle on his mouthful of juicy thighs and sensitive sack.
      
      “O-okay, alright, you’re turning me on, I get it, hahah how humiliating,” Martin rambled. An especially hard suck made him bite his lip and stifle a soft moan. “I’m plenty embarrassed now, no need to keep going!”
      
      He didn’t get a grunt in response this time, but a loud, greedy swallow. Martin’s hips and rump sank down into Arwel’s throat, making a bulge of his curvy thighs and ever-hardening cock. The mightyena couldn’t help but let out a soft howl of arousal, bucking his hips once against the tight, warm walls of the sheep’s gullet on instinct. Arwel threw his head back, lifting Martin up and letting gravity give him a hand.
      
      “O-oh god, oh god,” Martin managed to say through his horny panting. “S-stop, oh god, stop! I’m not food, you can’t do this to me!”
      
      Arwel chuckled around the mightyena’s middle and swallowed hungrily once, then again, then again. His lips slid up over Martin’s stomach and chest with gluttonous speed and ease, and they came to rest around the shoulders of his trapped captive.
      
      Martin’s panic swelled up inside him, his heart pounding in his chest which in turn was in Arwel’s throat. “Please! Arwel, please, let me go!” he begged, front paws clawing at the air. “Somebody, anybody, please help me!” He managed to cast a glance to the sheep flock out of the corner of his eye. Some cast looks in his direction, but none said a word and most ignored him completely. As if this was business as usual. As if they were used to it.
      
      Arwel’s tongue snaked out of his maw and gave Martin’s chin a little lick before he started swallowing again. The gulps that dragged him deeper and deeper inside were getting louder and louder, until at last his ears were flattened against the roof of Arwel’s mouth. His muzzle soon passed behind the sheep’s open lips, and he watched Arwel’s tongue shift and lick at his front paws as they grabbed at daylight.
      
      Glrk!
      
      Arwel’s lips closed, Martin’s head was squeezed down into the tight embrace of his throat, and the mightyena was left in total darkness.
      
      Martin yelled upward into Arwel’s gullet, without words or meaning, but the only thing he got in return was a satisfied sigh when the air rushed up past him. The throat squeezed tightly on his head and loosened up around his rump, sending him down as a hefty bulge in the ampharos’ throat on a one-way trip to his belly.
      
      Indescribable dread welled up in his own throat when he felt his hind paws get free of Arwel’s gullet. It wasn’t long before the rest of him joined his legs, but the end of his descent brought little comfort. His new prison wasn’t as quite as tight as the throat, but it was still so small that he was forced to curl up into a tight ball. He could feel the muscles and flesh stretch around him, and gravity hung him and his cell low to the ground. He could feel the soft mush of half-digested grass and clover squashed under his weight and covered his fur in pulp and chyme.
      
      Martin squirmed, and struggled, and kicked, and yelled when he could muster it, but all he managed to do is make Arwel let out a wet, hearty belch. “Bruuurrp! Ahhh, you really filled me up good,” Arwel sighed above him, the sheep rubbing his belly so firmly that Martin could feel it. “Welcome to my first stomach, pup. Though you won’t be a pup anymore by the time you reach the fourth.” He chuckled and patted his gut like a drum. “This is all nothing personal; I forgive you for mistaking my accent. This is just my way of dealing with predators and sheep thieves. Human clothes really do a number on my bowels, I’ll tell you that.” He let out a softer belch, more air rushing out of his belly. “If it’s any consolation, you’re going on the fat of a prize winner! Blue ribbon at the livestock competitions, three years running. I also get ribbons in those fancy Contest things when my human takes me. If nothing else, I’ll appreciate the padding on my bum. My favorite randy rams in the flock can really pound my arse sore if I don’t keep it cushioned!”
      
      Every word out of Arwel’s mouth sapped a bit of willpower out of Martin, and by the time he finished speaking the mightyena stopped struggling altogether. He felt the stomach softly churn and shift against his form. He heard the sheep’s heart beating nearby, right above his head. He heard every inhale and exhale from his captor’s lungs, and the softest gurgles of his round, stuffed belly.
      
      The reality of things finally set in: He was trapped. He was doomed. He was food. Nothing but sheep food. And he’d digest like food, leaving no trace of him but a couple pounds of fat on Arwel’s chubby gut and curvy rump.
      
      Arwel let out another small belch before patting his motionless belly. “That’s the spirit, pup. If you’re going to be pudge by morning, might as well make peace with it while you can, right?” he asked with a firm rub. “Let’s get to a good spot to set my bum down. Sitting in nice, warm sunlight always helps my stomach break down a hearty meal.”
      
      Arwel didn’t wait for an answer before he casually strolled back to his flock, humming a little tune and smiling in smug satisfaction while his tum swayed and bounced. He was stuffed, the flock was safe, and the danger was stewing in his gut. Being a guard sheep was absolutely wonderful.