The humid, choking air of the swamp was filled with the racket of crickets, frogs, and countless buzzing insects. Thomas frequently glanced over his shoulder as he rowed his canoe forward, his ears perked. He was on high alert while travelling across the body of gently bubbling water, doing his best to be quiet and make himself small. He was eager to return home, but somewhere along the way he’d gotten himself horribly lost, and now he was trapped rowing aimlessly in a fetid swamp. He quietly cursed his luck to himself.

	As he rowed along, he was frequently caught in pockets of steaming hot air that were belched forth from the water. The swamp gas hung thick in the air, refusing to dissipate and polluting the entire swamp with an awful smell. Bubbles full of the stench rose to the surface all around, breaking through the layer of algae and spewing their contents up, sometimes directly into his face. All he could do was cover his nose and try to control his breathing. At this rate, he was going to have trouble staying alive, let alone escaping this hell.

	The canopy formed by crooked trees blocked out almost all natural light, leaving only patches of moonlit swamp turf. The darkness gave cover for a predator, which had been on the raccoon’s trail for a while. The monster watched from a distance, hiding behind trees and peeking his eyes out from beneath the turbid water as he pursued at a safe distance. Thomas could feel its piercing gaze, despite not knowing what was following him or where it was. It sent a shiver up his spine and he hastened his rowing.

	The further along Thomas travelled, the heavier the fog around him grew. The visibility was so bad that he was practically blind at its peak, forcing him to move at random. It didn’t take very long for him to crash into an outcropping of stone that peeked its head from beneath the water. His canoe scraped loudly against the rocks and came to a crashing halt, throwing the raccoon from its seat and flooding with water. It sank to the bottom of the water table, destroyed, leaving Thomas to struggle to his feet in the waist-high water. He groaned and wiped the swamp crud from his face, spitting out a mouthful of the greenish water. He had no choice but to trudge along and wade through the water, which he grudgingly did.

	His pursuer watched the scene with increased anticipation. He saw his opportunity, and capitalized on it while he could. He dipped beneath the water and swam forth at an alarming pace. In moments he was only a foot behind Thomas where he slowly rose from the water, dripping wet and wielding an oversized wooden club. Though he still remained undetected, a mild breeze through the swamp brought the stench of his body odor to the raccoon’s nose. He flared his nostrils and his eyes went wide as he took in the stench, and he reacted immediately by clasping his hands over his snout and blinking out a few tears. Over the heavy ambient noise, he could faintly hear breathing from behind himself. He froze in his tracks and gulped, then slowly turned his head to look behind himself.

	Before him was a club-wielding swamp monster clad only in a loincloth, an alligator that stood hunched forward and towered over the raccoon at seven or eight feet tall. His body was armored with thick green scales that glistened with swamp water, and despite his portly gut, he had a large amount of muscle. The raccoon’s stomach dropped and his eyes widened as he looked up at the beast, stricken by terror. The alligator didn’t waste any more time; he swung the club and cracked the raccoon across the skull with it, knocking him unconscious and sending him face-first into the water. He laid limp, floating among the algae.

	The alligator grabbed the man’s leg with his free hand, dragging him out of the water and to an elevated bit of dry land. He continued dragging his captive even after he emerged from the water, carelessly pulling him through piles of mud and swamp filth the entire trip. By the time they finally arrived at the alligator’s rickety swamp hut, the still unconscious raccoon was covered head to toe in mud, his fur hardly visible beneath all of it.

	The alligator dropped Thomas beneath a crooked willow tree that grew just outside his hut. He found a length of coarse rope that he left laying around and used it to tie his captive’s feet together, then to hang him by them from a low branch on the tree. When he was finished the raccoon dangled limply, his arms flopped down and his fingertips nearly touching the dirt.

	Instead of waiting for his guest to wake up on his own, the gator took matters into his own hands. He gathered a wooden bucket from his belongings and found the grungiest looking pool of swamp water he could find. He filled the bucket from it and then carried it over to the willow tree, algae and muck sloshing around in the fluid. He unceremoniously threw the contents of the bucket into the raccoon’s face, the impact of the water shocking him awake and causing him to sputter and cough as he struggled not to aspirate any of the fluid. The water, filthy as it was, improved his overall cleanliness, having washed most of the mud off of him from his shoulders up. While he regained his bearings and tried to orient himself to being upside down, the alligator crouched down so he was on eye-level with his captive, their faces only inches apart. Thomas could feel the gator’s hot breath wash over his face as he exhaled, filling his nose with an awful fishy stench.

	“Trespassing in my swamp? You must be a fool.” The gator said, his voice deep and gravelly. When he spoke, the smell of his breath grew stronger, filling the raccoon’s nose with the stench of his potent halitosis. He had to struggle with no small effort not to cough. 

	“P-Please, let me go! I don’t mean any harm, I didn’t know it was your swamp!” Thomas pleaded, his eyes filled with fear. The alligator snarled, bearing his teeth at him. Before he could say anything else he grabbed hold of his snout, clamping his mouth shut and preventing him from speaking.

	“Quiet. I don’t care what you knew.” He stated, his voice increasingly agitated. “You were on my turf, and now you’re going to suffer.” To emphasize his point, the gator let out a loud, raunchy belch right into Thomas’s face that echoed throughout the swamp, and then blew it across his nose, sharing the awful reek of garlic and half digested fish from his belly. The raccoon thrashed about while whining loudly, trying in vain to shake his head free of the creature’s grip. Thanks to the gator’s strength he didn’t accomplish much, and was forced to huff the rancid belch despite his best efforts. The alligator smirked and let go of his snout, allowing him to retch and cough. The odor seemed to cling to his nose even after the source of the smell was gone. 

	“I worked up a sweat draggin’ you back. Not that you weighed much.” He said, giving a toothy grin. He gripped the rope that Thomas dangled by, raising him up so his face was on chest-level with himself. He lifted his other arm and crammed the raccoon’s face into his slimy pit, smearing his lips and nose with the sour-smelling sweat that accumulated beneath his arms. Thomas yelped, and couldn’t help but retch uncontrollably when he accidentally got a mouthful of the salty fluid. The alligator had a hearty laugh as he smothered the man, basking in sadistic pleasure from forcing the man to choke on his stink.

	After making sure Thomas’s face was soaked with the revolting fluid, he let go of the rope and allowed him to dangle lower again. His breath was rugged and he still struggled to breathe.

	The alligator refused to stop his assault, not leaving a moment for his victim to recover. He grabbed the back of the raccoon’s head and squatted down upon it, lowering his scaly scrotum onto his face. Immediately, he choked on the pungent musk that surrounded his sac, which was the only thing he could smell given it was draped over his snout. He let out pitiful muffled coughs, drawing in shallow breaths and filling his lungs with the reptile’s masculine stench. The gator continued by dragging his sac up and down his face, leaving trails of ball sweat streaked across it. Finally, he laid his scaly balls upon the raccoon’s face so that his nose was pressed into the underside, a notoriously musky location. Thomas began to feel dizzy, even more so than he did from being upside down.

	The swamp monster could sense his captive’s fading consciousness and lifted his musky pouch off his face, allowing him to gasp and sputter for air. No sooner than he gave Thomas respite, he took it away, turning around and taking a wide stance to present his scaled cheeks to him. The heat surrounding his ass was so intense that a small amount of steam rose from between his cheeks. The raccoon gulped and trembled in apprehension at the sight.

	The gator got a hold of the male’s head again, and this time forced his face between his smooth, scaled cheeks. The ungodly stench that was trapped in his crack made him gag, much to the apparent enjoyment of the gator.

	“Get huffin’, I don’t have all night.” The gator commanded, cramming his face deeper into his asscrack. Thomas whimpered in slight pain, his snout squished right against the reptile’s quivering pucker. He did his best to steady his breathing and inhale deeper in a desperate attempt to please his captor, but ended up choking on the foul smell instead. The gator laughed at him, thoroughly entertained by his attempts. “Yer not used to sniffing a gator’s butt, are you?” He teased. “Well, it’s about to get a lot worse.”

	The gator’s pudgy gut rumbled and he leaned forward. Thomas let out muffled cries of protest, which were barely audible over the sounds that bubbled from his captor’s stomach.

	A concentrated fart blasted out of the alligator, filling the air behind him in a massive plume of green smog. Thomas was caught directly in the fart, his fur and hair blowing from the sheer volume of methane that was released. His eyes welled up as though he’d been hit by tear gas, and he coughed his lungs up, his body violently rejecting the toxic gas. The strength was drained from his muscles and he wasn’t able to bring his hands up to try to pull himself free or even to cover his nose. He bore the brunt of it with no other option, forced to suffer the stench of the gator’s rotten fish gas. After the emission ended, which was about twenty seconds after it had begun, the gator sighed in relief and Thomas gave a defeated groan.

	The swamp gator peeled the raccoon’s face out of his ass, his fur drenched in sweat and his eyes badly out of focus. He mumbled incoherently, his brain completely fried from the barrage of nauseating smells he was subjected to.

	“Here, this one’s on me.” The gator said as he turned to face the raccoon. He pulled his loincloth to the side, revealing his scaled sac and twitching cock. He wrapped a hand around his length and squatted down a bit before stroking himself hard. As he did so, he aimed his cock down at the raccoon’s face, and quickly reached an orgasm. In rhythmic motions, his swollen cocktip pulsed and spurted thick reptile seed, hitting Thomas in the face and splattering all over him. It was about as musky as his balls were, if not more so. The raccoon groaned, hardly able to react to the humiliating act. What little he had been cleaned off when the gator woke him up was replaced with the equally messy and smelly cum.

	The alligator snorted and laughed, though was somewhat winded from the experience. He left the raccoon in his current state and sauntered back inside his hut, mercifully allowing him a break while taking a rest himself before he resumed his duties as the alligator’s personal sweat rag and fart sniffer.