Entirely SFW vore blog that's a safe space for people who enjoy vore in an exlusively non-sexual way. This includes minors. See rules page for information on if you'd like to interact with my blog while enjoying vore in a non SFW way. Trans man, he/they, 21
That’s right! You are now able to commission a story from yours truly of whatever your heart desires! (As long as it fits with my established rules.)
Names/Usernames
BenjaminTheWolf (Here, Benjamin is my irl name.)
SpiritfangTheWolf (Discord, Spiritfang is my little wolf sona’s name.)
A
Everything from my the “can write” and “cannot write” portions of my rules list applies here. I am happy to write any character so long as its appropriate. (No non sapient animals or real people.) Other than that, I can do whatever!
All you have to do is shoot me a DM, either on here or on discord (SpiritfangTheWolf#6574) and we’ll work out the details over there.
Pricing:
$12- Anything in the range of up to about 3,000 words long. Most of my “Lol Stories” fall in this range.
$18- Anything in the range of about 3,000 to 5,000 words long. Most of the episodes of “The Story Of P.O.V.” fall in this range.
$25- Anything in the range of about 5,000 to 8,000 words long, which is a range I rarely dabble in, but do on occasion.
Anything above that we’ll have to discuss in DMs.
Some details of a proposed story may require up-pricing, but this will vary and is only applicable case by case, and will have to be discussed privately in DMs.
Payment:
I will send you a PayPal payment link, and you can pay from there. The payment needs to happen before I start the story. That way I will know for sure you're a legit commissioner and not a scammer.
So this has been happening A LOT lately. Just because an artist is popular and their art is good doesn’t mean that EVERYTHING they do (this includes the content they make) is right! Just because they’re popular and cool doesn’t make them a nice person! They drown out the other artists and people who are genuinely triggered by their toxic beliefs and content. Incest and pedophilia is wrong. It’s not an opinion, it’s a fact. Fictional or not, it’s absolutely disgusting. And when big artists draw and support this content young and impressionable people start to think it’s okay too. We need to END this. There are even artists with a horrible track record of treating people awfully but since they’re so ‘popular’ people ignore the fact!! Then they start interacting with other artists who have done no wrong and are not aware of these big artists wrongdoings- And the people who follow these good artists and or people start to see the ‘big artists’ content even though they have meticulously took the time to block and blacklist all their content. It’s hurts us, it really does. Once again;
JUST BECAUSE SOMEONE IS COOL, POPULAR OR THEIR ART IS GOOD DOESN’T MEAN THAT THEY’RE ALWAYS RIGHT OR A GOOD PERSON.
Continuing my tradition of disappearing for a year and then popping in to celebrate vore day I suppose. Not making any promises on whether I'll become more active.
Anyway, SotM, huh? Let's just say I've fallen in love with Big Top. I love the guy to bits, and was DETERMINED to make him work as a pred without humanizing him or making him more verbal.
Then I remembered this is FNAF.
****
“We have a winner!” The Mr. Helpful machine cheered Arnold’s victory over the target shooting carnival game.
Arnold shuttered out an exhale. Fuck, how had he managed to shoot straight enough? The Fazbear Entertainment employee gripped his shivering arm. All this did was make it twitch in place. The ball gun slipped out of his loosening hand. It clanged to the gray, stone floor with enough force to send another shot of adrenaline through his veins. He couldn’t keep relying on it forever, but he didn’t have a choice.
He felt his eyelids falling. On reflex, he slapped himself to attention. It wasn’t enough, the force was cushioned by his heavy technician glove. He peeled it away and did it again. The sting was enough to jolt his eyelids back to full height, but none of this would change the fact he was over three days sleep deprived. He slid his glove back on.
Ugh, he was liable to pass out at any instant. Not only was he expending every ounce of will he had to keep moving, but it was also so dark in here, that- huh?
Arnold’s attention snapped to his surroundings. Wait, when did the power go out? He shot a glance at Mr. Helpful. Limp and powerless. Arnold could relate.
“Tickets, please.”
“Oh shit please don’t tell me the-” Arnold couldn’t even finish his whispered plea. His eyes answered his question beforehand.
The giant animatronic spider human ticket booth…thing… whom Arnold had deduced was named Big Top from the fact this room was called the “Big Top Showroom”, was spinning around the showroom’s circumference, scanning with his spotlight eyes.
“Uuuuuuuuuuuuugh I have to reset the power don’t I?” Arnold groaned.
Big Top snapped to Arnold’s position, causing the poor man to stumble backwards until he slammed his lower back on the counter separating the carnival game from its player. Arnold sunk his teeth into his lower lip and let his scream resonate within his throat. Clearly, Big Top had been alerted by his voice.
Well, as long as he could sneak past the mannequins, he shouldn’t have too big of a problem resetting the-
Wait, was Arnold hallucinating or were there always THAT many mannequins?
He gave an extended, yet soft, exhale. That didn’t even matter. He just had to be cautious. Easier said than done given his current state.
Arnold tip-toed out of the carnival game’s little enclosure in the wall. Big Top was opposite from him. Good. Now if he could just keep stepping forwards…one foot at a time…
“I WANT TO SPEND MONEY TO PLAY THESE GAMES!”
FUCK!
How did he miss that mannequin? It was right in front of his face! Even worse, he hadn’t just activated it, he’d caused it to topple to the floor! A clunk echoed throughout the showroom. Arnold’s body froze. He had no energy to run, and there was no way in hell he was going to fight this thing and win. He was dead.
Big Top rotated all the way around, and shone his spotlight shutter eyes down onto Arnold’s miniscule form. The man was a deer in the headlights. But instead of a car, it was four mechanical arms with white hands reaching out of a ticket booth abdomen to grab him. They snatched his tiny body and yanked him into the booth. All Arnold could process was the blurred flow of yellow-white light. Even discounting that his padded technician clothes shielded him from the pain of the animatronic’s grip, Arnold couldn’t feel anything anymore.
Then, it was dark.
****
Was it instinct making him pant or did he still want to live? Arnold half-gagged on his own breath as he sat in the darkness.
Was the ticket booth’s interior warm or was his body forcing him forwards? Normally he could tell if he was sweating, but under these circumstances?
Was he still alive, or had he entered the afterlife? Perhaps a transitional state? Did it even matter anymore? Wasn’t he already dead when he was walking?
The color black was the one thing in his view, and now, it was…glowing?
Arnold shoved what still remained of him towards attention. It was black, but it was light? It was whispy, but it was a solid substance? Or…a gaseous substance? No…more like a cloud, or a mist?
Whatever it was, it was engulfing Arnold on all sides. Was this death taking him? He wasn’t exactly opposed to that.
A soft rumble graced his ear. The space around him grew warmer. Arnold exhaled. Did he…like what was happening? This was a very…relieving warmth. Like the comfort of a heated blanket in December. Or a cleansing, hot bath after a long day’s work. Oh, there was water around him now. That’s why he thought of a bath. At least Arnold presumed it was water. His Fazbear technician suit was waterproof anyway so it hardly mattered. The rumble had morphed into a droning white noise by now. Various interjecting groans, growls, and gurgles composed the melodies. Arnold had no idea what it could’ve been coming from, but he hardly cared. It was oddly comforting.
The black material around him morphed into a more tangible texture of valleys and bumps. Arnold couldn’t help but give the walls a rub. His confines responded with a ‘grrrrr’. Whatever was going on at this point, it was soothing Arnold. That was all he cared about.
The walls, being made of this mystery matter, possessed a glow soft enough for Arnold to see. He hardly discerned anything new, but he could at least tell the size of the area he was in. It wasn’t exactly spacious, but it wasn’t cramped either. Cozy? Would that be the best word for it?
This place’s attributes felt familiar, but Arnold didn’t care to think about it. Until the black walls morphed to a light pink.
Oh. This was a stomach.
Whatever. Clearly, he was already dead. Why did his afterlife manifest as a stomach? Who knew. Maybe it was because he had died in what was essentially the stomach of a massive ticket booth spider human robot creature? No matter the reason, now that he was here, he might as well enjoy his eternal rest. By…resting? That was when Arnold recognized he still felt tired. Did ghosts still need to sleep?
He shrugged his shoulders before leaning back into the walls. Maleable and pillowy. He could just lean back, close his eyes, and just like that, Arnold was gone.
****
The lights flickered on. Big Top’s eyes lit up.
…what the heck happened?
The ticket booth swiveled his body one way. Manequins. He swiveled the other way. Still mannequins, one of which was…on the floor? His gaze moved upwards. One of the carnival dart guns was also on the floor of its respective room.
Shit. Now he remembered. There had been a human in this room. He had watched him the whole time. The man had given him a ticket, walked up to the target shooting game, played it, won it, and then…nothing after that.
No…there was no way. That wasn’t possible.
Big Top focused his senses on his booth. There was a substantial weight sitting at the bottom of his abdomen. Leaning into the walls. It was possible. A low groan emitted from the area. The sensation of sloshing liquid churned around in the interior. The ticket booth extended one of his smaller arms lying at the ceiling downwards an inch. He could feel it.
Some way or another, the lights had shut off. He had gone into his security mode. That’s why he didn’t remember anything. And now, all the agony he’d garnered from his years at MCM and Fallfest had manifested a stomach inside his ticket booth. Why was he not surprised?
Big Top shoved his hand down into the agony manifestation. Lucky for him, Edwin had the sense not to program him to feel pain. Even so, the appendage was ensconced by warmth. He poked a finger into the wall. It squished inwards, the goopy liquid sticking to the digit’s metallic surface. The region tingled from the pressure of his own touch. His finger moved out, and the flesh bounced back to its prior state.
Big Top reached deeper. After a few seconds, he brushed against something soft, yet rough. He ran a finger through it. It slid down the surface with ease. He moved his finger along in the other direction. Now it was as if he was feeling across the world’s most fine tooth comb. There was no doubt. It was human hair. Big Top moved downwards. Now there was a silky texture, though a little rugged. Skin. It was still warm. But was that due to the environment, or was this man still alive? He moved further along. His finger pressed into something solid. It sloped upwards. The nose. He traced along to the tip before his finger ran off. His hand fell through space. A front of air brushed onto his palm.
Breath. Big Top moved further down and then forwards, his now splayed hand touching the man’s chest. It rose and fell. He was still alive. Judging from how thick his clothes were, any acid that may have resided in his agony manifestation stomach before he woke wouldn’t’ve done much to the man. And now that Big Top was in a waking state, he could control the agony well enough to alter the nature of the liquid within.
Now that he was sure the man was alive, Big Top retracted his arm upwards. He should let him sleep.
For the time being, the sapient ticket booth focused on the sensations within his abdomen. The pressure of someone weighing up against him from within his own body was a level of intimacy he wasn’t exactly used to. Yet the weight stimulating such a sensitive region as the stomach walls created the perception of a miniature tingly hug. It was strangely pleasurable. Not to mention the mere presence of the body within the space itself…Big Top had never thought he’d get to feel “fullness”, and yet here he was. He was used to having people inside him, but these were circumstances he’d never experienced before. The living ticket booth gave a rumble of affection as the agony manifestation stomach rumbled in satisfaction. All four of his miniature hands stimmed in bliss near the ceiling of the booth. He ran one of his large, golden hands over his front shutters and reveled in his delight.
****
Arnold roused to the soft huffing of his nose as he inhaled and exhaled the humid air surrounding him. He mumbled a contented “Mmmmm” and nuzzled his head against the soft, warm surface beside him. He wasn’t sure why he’d fallen asleep upright, but he was so comfortable right now that it hardly mattered to him.
As Arnold garnered more awareness of his surroundings, he recognised his cheek was wet. Odd. He fell asleep somewhere wet? It was ok. His suit would protect him.
‘Grrrmmmmmmm’
“Huh?” Arnold finally murmured. He flickered open his eyes. “What?”
Where was he?
The first two things he discerned through rather blurred vision were the color pink, and liquid. That was already weird.
Maybe Arnold would be able to figure this out if he retraced his steps. He pulled up to Murray’s Costume Manor, got inside, got told to retrieve the schematics for The Mimic, got chased by a clown, went back to the security office, got sent to the Big Top Showroom…
“Tickets, please.”
Shit. That was right. Big Top. He existed. And he was very close right now. Had Arnold somehow ended up in an area of the showroom he hadn’t explored yet?
Arnold lifted his head to a neutral position, his eyes still adjusting. No doors? Where was he? Why was it curved instead of…cornered? What was that rumbling sound? Why was the heat in here so intense? Maybe he should continue retracing his steps.
“Tickets, please?”
He got a ticket, gave it to Big Top and then the giant robot let him into the showroom. Then he went to a “shoot the targets” game, won, and then…
“Tickets, please.”
Oh.
He couldn’t remember exactly what happened, but he knew Big Top had taken him into his ticket booth, and then some magical black substance changed the nature of his surroundings to some sort of pink, wet, squishy…
“Tickets, please!” Arnold wasn’t entirely sure, but it almost sounded like that one held a hint of panicked concern.
“Big Top! I’m here!” he responded.
“Tickets, please…” Big Top seemed…relieved?
Well, it didn’t seem like the giant robot had any malice towards him at the moment, so he was definitely safe. Arnold paused.
Now that he thought about it, did Big Top ever have any malice towards him? Before he’d fallen asleep, he was over three days sleep deprived, and operating off pure adrenaline. It would’ve been very, very easy to misread the actions of a giant robot. Especially a non-verbal one.
“Tickets, please.”
Well, aside from that.
Arnold blinked a few times. By now, his vision had returned to normal. Huh, the walls had a pretty weird texture. Very grooved. And it was moving.
That’s when it clicked in his brain.
Big Top was trying to get ahold of him when the power went out because he knew he could pass out at any second. After all, having a severely sleep deprived man try to fix the power would be dangerous. Then he used…well, some kind of magic anyway, to turn his stomach region into something more hospitable for him. (I mean, he’d already figured this place was haunted considering that white tiger ghost thing, so that part was hardly surprising.) Big Top let him sleep, and now, he was warm and rested.
“Tickets, please.” Big Top spoke as he extended one of his smaller arms into the stomach. It landed on Arnold’s head and started giving him headpats.
Arnold couldn’t help but blush.
“Awww you’re so sweet, Big Top…” he giggled.
“Tickets, please…” That one sounded a bit bashful.
Big Top extended two more hands into his stomach, coming down right in front of Arnold. Arnold took them in an instant, and the two curled their fingers around each others’. At this, Big Top’s fingers started stimming in Arnold’s grasp. Arnold wasn’t quite sure what was up with that, but ultimately decided asking about it would be more than a little rude. For more reasons than one.
“...thanks for helping me get some sleep…” Arnold eventually spoke up, his cheeks rising in a smile.
Alas, just as soon as they rose, they fell back down again. “Oh….I’m gonna get fired over this, aren’t I?” he winced to himself from the instantaneous realization. “From Fazbear’s perspective, I just completely abandoned my work! Fuck!”
Big Top, though not entirely sure what Arnold was talking about, could still recognize the man was sad, and thus extended his fourth arm into the stomach in order to pat Arnold on his left shoulder.
Arnold heaved in and out a sigh as his head dropped to the floor. Big Top’s hand which was previously upon his head had to navigate downwards in order to find it again.
“Thanks, buddy. Ugh…I was screwed from the start wasn’t I?”
“Tickets, please?”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to say,” Arnold responded. “But I think you stopped me from working myself to death. I’m gonna have to find a new job, but…at least I’m alive.”
“Tickets, please.” Arnold couldn’t figure out why Big Top sounded so sorrowful. Was he just being empathetic? He knew there was The Mimic lurking around but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. That thing was…not the brightest bulb in the box. To put it lightly.
“I think I need some more time to process everything…” Arnold eventually concluded. “But…thank you.”
“Tickets, please!” Judging from that one’s intonation, Arnold could guess Big Top was trying to say: “No problem!”
Arnold attempted to lean back into the stomach walls, causing Big Top to retract his arms laying on the man’s head and shoulder, taking them back out of the stomach. Once they reached the ceiling, they went right back to stimming, this time from pure glee. Back inside the stomach, Arnold and Big Top continued holding hands. Big Top’s stimming in Arnold’s hold only grew more intense.
Arnold’s face rose again. It was kind of cute, actually.
Squishing his head deep into the magical fleshy gut, Arnold closed his eyes once more.
“Tickets, please.”
Arnold chuckled. “Awww, you sure do love your tickets, don’t you~?” he cooed.
“...tickets, please.”
“Oh, you’re flustered, aren’t you?” he snickered.
Arnold rubbed his cheek up against the robot’s magical stomach walls. He opened one eye. Just in time to watch the walls flush from light pink to dark pink. The stomach’s temperature spiked. It gave a deep, wet gurgle that echoed across the walls.
“Hmmm…” Arnold spoke in a humming intonation. “I like the heat, ya know.”
Arnold rubbed his left thumb over the side of Big Top’s still-stimming hand.
Well, Arnold hadn’t exactly expected to get intimate with a sentient ticket booth upon entering MCM, physically and emotionally, but then again, he hadn’t expected Fazbear to send him here after a thirty six hour long shift, in the first place. At this point, maybe he should start embracing life’s craziness.
Arnold had absolutely no clue what was going to happen to him moving forwards. Yet, right here, right now, sitting in the warm, gurgling, magic stomach of a sentient ticket booth robot who looked like an old man and also a spider, none of that mattered. For he was feeling something that he hadn’t felt in years.
