I

You thought you were having a nightmare at first. It would certainly make more sense than the alternative. And yet, as the figure at the far end of your basement began to walk towards you without hurry, it began to seem more and more real-the echo of its heavy boots on your floor, the jiggle of its prominent musclegut, the calm, steady breaths hissing through its gasmask.

It looked like a skunk-its fur was black and white, and its big, bushy tail curled behind it. But it was bigger than any skunk you’d ever met-as it grew closer, you found yourself at face level right between the cleavage of its thick mantits, big black nipples rough and hairy. You noticed the fat cock and hefty, low-hanging balls between its legs; for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to think of it as a “he”.

It came up right in front of you and stared down. You tried to find its eyes behind the blank malevolence of its gasmask, and came up empty. A distant voice in your head was screaming at you to run, to fight back, to do something. And yet, as the thing we might call a skunk looked down at you, you found yourself rooted in place, staring with a hypnotized passivity in your eyes.

You stayed quiet until the skunk turned itself around, flagged up its tail to show its fat, hairy ass, and let an amber mist hiss out of the scent glands all skunks make use of. Then, as the scent of burning hair, rotten eggs and festering shit started to envelop you, there was nothing to do but scream.

II

When you came to, it was in a shed that was only a little bit bigger than your bedroom.The sole source of light was a dim bulb that hung from the ceiling-not that there was much to see in any case. There was only a ratty old armchair, a bare mattress, and a toilet. When you went to move your hands, you heard the rattle of a pair of handcuffs, fastened behind your back.

You were about to call for help when the door opened, and you saw that hulking silhouette framed by the doorway. The skunk was still completely naked save for its gasmask, and it looked at you as though it was about to say something. You still couldn’t see his eyes through the mask.

“Look,” you say, your voice shaking, “I don’t know what you are-I mean, who you are, but I didn’t do anything to you. I won’t say anything to the cops if you-”

You were halfway through your plea to the behemoth of a skunk when you became aware of a low hissing sound, like steam from a pipe. You were confused until you saw that terrible amber mist start to make its way towards you, like some cruel ghost aiming to haunt you for the rest of your days. You backed yourself against a wall to try and escape it, but you may as well have tried to escape death itself.

You made a noise somewhere between a scream and a gag, falling to your knees and heaving heavy, disgusted coughs. The skunk watched, betraying no feeling. He turned around, dominating the doorway with his imposing form, and bent over, his hideous spray taking over the confines of your shed like a swarm of locusts.

“STO-” you started, before cutting yourself off with a wet, involuntary gag. You tried again. “STOP! PLEASE ST-AUUUUUUGH!” The smell touched you all over with a hot, heavy hand, marking you with the aroma of a gasoline fire and an outhouse on a hundred-degree day. You lowered your head to the ground, gagging once more, the sound growing wetter into a thick, nauseated belch. Fuck, you were going to be sick…

As you crawled into the corner to throw up, overwhelmed as you were with the inescapable stench, the skunk watched, swaying its tail to and fro to waft the spray throughout your shed. Then, just as you turned your head and uttered some plea for mercy, it shut the door, sealing you in your new prison.

III

It came to your prison three times a day or so. You couldn’t be sure of how time passed without a clock, but it seemed bright out most of the time when it opened the door to come in. For the first few days, it did nothing but spray the inside of your shed; it ignored your screams, your calls for help, your pathetic grovelling for rest. The stench grew worse and worse by the day; paint started to peel, the light bulb broke, and wood panelling started to warp.

Some days you were almost paralyzed from the stench, laying on your mattress and staring at the ceiling as you held your breath for as long as you could. Some days you were driven into a panicked frenzy, convulsing on the ground and screaming that you were burning alive. And some days you just curled into a ball, sobbing like a child as your senses were raped, feeling alone and frightened and desperately wanting to go home.

One day when the skunk visited (it might have been morning since you had only woken up five minutes before, but your sleep cycle had long since abandoned any relationship with normalcy), you said something without thinking. “I’m hungry.” It was true-you had eaten nothing in three days, and if the smell wasn’t going to make you faint the hunger might do it.

It looked, for the first time, confused. It tilted its head, stepping further inside the shed and standing over you. The skunk’s scent, ripe and heavy yet not overwhelmingly foul, might as well have been fresh air to you. You pressed your face against its thigh and took a deep, hungry sniff, groaning and panting.

The skunk’s big hand reached down and grabbed your hair, pulling you away from its thigh and positioning it right underneath another part of its body. You looked up in confusion at that beefy, hairy ass, a toned base of muscle padded with soft, yielding fat. You didn’t know what it was going to do to you until you heard a sound that made your heart stop for a split second.

Blrrrrrmmmmmpt.

You choked on that mouthful of hot, mind-meltingly potent gas, tongue lolling out in disgust as you looked up at that ass. You watched the sweat bead along its ass cheeks, you watched those cheeks spread to reveal a tight puckered asshole, you watched that asshole twitch and wink.

That was when it hit you.

“No! No no no please no stop please stop! STOP!” You thrashed your head in the skunk’s grip as that fart rumbled and grew louder and wetter by the second. “HELP! HELP ME!” you screamed, hoping in vain that someone would hear you before the unthinkable happened, before-

Pumping out of its asshole like chocolate soft-serve, the skunk leaned its head back and sighed through its gas mask as it shat on your face. Your screams were cut off by sputtering hacks and chokes, your vision getting blotted out by a creamy, sticky turd, your face being slowly, carefully painted brown by the skunk’s evil, monstrous ass.

As you lay there, weeping and moaning like a child whose parents had died, you felt it pat the side of your head, as though signalling you. The message was clear. Eat.

Tears streamed down your face as you opened your mouth, beginning the torturous process of eating the skunk’s nasty, spicy shit. It was hot enough to make your lips numb as it smeared across them, and the taste would have made your knees buckle if you weren’t already on the floor. As you chewed, wetly with an open mouth, you wondered in the back of your mind what the evil creature ate. Was it meat? Vegetables? Garbage? Whatever it was, it made your mouth feel like it was being stripped away with turpentine.

It took ten minutes to get the mess on your face clear, but by the end of it, something curious had happened. As you swallowed your last mouthful of stomach-turning skunk shit, the tears had stopped, and you chewed with a dazed, oddly thoughtful expression, like you were trying a new food for the first time.

IV

A month may as well have passed; you wouldn’t know any different. The skunk came to your shed, sprayed the inside until you puked from the stink, and left, locking the door behind it. Once a day, it would feed you, holding you down and taking a hot, evil-smelling shit on your face and watching as you ate as much as you could. This repeated itself for more times than you could count.

You didn’t scream or cry or beg anymore. When the skunk was away, you lay on your bed, waiting for it-him-to return. When the skunk sprayed your shed, you gagged and choked and spat up, but you didn’t try and fight him or struggle to get free. And when he shat on you, you ate all of it up as quickly and dutifully as you could.

As you waited for him to return, you found yourself caught up in your thoughts. Who was the skunk? What was the skunk? Was he even a skunk? What was behind his gasmask? Why was he doing this? To what end? Why you? Why you? And why, you realized, a sickened feeling coming to your stomach, were you starting to enjoy it?

You wanted to deny it, even to yourself, but it was true. The horrible stink of the skunk’s spray had done something to your mind, you were sure of it-you felt this heat inside of you that was impossible to attribute to anything else. No, nothing else but that stink, that invasive stench that saturated the air, that clung to every surface, that filled your lungs with the terrible skunky smell. You wondered if you were the same person that you were when you first saw the skunk, or if something had shifted inside you, if the stink of the skunk’s spray had gotten inside and erased everything you once were.

It was as you were thinking this that the door opened, and the skunk stepped inside. You had already eaten today, so he wasn’t here to feed you-he was just here to spray your room and add to the constant, overwhelming smell. He turned around, flagged his tail up, showed that fat, jiggly ass, readied his spray, and-

-stopped, surprised, when you knelt behind him, shoved your face in between those heavy cheeks, and began to give long, loud, ravenous sniffs.

His ass was thick enough that you needed to nudge your face around in order to get your face situated in his crack, and even more wiggling was required to get your mouth up against his pucker. Your lips pursed and pressed against that hairy asshole, giving a muffled kiss-SMMMMRTCH-and a horny, depraved snort. This was what you wanted-this was what you were lusting over all this time-fat, hairy skunk ass.

From within the skunk’s mighty ass, you could hear something muffled from outside. A low, rolling, bassy noise. Through his gasmask, the skunk was laughing.

V

You stank. Every single inch of you was so marinated in the stench of the skunk’s spray that it wouldn’t come out with a million tomato juice baths. To an outsider, you would smell like you had just crawled through a sewer with a dead body tied to your back. You were so physically and mentally altered by this experience that, if you were set free, you could never function in everyday life again.

That was fine by you. You didn’t care about that anymore-your house, your job, your life. Your life was in that shed, huffing that reeking scent, waiting for the big gasmasked skunk to come in so he can sit on your face or rip a juicy fart or feed you a hot, steaming meal fresh from his ass. That was what was important in life, now.

You were skunked.