Chapters Author's Note
I swear, I only got this idea from Monster Musume.
List of Fetishes
Milking It
“So, here I am, beating the life out of this pervert…”
I splashed some water on my face, ignoring Trixie’s endless tirade about her life story. She had begun rambling when our shifts intertwined and had been going on ever since, which had been about 4 hours ago. My ears had gone numb from her incessant vocabulary parade since the grand majority of it was just an amplified version of high school drama, which I already didn’t care for. I had long stopped my mumbled responses and nodding to everything she said, but it looked like she either didn’t take notice or straight up didn’t care because she kept on talking.
I massaged my temples as I quickly feel my limit of hearing non-stop bullshit was nearing rapidly. I groaned lightly, which Trixie, yet again took no notice, and chugged down a bottle of water. I glanced her way, only to be deterred from giving her direction my attention, just seeing her, in all honesty, pearly white teeth endlessly move about was enough to cause me a migraine.
*RING* *RING*
I sighed internally, relieved that something had saved me from this beast. I quickly fished out my phone to see what the notification was, only to groan immediately as I saw who it was: Lightning Dust. We kind of got off the wrong foot when I applied to this place and have been on sour terms ever since, so when she sent me a message essentially she required my assistance in an unspecified task automatically set off some red flags.
I was tempted to either not respond or flip her off, but refrained from because I knew she would come over here like a bat out of hell and screaming bloody murder like a banshee on steroids, and might actually eat me, if I did either of those things. Instead, I opted to see if I can fish out any clearer details on what she needed my aid in. Though the only thing I got back was: “Either you do it or you don’t!” And she seemed oddly offensive that I even ask about her to elaborate the details of this anonymous request. I started feeling a bit upset at her reaction, and was about to respond with a text equal to my rage, but again, I used my better judgement and sent: “I’ll think about it.”
Which seemed to appease the she-demon as she replied with: “Alright.” And she stopped texting me. I sighed irritably, my bullshit meter essentially brimming with radioactive bullshit, but I was able to suppress it for at least now until I was able to do some pottery.
Seeing that I only had 10 more minutes before my break was up, I put my phone away and was about to stand up to return to my post when I feel something take hold of my arm. Naturally, I try to pull away, thinking that my sleeve just got caught on something, only for whatever holding my arm to increase its grip tenfold and actually pull me back. Of course, I look back only to see that Trixie had been the one to seize my arm and had also discarded her shirt, leaving her bra as the only article of clothing to cover her large HHH-cup tits.
Naturally, when someone sees that their coworker has disrobed their top and was holding your arm, I reacted with righteous indignation. “What the hell are you doing?!” I questioned, yanking my arm out of her grip… alright, I tried to, but her grips tenfold pressure multiplied tenfold and actually started hurting.
“Look, I know we’re not exactly on the friendliest of terms.” I nearly had a brainfart when she somehow displayed more social awareness than I gave her credit for. “But I really need you to milk me.” She requested with the most pathetically pleading eyes I’ve ever seen a mare wear.
Now, requesting to be milked wasn’t a strange request since it has become somewhat of a social norm and was legal, I myself have milked my fair share of mares ever since I was 16 as that was the legal age for people to begin milking mares. But I was still taken aback by her request because it came so suddenly and without any warning. So, of course, my reaction was along the lines of: “Why don’t you ask anyone else?” I asked.
She looked a bit sheepish as an embarrassed blush flushed her cheeks. “In don’t trust the other girls and I don’t have the money to go to the local spa.” She presented why she asked me to milk her instead of the other options. “So please milk me?” She pleaded.
Being a bit unsure, I yanked my arm out of her grip, which had loosened considerably, and turned away. I caressed the part where she held my arm, which was read under the sleeves, she must have applied more pressure than I thought, contemplating my choices. What she said was true, we weren’t on the friendliest of terms and the fact that she brought that up before reigning her request upon me conveyed to me that she wasn’t as clueless as I originally thought. It was also worth noting that she was desperate enough to ask me despite our relationship. I mean, I had no visible reason to decline her request other than I disliked her. But that wouldn’t be right if I left her in the state she’s in, because even if I’m not a mare, I witnessed the agonizing pain of being held up for too long.
I looked back to Trixie almost as if looking at her would give me the push I needed to make the decision, which was a mistake as I gazed in her direction just as she was pushing her massive boobs up and down. I stared in disbelief as she attempted to lure me into doing this request by presenting her sex appeal. Which, on any other normal stallion or mare, would’ve worked immediately, unfortunately for her, it didn’t work on me.
I turned away to mull over my choices. It took some time, but I nodded and turned back to her. “Alright, but I will only do it for a while since I got work to get back to.” I accepted her request.
She beamed a smile so bright that it almost made me smile, as she then goes in for a hug. “Ooh, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!” She pulled me deeper into the hug, making a point to keep my head from drowning in the absolute sea of flesh that were her boobs.
I patted her on the back, no idea how to react to this sort of reaction as I’ve only received it from family. “You’re welcome, but we should move to a more private space before we start.” I proposed.
She pulls back, her horn flaring as she prepared what I assumed a teleportation spell. “Already taken care off.” And in the blink of an eye, we were no longer in the front yard of the Main Building and in her dorm room.
Once we were in the safe confines of her private quarters, Trixie wasted no time in getting things started. She immediately moved her hands behind her back and unbuckles her bra, allowing it to fall and permitting the unbridled glory of her boobs to me known to the world. “I’ve been held up for a month and a half, so be gentle sweetheart.” She explained, closing her eyes and sitting in position. She was ready.
I, on the other hand, was not ready and tried to delay the process as much as I could. “You sure we don’t need a bucket, this looks like it could get pretty messy.” I suggested.
But as I expected, she shook her head, eyes still closed. “I’ll clean it later.” She dismissed my suggestion.
However, I was determined, and opened my mouth to retaliate. “But we already have a large sch-!” My sentence was cut off when she apparently caught onto my bullshit and grabbed my hand, placing it on her right boob, causing me to gasp.
When she said she was held up, I wasn’t expecting it to be the extent I felt. Her boobs felt like water balloons that were filled to the brim, the only difference was that a water balloon would have popped by now, but the natural thick skin of a mare kept all that milk in there. I gasped when I pushed my fingers down out of curiosity, only to realize that I was met with a bit of resistance. I could feel just how thick the milk was from being cramped up like that.
“I know this is weird, and you’d probably prefer to spend the rest of your break doing something not so… sexual in nature.” She prefaced, looking me dead in the eye with an expression that just radiated need. “But as you can see, I can’t stall any longer. Please, I’ll try to repay you sometime, but I really need this.” She pleaded.
Sighing in defeat, both knowing that not only was she not going to let me get out of this, she was determined to be milked. And the look in her eyes just bought a feeling of obligation upon me that I couldn’t deny. I reached both hands and encompassed her left boob and began the milking process.
I pressed my fingers harder than before, applying pressure upon the melons and gained much more progress, feeling the milk inside begin to loosen just a tad from my touch. And while Trixie was nothing if not pleasured by the sensation, her euphoric moaning a clear sign of it, she was visibly miffed by my current course of action.
“Sweetie, why aren’t you milking?” She questioned, opening one eye.
I shrugged. “Because the milk is incredibly thick, trying to push it out now would be like pushing glue through a straw.” My answer garnered the most confused and quite possibly terrified expression Trixie gave me, no doubt confused why I came up with the analogy. “Don’t question it.” I quickly said, trying to dismiss her worry.
It worked as she closed her eyes back and moaned. This process would repeat itself for the next 5 minutes-hey, each of her tits were like watermelons, I had to use two hands for one, give me a break-until I had gotten the milk at the consistency to where it wouldn’t be agonizing to push it out. I moved each hand to a nipple, grasped it with my index and thumb. I breathed heavily, bracing for what was nearing, and pulled.
Almost immediately, milk gushed forward with incredible speed and terrible precision, splashing everywhere and anywhere it could reach. And when I say everywhere, I fucking mean EVERYWHERE, including my uniform. In response, I grew this very upset frown on my face, as anyone would when they have their uniform absolutely drenched in mare milk. The sensation of my clothes sticking to me due to the milk, and the resulting stickiness due to the milk’s contents was very unsettling.
Trixie let out a long, drawn out sigh as the grand feeling of relief washed over her. “Mmmm… I needed that.” She praised, before opening her eyes and cringing at the mess before her. “Ooh, maybe I should have gotten a bucket.” She commented.
Now, under normal circumstances, I would have blurted out ‘no shit Sherlock’, but my unhappiness with the situation won over my natural snark and I continued to frown unamused. The magician chuckled before reaching her hand behind my head and begin reeling me in. “I know I said that I’d pay you back, and this doesn’t really seem like a pay back to you. But…” She trailed off as my face came dangerously close to her grape sized nipple. “I need you to suckle.” And without a second thought, my face was assaulted by this sea of azure blue boob flesh as my mouth instinctively opened around the nipple.
I, deciding that I didn’t want a mouthful of breast milk, began pulling back against her will. But, as expected since she was a mare, her physical strength triumphed over mine and she held my head in place. “Look Crimson, either you suckle now, or I’ll be shitting feathers in a couple of hours.” She threatened, pushing my head further into her flesh. “I’m not playing.” She added, an edge of seriousness in her voice.
With a grumble, I complied with her demand and began suckiling, garnering a pleasured moan from the Unicorn. “Good boy.” She praised, her hand ruffling my half/half red/white mane. I only frowned as I continued to suckle.
Now, in spite of my unwillingness to drink her milk, I had to admit that it didn’t taste all that bad. It had a tint of blueberry, parting a tarty taste, just enough to break away the natural sweetness of lac… wait a minute, am I really describing the taste of breast milk? At the age of 18?! And enjoying it?!! Wow, she’s never going to let me live this down. Whelp, better enjoy while I can.
Trixie would continue to nurse me for the better part of 10 minutes before she was completely relieved of the pain she was burdening. She lay back on her bed, sighing in ecstasy, drool dripping down her lip. “Thanks sweetie, I really needed that.” She thanked.
I, on the other hand, could only frown as I inspected the bloated belly I sported, courtesy of the abundance of mare milk I had just ingested. “I just hope I’m not lactose intolerant.” I mumbled, trying to pull my shirt over my stomach, only to fail somewhat spectacularly.
She only smiles before sitting up right. “That’s the least of your worries.” She said. “Hope you got a spare set of clothes.” She commented.
I shrugged a bit. “It’s pretty hot outside, so it should dry up relatively quickly.” I replied.
Trixie grows an unamused glower. “You’re seriously fine working when you have dried up mare milk stuck to your fur?” She inquired, earning a nonchalant nod from me. “You’re a pervert.” She criticized.
Me, not feeling particularly assaulted, just nods and stands up. “Say what you will, doesn’t change a thing.” I responded, getting ready to return to work. But, as I was exiting her room, I remembered that I never notified Lightning Dust on my situation, but feeling far too lazy and a bit tired to pick out my phone, I figured I’d just tell her when our shifts intertwined… maybe not.
Author's Note
List of fetishes
Snuggle Partner
Why do well-endowed females have no regard for the personal privacy of others? I know it feels like a bizarre question to ask, but it’s one that I genuinely require an answer to. And I’m serious, there has not been a female that I have met that was both well-endowed and had an adequate grasp on personal privacy, or even basic boundaries for that matter. Even my adoptive mother, sister, and sister in law have invaded my personal privacy and disregarded my boundaries more times than I care to count.
In the 1 month I’ve been working, and by proxy living here, I’ve had my designated living quarters invaded by my coworkers a total of a 100 times. Yes, I am serious, and no, I am not exaggerating nor am I embellishing it. I’ve had busty females invade my privacy 100 times and had my personal bubble popped much more than that. And for some odd reason, it seems that my room is the only one who receives this treatment as I’ve asked all my coworkers if they have had their rooms ransacked by someone else, and they’ve all replied with a unanimous ‘no’. I sincerely cannot fathom any reason why my room draws so much attention.
And there seems to be no real set explanation or reason why, as their apparent need to abolish my private privacy seems to vary from time to time, from them taking whatever they may need that just so happens to be in my room, to even sleeping with me when I don’t notice. No, you didn’t read that wrong. My coworkers are all horndogs who will break into my room to slip into bed with me, and the grand majority of the time, they slip in when I’m asleep as they know that without a shadow of a doubt, I would banish them if I was awake. Now, simply sleeping with me in bed wouldn’t be such a monumental problem if they were adequately dressed, but no, they can’t even manage that. I cannot begin to count how many times I’ve woken up to find one of my coworkers slipped under my covers with me with just their underwear on, or, they sometimes go a step further and slip in completely naked!
So, yeah, my coworkers are shit at giving me my space. But, you may be asking: why do I bring this up? Well, for one reason: because Suri Polomare-yes, that Suri Polomare, I don’t need to clarify-decided that it would be a swell idea to essentially strong arm me into a dorm room sleepover of sorts. And being the particularly shameless mare that she was, she opted out of wearing any basic bedtime clothing and striking out stark naked. So yeah, my night was going in a shitty direction already.
“How come you haven’t fallen asleep yet?” Suri questioned, as if the answer wasn’t obvious enough, while she hugged me closer to her body.
I grumbled in annoyance, desiring to shoot the Earth Pony my most deadliest of glares, but the seemingly endless ocean of pink flesh blocked my vision of her face. “Maybe because my coworker decided to hop into bed with me for no apparent reason.” I replied with a hint of sarcasm and a tint of anger.
I couldn’t see her face, but from the sound of her unamused scoff, she rolled her eyes. “Look, I know you have your own reservations about ‘private privacy’, whatever the fuck that means, but I don’t need to explain myself to you.” She responded, the brief freedom of my own body from her hand indicated that she air-quoted the ‘private privacy’ part.
As one would predict, I was readily upset that she openly admitted that she-and by extension, probably the rest of my coworkers-knew that I valued my solitude like any introvert worth their salt would, but just openly ignored it. “No, you’re not required to explain yourself, but when your coworker barges in your room stark naked and demands you sleep with them, you’re at least entitled to an explanation.” I regaled her with the sheer levels of ridiculousness of my situation(yes, I said my situation, not our situation because she’s not gaining any discomfort from this at ALL) since it apparently flew over her head.
She sighs irritably, like how dare I request an explanation for this bizarre turn of events, and lifts my head back to where I could see her dark brown eyes, beaming with a feeling that can be summed up as ‘done with this shit’. “And I think I’m entitled to a meal after being subjected to hearing your incessant whining.” She returned back.
I, not wanting to be eaten in any of the myriad of ways she could eat me, grumble softly, nestling my face deeper into her cleavage so that I don’t have to suffer staring at her ugly face anymore. However, my time between her cleavage was cut short as she fished through it and pulled my head, so now I was forced to have that hideous muzzle seared into my brain. “Look Feather, I know you’d probably spend your night alone and shit, but I’m kind of in need of a ‘snuggle partner’ as they would call it.” She began. “And before you say anything, I’ve tried this with the other girls and they’re horrible snuggle partners.” She added quickly, answering the internal question that buzzed in my mind. “But I promise I’ll make it up to you later, maybe I’ll make you a cute outfit. Boys like cute outfits, right?” She ended that last part as a question.
I frowned a bit. “You girls always say you’ll make it up to me, but then it takes a while before you actually do it.” I complained. “Like, it’s been 2 weeks since I milked Trixie, and she has yet to pay the debt.” And no, I am not kidding, it’s been 2 weeks since then, and I have yet to receive my compensation for that ordeal.
At this, Suri frowns alongside with me. “And who do you think you are milking Trixie and not the rest of us?!” She questioned.
I shrugged. “Hey, it was more or less a moment of desperation for her and I really had no choice.” I replied. “But back to your original question: I mean, I do like cute clothes, but I don’t usually buy them because I have 2 very specific criteria for buying clothes.” I answered her original question.
I’ve seemed to have snagged her attention when I said that. “And what are these criteria?” She asked.
“Well, for one, they have to fit me, obviously. And second, they have to be able to take a lot of punishment, and I do mean a lot of punishment.” I listed my criteria. “Someone with my work schedule is in constant dire need of clothes that can last long and allow a lot of maneuverability.” I explained my second criteria.
She hummed in amusement before replying. “Yeah, I can see that you have, like, zero luck in finding clothes like that.” she admitted. “‘Cute’ and ‘endurance’ aren’t two adjectives when it comes to many clothes.” She said. “But I think I can manage it.” She assured.
Me, being semi-happy that she may be able to pay me back in a favorable fashion, nodded, nestling my head onto the large KKK-cup boobs. But just as I was settling, a thought came to mind. “Hey, how did you become a seamstress?” I questioned.
Even if I was barricaded from getting a good clean image of her face, I could detect that I seemed to have struck a nerve. She sighs quite heavily before releasing me from her hug and laying on her back. “It’s… hard to explain.” She started, searching for the relevant words to describe what she was about to say. “I mean, I’ve always had a passion for sewing, but I mainly became a seamstress to spite my mom.” She admitted.
At first, she had my curiosity. Now, she had my attention. “It’s kind of rare you hear somebody chose a career to spite somebody. Especially there mom.” I commented. “She really didn’t want you to become a seamstress, huh?” I inquired.
She half-nods and half-shrugs. “It’s not that she never saw that I had the talent to do it, it’s just that she had a pretty rough life growing up, so she knows first hand just how much shit the world throws at you. And you’d be surprised to see just how accurate the world can be.” She said. “It’s not that she did it out of malice, or she did it because she wanted us to fill some kind of quota that she never could when she was our age, she did it just so that we don’t end up walking in the same shoes she was forced to walk in.” She explained the reasoning behind her mother’s distaste for her choice of career.
I simply nod. “You’re mother sounds like a goodhearted mare, just with a broken compass.” I said. “You keep saying ‘us’ and ‘we’, do you have a younger sibling?” I asked.
She nods. “Younger sister.” She replied simply. “She’s almost a carbon copy of my mom, although with a lot less backbone.” She added that last part with a sense of humor.
I laughed as I found it funny. However, in the midst of my laugh, a thought came to mind. “Hey, if you wanted to be a seamstress, what’re you doing at this park?” I questioned.
Her demeanor shifted from a slight bit jovial to regretful very fast. “I struck out when I was a bit younger than you are now. The whole family was there to see me off, even my mom. I told them all that soon enough, my name would be recognizable throughout Equestria.” She began, a slight crack to her voice as she sat up. “I still remember the words mom told me back then.” She added, massaging her temples as I could see as clear as day that the waterworks threatened to commence.
Now, having experienced the sensations she was feeling 4 times before, I knew the correct course of action. I sat up with her and tapped her shoulder. “What did she say?” I inquired.
I could see it now, the tears began to flow down her cheeks, but no sobs were heard. “She told me: ‘call me if you need me’.” She regaled the words her mother told her. “It took me by surprise because up until that point, she had been mildly supportive while still offering me to try other things. But that day, it was like a switch turned in her head and she was nothing but supportive.” She said.
I opened my mouth, prepared to consult her in her state, when she unexpectedly cut me off. “Long story short, my career took a large crash after various fashion show fails, and despite mom’s words to call her for assistance, I refused to.” She continued. “I didn’t want to call her because, even if she was supportive when I left, I felt that calling her would admit to myself and her that I shouldn’t have tried to be a seamstress was a bad idea.” She admitted.
Now, she couldn’t hold the sobs back as they began to erupt, albeit a bit weakly. “Some time down the road, I met a seamstress like me named Coco Pommel, who was 10x the seamstress I was. But she was extremely timid and I took advantage of this and strong armed her into being my assistant.” She said. “For the duration of our partnership, I treated her like a sack of shit. I don’t know what came over me, it was like a combination of my own anger and refusal to ask for help just manifested into this hideous monster. I yelled at Coco for everything she did, whether it’d be minor or major, and when she did get something right, I still bitched about it.” she continued. “I think it was a combination of my own anger and jealousy of her skill that I just couldn’t accept that she could get what I wanted right...” She trailed off, trying to collect herself.
“Then…” I said, urging her to continue her tale while caressing her back.
“It all came to a head when I entered a really big fashion contest with Rarity.” The name was like a fresh mint on my tongue. “Now, before I tell you what happened, I want you to know that I had no intention to cheat before I met her.” She turned to me, her eyes bloodshot from crying as more tears assaulted her face.
I nodded, knowing that she wouldn’t continue unless I did so. “I understand.” I assured, patting her back reassuringly.
She then buries her face in her hands before commencing. “I was already worried that we may not win, given my track record, and even when I met Rarity again, I was still going to play the game fair and square… that was until I saw what she was bringing to the table.” Her voice, now void of any sadness and filled with empty heartache, echoed throughout the room as she prepared herself to say what she didn’t want to say. “Once I saw it, I knew that cheating would’ve been the only way I could have a chance at winning. But as you can tell, the only thing I won was a lifetime of bullshit.” She said.
I nodded once more, unable to do anything, unable to say anything. All I could do was continue to caress her back as she lay back down. “Things only got worse from there: I ended up serving 5 years in prison for property fraud and dishonesty in an official event.” Her sadness returned full swing as she began to recall another set of unsavory memories. “The entire month leading to the court date, my phone was bombarded with messages and calls all from my mom, she wouldn’t rest even after I declined all of her calls and never responded to her text for a while. I just couldn’t bare talking to her knowing what was to come. After a while, she got the memo and left me alone, and I didn’t hear from her since.” She said. “Now that I’m out, I want to return her calls, to tell her that I’m fine, but I’m buried in so much shame that I feel like talking to her would make it worse. I truly don’t know what to do.” Her sobs were much stronger now, breaking through her speech a myriad of time as she couldn’t hold it back.
I waited a silent minute to respond, taking my hand off her back and laying down with her. “Call her.” I told her quite bluntly.
She looks at me, bewildered that I quite literally demanded she call her mother. “W-what?” The pause in her response was clearly due to curiosity more so than fear.
I avoid her gaze, turning my attention to the ceiling. “I may have been motherless for 12 years of my life, but even after living with my adoptive family for 6 years, I can definitively say that not calling your mom will make her feel much WORSE.” I began. “Mothers are natural caregivers and they will support their child through every facet of life until either one of them dies.” I said. “I may not have met her, but I can tell you right now; the only reason she stopped trying to call you is out of respect for your privacy, but as we speak, she’s tearing herself from the inside because even if everything wasn’t her fault, she feels that deep down, she is at fault for what happens to you because you are her daughter .” I told her.
She opens her mouth to respond. “But what if she-!”
“She’ll be angry you didn’t call her.” I cut her off, affirming her fears. “But she’ll be happier to know that you’re not dead.” I quickly added with a smile.
Suri remains motionless for a brief second before returning her gaze to me, the corners of a smile etching its way onto her face. “You think it’s a good idea?” She asked.
I nodded. “Trust me, calling her will do you a world of good.” I assured.
Precious seconds after that sentence left my lips, I was enveloped in a tender, yet meaningful hug. I tried to return the hug, but the obvious size difference was a pretty large hindrance. Not that she seemed to mind. “You’re a good snuggle partner.” She praised, a lighthearted tone parting her lips.
I couldn’t help but smile. “You are too.” I returned.
She mumbles a thank you before drifting off to sleep rather quickly. Guess she needed a quick vent.
I nestled my muzzleonto her boobs, closing my eyes, the prospect of doing this with the other girls was appealing. Maybe I’ll bring it up to them… on second thought, probably not.
Author's Note
List Of Fetishes:
Assholes
I cringed in absolute horror as the overwhelming scent of musky ass sweat mixed with natural unpleasant smell of ass created a cocktail of a stench that seemed hellbent on demolishing my sense of smell. I tried to escape this sensory hell, but the enormous masses of fat on either side of my head did a stupendous job of restricting my movements to pitiful head swings.
The scent only worsened as the whale of a Pegasus sitting on my grinds her ass on my face, her pucker coming ever so dangerously close to touching my nose. It took all of my willpower and then some to stop myself from puking right then and there, the pungent scent only got stronger as the pucker got closer.
“Oh c’mon Lightning, if you’re going to sit on my face, at least have the common courtesy to take a shower.” I barely withheld the urge to cough from the stench.
"Uh… I already did, taking a shower at least once a day is the number one unwritten rule of being an athlete." She said as if I was an idiot for saying that. "Just had a long day and you had a sitt-able face." She stated matter of factly, grinding her ass on my face once more. This time, her pucker ever so slightly licked my nose.
How I fought the vomit in my throat back down to my stomach, I had no idea, but it was as much as a miracle as not having my skull shattered by her sheer weight. "But like, you can sit on everyone else's face." I tried to appeal to her sense of logic. "Because this is incredibly annoying." I was growing increasingly upset and was feeling like I want to beat her tits back into her chest.
She sighs, and I assumed rolled her eyes, but with my limited vision, that was yet to be determined. "Because you're the easiest to overcome, being a boy and all, and I want to shit in someone's mouth." She stated nonchalantly.
I, on the other hand, wasn't as nonchalant about what she had said. While I was, admittedly, a bit incredulous when she said it, her declaration was serious when she released a rancid fart that smelled of feces was more than enough evidence to show that she was nothing if not serious.
As any rational person would do when learning their coworker was intending to desecrate in their mouth, I protested strongly, placing both my hands on each cheek and trying my absolute best to push her off. "Wait Lighting, I have a toilet right there, you can use it if you want!" I tried once more to appeal to her sense of logic.
I was relieved when she released my face from that horrid hell, thinking that she saw just how ridiculous she was being, only to have all hope hopelessly crushed. She reached behind with her hand, pushing my face so far up her rear that my nose was on the brink of entering her pucker, before she sat back down.
"Look kid, you really don't have to eat my shit, but either way, I'm still shitting on you." She started, strained grunts filling in between her words as I can only guess in horror that she was pushing whatever was awaiting in her bowels through her system. "Unless you want to be caked in shit, I suggest you open wide…"
She trailed off, straining to push whatever was clogging her bowels out. I could SMELL the waste as it slid down her bowels and would sooner rather than later be right in front of me. Instinctually, but hesitantly, I wretched my mouth open, preparing for the storm that was rapidly nearing.
*PFFFT*
First came the rancid fart, soon followed by a scent I could only describe as nuclear roadkill. Second, a nice, long, and solid turd pushes past her bottom sphincter and touches my tongue.
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
In that moment, without even getting a full taste of the turd, I already had the intense desire to burn this entire park to the ground while everyone's asleep. I wanted to shut my mouth right then and there, but the prospect of biting into the log was abhorrent enough to deter me from doing so. As I felt the turd began to cramp in my mouth, I took a hearty swallow and cringed as I felt it slide down my throat, only to quickly throw it aside and brace myself for the next one to descend.
5 minutes felt like 5 meter eternities as I was subjugated to this hell, the constant flow of shit seemed to go on forever as I was forced to swallow all of it, with some smearing the sides of my face. And while I was suffering at the hands of this terrible fate, Lightning was enjoying herself immensely. She moaned and groaned with each log she passed, chuckles laced throughout the ordeal as she found humor in my torment.
Soon enough, my torture wouldn't last long enough, though no shorter than I wished, and I was graced with a break from the fountain of waste. I sputtered and coughed uncontrollably , trying to evacuate the pieces of feces that had caked around the inside of my cheeks, failing miserably.
Consumed by my futile attempt to cleanse my mouth, I barely noticed that Lightning was nearly grinding her ass on my face.
"I know I'm pushing the envelope and you probably hate me, but…" I felt a vacuum like pressure envelope my head and whatever light that seeped through the cracks from under her asscheeks was gone and my entire world was engulfed by a tight darkness that smelled of something indescribably unpleasant. "I don't think you need an explanation."
With one clench, I felt my shoulders sink into the abyss. My face was smeared with the waste that clung to her walls, my fur was nothing if not ruined by the experience. I didn't even struggle speak, or even closed my eyes; just allowed the hatred, anger, and displeasure to fester with each passing second.
With the size disparity between us, it only took her a relatively short amount of time to reach my hips, especially due to my lack of protest. And it seemed she took notice of this.
"No struggle…" She trailed. "You're that pissed, huh?" I felt her pucker reach my knees. "I know that making it up to you is probably impossible at this point, but I'll try to make it up to you. Don't know how, but we'll see what I can do." She promised.
But she was right, I hated her. Not with all my being or any over the top shit like that, I just hated her. She couldn't make it up to me, forcing me to participate in this asinine activity. She just couldn't. I wouldn't let her, no matter what she did, I wouldn't.
It was only a minute or later before I was in her stomach as she laid down, crossing my arms. I heard her sigh and moan, no doubt content with what she did. She didn't say anything to me though, only dozing off a few minutes later.
But I didn't sleep. I couldn't. Feeding the rage and fury inside of me.