|Story Copyright (C) By: Strega
2002 - All rights reserved.
Story not to be reprinted, or redistributed,
If you wish to use the stories, or
You can tell a lot about a skunk's mood by watching his tail.
My tail was twitching, the thick spine of it wriggling back and forth, the long black-and-white fur swaying. It wasn't as violent as when I was angry or scared; what I was this time was impatient.
"Yes. Yes, sir. I understand." I scribbled over the nasty little pop-eyed face my hand had drawn without me thinking about it, and made another note. "6 AM, yes sir." I fumbled the pen, and recaptured it just as it went to drop off the podium. One of these days I had to get a pen big enough to grip properly. This one was like a toothpick.
I reseated the telephone with care, resisting the urge to smash it into the receiver. Mr. Barnes pays well, but he always acts as though I was a dimwit. Calling at 3 AM to make sure I was on duty? What a way to show confidence. He couldn't get past my appearance.
Hitching up my belt, I left the security booth for my hourly walkthrough. Many people have trouble getting past the way I look. At seven foot two and five hundred and thirty pounds, I'd be an eye-popping sight even as a human, much less one of the few skunk-morphs in the world. My arms are thicker than most men's thighs and my handpaws could cover a whole textbook; even though I trim my claws the sight of fingers as thick as beer cans makes people either stare open-mouthed or back nervously away. It only gets worse when their eyes rise to my face; my chops cover my upper fangs but they can see my lower canines when I speak, and those teeth are the size of a man's thumbs.
Kids aren't nervous around me. They like my tail, big and fluffy enough to hide in. Then their parents shriek at the sight and snatch them away as though I were going to eat their precious younglings. I like kids; don't the idiots see me smile?
Turning the corner, I pace down the back hall, staying up on my feet although I'd be happier on all fours. Mr. Barnes sometimes visits in the wee hours, and I'm sure he'd have a heart failure if he saw me like that -- plus he usually reviewed the security tapes, which covered all the corridor intersections.
Maybe I should go back to being a bouncer. The bikers respected the hell out of me, after I tossed a few through the walls. But this job paid a lot better, and I had time to myself on these night shifts. The other guards appreciated that; being naturally nocturnal, I took most of the 'bad' assignments.
The bouncer job had been decent. I'd picked up a few knife scars, hidden under my fur, but on the other hand, the biker chicks had been pretty friendly. Not that I could do much with them the usual way, but a few had been willing to work with me or'd had children previously. What was that joke? 'Wherever I go, I have trouble fitting in'.
I turn the next corner and head back towards the front of the building. There were lots of offices with interesting names in this hallway. 'Overseas projects'. 'Information gathering'. 'Personnel distribution.' Actually, they were dull names, but reading them hour after hour, I'd begun to wonder why a 'personnel placement agency' would need a nighttime security guard. Who would want to steal employment records?
Too much Tom Clancy, I think, and smile. Just because they have a guard Hmm. One of the doors in the side corridor is ajar an inch or so. That hallway leads to the back exit, and the camera that covers it has been out of order for two days now.
Had it been open before? I didn't think so. In fact, I was sure.
I crept down the hall, placing one foot carefully ahead of the other. Sandra would've said I 'lumbered' down the hall, but I can move quietly for someone my size. Six feet from the door, I listened.
Sure enough, there's a faint clatter from within. A thump, a muffled curse, and more rattling. Someone was shuffling papers and disks. No light was on, and they didn't seem to have a flashlight; they were using the light from the hall. That must be why they left it open.
Another sound, the faintest of rustling, like leaves in a breeze. It takes me a moment to figure that one out, and I have to resist the urge to facepaw myself. My tail is sliding back and forth on the carpet. 'You can tell a lot', as I said.
The sounds from the room were louder, approaching the door; I shift position a fraction and smile. Very slowly, it swings open, a face appearing in the crack. It's a young face, a man maybe thirty, and tanned, odd here in Anchorage. Dark hair cut short, no mustache or beard, but gratifyingly, a thunderstruck expression.
"Good evening." My hand is already atop his on the doorframe. "You will come out of there now." Shorts and t-top are all the uniform I wear, but the shirt has BARNES SECURITY in huge letters.
"Son of a bitch!" He jerks back, futilely trying to free his hand, and stumbles out into the hallway. Tangling my fingers in his jacket, I watch his movements. No gun, looks like.
"You will come with me. This is a secured ."
Papers from the folder he'd been carrying shower over my muzzle, and
once, twice something thumps into my side. He might as well have kicked
a tree as tried to hurt me that way, but somehow he twists loose as
he throws the second. I instinctively block the punch he throws at my
throat, and then I'm in agony. Searing pain bites at my eyes and nose;
I can't see, smell, or do much but fall to one hand, gasping.
Impact against my hand, and a grunt. He'd thought me incapacitated, and as he steps past I throw my weight into a palm against his chest. A louder thump a moment later; I'd hit him hard enough to send into the room he'd looted, and onto his back ten feet from me.
"You will come with me." Blinking away the tears, I watch him rise as I advance. A widening of his eyes as my tail fluffs out, and the room goes nearly dark as I fill the doorway. "Peaceably or not."
Not. His feet shift, and amazingly, he tries to kick me in the head! I can't imagine why people do that. My head is massive enough that hitting it just doesn't do a whole lot, and you might slice yourself open if your fist or foot catches a fang. Not to mention how easy it is to block them. Still people try, and his kick was impressively high.
I caught it of course, hauling him up to dangle like a child. "That was stupid. I don't want to hurt you, but --"
And again he hurt me! Even upside-down, his aim was nearly perfect. I gasp and bend forward; if his knuckles had connected solidly with my balls I probably would have retched. He gets to his feet, and his fist comes at my nosepad as hard as he can throw the punch.
Stupid. Through newly tearing eyes, I see it coming and yawn; his knuckles clip my fangs but fly past and slap into my throat. The force of it drives his hand to the elbow in my gullet, and I swallow to hold it there, closing my muzzle lightly around his upper arm. I rise to my feet again and the fool tries to head-butt my nose.
Stupid or not, he'd reasoned out some of my vulnerable spots and taken advantage of them. My eyes, groin and nose are about the only places you can hurt me without a knife or a lot more muscle than he had. However, throwing punches (or your head) at my nose has another big disadvantage besides possibly running into my fangs.
Snapping my muzzle open once more, I catch his head. His headbutt forces my jaws wide, and my cheeks bulge out as his face squelches into my tongue. I close my mouth again --
And swallow. I'm a patient skunk, but you can piss me off if you work at it, and he'd sure done that. Gulping, I feel my tongue push back against his chin, and my throat opens for his head. Gulp, and the tightness in my neckfur slides down, his neck drawn in after. It's hard to describe the feeling; imagine the tight belly you get after you eat too much, then think about feeling that in your throat.
Of course, he doesn't know what is happening. He thinks he's still in a fight, and slams his elbows against my chest in an effort to make me let go. When the second gulp pulls his face down into wet hot dark he seems to realize he could suffocate in there and begins to really struggle.
But it's already too late for him. I curl my arms around him in an almost gentle hug, fending off his attempts to get a knee into my groin. My tail muffles those strikes; I free up a hand and pat him down, removing some items he isn't going to need where he is going. Like his clothes.
The low pop, the stretchy feeling as my jaws dislocate I can't really describe that unless you're double-jointed. My jaws are wide at the back, and unlike a normal skunks' they can come loose at the hinges, so the upper and lower halves stretch apart on sinew. The lower jaw stays in one piece, unlike a snake's, but the new wideness at the back of my mouth is enough that his shoulders slide right in. His clothing is on the floor now and I lap out over his chest, tasting sweat, fear, and succulent human flavor. Drops of saliva splatter my knees; I'm drooling up a storm, licking as much to lubricate my meal for swallowing as to taste him.
The tightness slides a little farther into my neck. His head is beginning to enter my chest, and I swallow again. Not much effort is required to push his shoulders in, then his upper chest. He's struggling like a demon now, but my intent is so simple there just isn't much he can do about it. I'm pushing him into a slippery, stretchy tube with enough muscle and bone around it that he can't move very much. The tube does its part, my gullet tugging him downward with each gulp, and he can't resist the suction that pulls him ever deeper.
The first button pops off my shirt as his shoulders suck down into my chest. Each time I swallow I feel my throat grab him, push him down, the ripples of effort taking ahold of his head and shoulders and dragging him a bit deeper. Although he's a third my size, I have a lot easier job of it than a snake, because I have hands to push him in. It's almost effortless now; I tilt my head back and let his belly slide into my maw. I've had plenty of practice.
The second button skips across the carpet silently, then the third as my chest swells. I'm on all fours now, tossing my head upward and using the man's weight and inertia to bolt him into my jaws. Stretching fur, muscle, and bone shift in my torso, my flexible body letting the weight slide down a little at a time. Dull pressure in my abdomen as the man's head pushes into my stomach, and his legs kick frantically outside my jaws. My tongue slides across his cock, tiny compared to mine but stiffening and musky with perspiration. Maybe its oxygen deprivation that makes him go hard, or maybe there's something erotic about gullet pulsing over you, fangs scraping your back and belly. It'd happened with other meals too.
The stretched fur of my torso felt like blow your cheeks out with air tightly, and then think about your whole body feeling like that. Just this side of painful. Now push it with fingertips, randomly (what's inside is struggling), but you can't let any air out. Wiggling, struggling, he moves in my throat, and I swallow, taking his hips into my jaws.
Sometimes I felt guilty about doing this, but not now. I'd tried to be nice and the little bastard had done his level best to hurt me. I could have taken his head off with a full-power swing and he must have known it.
The urge to swallow people is hard to fight when I have the chance to do it. Especially when you're planning to do it from the moment you meet them.
I heave my muzzle up, stretch my nose out straight, and swallow. A shifting in my belly, as more of him slides in, and his groin moves to the back of my mouth and vanishes. He was fully erect now, and the taste of his balls is even muskier. One more gulp and they're gone, and his legs began to vanish rapidly as my throat gets a good hold and pulls him in.
I can't stop the slide now without grabbing his legs; my gullet takes him in possessively, forcing him down into my belly. The last button tears loose, taking a shred of fabric with it, and my shirt crept up my sides as half of him curls inside me.
His feet are in my mouth, and though they are already disappearing inward, I clamp my muzzle shut and swallow. A tickle of toes and then just a pressure in my throat, muscular legs wriggling strongly.
Tail thumps against the wall as the weight slides down. Swallow again, my throat clutching at the legs, and stretch out with eyes closed, straining. Again, the shifting in my chest, and then the weight moves freely, slipping down between my ribs. My belly droops, the fur going tight and hard.
I bend into an arch, straighten, bend again. My belly-muscles help pull the last gullet-filling bits of him into my stomach, and he squeezes into a tight package. Still that wriggling, the squirming inside, very weak now as I settle down seated as a dog would. I lick my chops, admire my fat belly and wait for the belches to percolate up.
Eating people isn't wise. You'll be caught at it if you aren't very careful, and maybe even then. But damn it's fun. Hiccuping, I fold the clothing, putting his shoes on top with the wallet inside one.
My bellyfur gives a last, violent twitch, then stills, and the first belch makes its way up. "Bhuuuorrrp-p-p." One less bastard in the world. I go to two paws again and find the missing buttons. There's no hope of getting them to hold my uniform, so I pop them in a pocket for now.
I run my pawpads over the huge bulge in my midsection. My pelt is tight over my meal; some of his contours actually show through the flesh and fur. A couple of minutes of stretching and kneading gets him situated so there are no incriminating shapes, just a great, heavy lump. That lump was a problem.
Someone who didn't know me wouldn't have remarked on it -- they'd have just thought I was fat. But my morning replacement Randy would see that something was odd. I set the thought aside for the moment and gather up all the papers that he'd tried to steal. Just some warehouse records, looks like. It takes only a few minutes to replace them in the proper files; the file-cabinet hadn't even been locked -- just like the outside door he'd used to get in. Had he been suspicious when he'd learned what he'd been sent to get was so lightly secured?
My belly makes odd little digestive noises as I gather up the neat pile of clothing. All that weight is forcing my guts down, and I pay a visit to the restroom on the way back up the hall. My last meal wasn't as epic as this one, but I still fear for a moment that the little human-sized toilet won't hold it all. What goes in, must come out.
It takes most of a liquid soap dispenser to clean the mace out of my fur and uniform shirt. My eyes still sting, but the perfumed cleaner conceals the remaining smell.
I make my way past the two camera-covered intersections with my tail in my hands. I pick at it ostentatiously while moving my muzzle back and forth; all that fur conceals the bulge in my middle, and even Mr. Barnes couldn't comment on my self-grooming if I was alert.
Back in the booth, I check the time. 3:42. It'd taken about ten minutes to grab and gulp the man down, and another twenty to recover. I stroke the lump and smile, then pull the stack of pizza boxes from beneath the counter. Fourteen large pizzas would make a skunk pretty fat. The clothing and wallet go into my carry-sack.
As usual after a meal like this, I feel the blood rushing to my groin, and I rest my muzzle on a palm and think about Sandra. But bringing my wife into work for a little nookie wasn't the way to keep my job, and she was likely busy just now.
Guuuuurgle. My belly is making louder sounds now, working on the man, and I steal another look at the clock. It's almost time for another walkthrough, and this time I'd check the carpet in that hall for mace-smell. There was a carpet cleaner just around the corner if I needed it. This trip I will do the grooming trick again and by the next, I'd have the pizza-excuse should someone review the tapes.
It's hard to concentrate on security monitors when you're as horny as a goat. Two hours and more to wait, yet. Best to keep busy.
"Hola, Randy." He steps through the door as I buzz him in,
and his eyes go immediately to the pile of pizza boxes.
I lick my chops. "Half a pizza in the top box if you want it. Double pepperoni." And it was good pizza, too, Papa John's.
He shakes his bald head as he scoots behind the monitors, but I know he won't say anything to Mr. Barnes or anyone else. I hand him the pizza box -- the only one I'd actually bought last night -- and turn for the door with my gear and the rest of them.
"Everything looks good, Striper. See you Tuesday morning?" I nod with a smile. Tomorrow was my day off.
Sandra is waiting outside with our green Econoline van. I stop by the open window and give her a kiss so passionate her ears twitch then lean back in a plume of frozen breath and just look at her. She's a skunk-morph like me, but she's hardly over five feet tall and you'd never expect she and I would be lovers. Especially if you'd seen those porno movies I did a few years back. But Sandra was flexible in many ways and she was my dearest love.
I slide into the oversized passenger's seat, departing the frosty morning air for the merely cool interior. "How did things go at your end?"
She smiled as she drove. "Just fine. I expect you're feeling the aftereffects, eh?" Her hand reaches across, aiming to slide beneath my waistband, but I block it with a palm.
"Soon, love. I can wait until you've had your fun." It was only a ten-minute drive down Northern Lights to our apartment.
The garage door shuts behind us and I can hear the muffled protests from the back of the van. She kills the motor and slides out of the seat, biting my ear roughly as she tumbles into my arms. I nip her throatfur in response, but though her hand is on the heavy bulge in my shorts I turn the chair around and lay her gently down. There's just room for her next to the man with duct tape across his mouth and a plastic tie holding his hands behind his back.
"Selfish selfish!" She runs a hand up my thigh. "I want some of that." Her tail flickers threateningly and I relent, pulling my shorts down so she can wrap fingers around a swollen sheath as thick as her ankle. God it felt good to let her touch me after those hours of waiting; I was stiff as a board, and she tugged the fur back and opened her muzzle for the meat.
"Wait, love." Pink shaft near four inches thick slides through her fingers, and I grunt urgently as she tickles the pointed tip with her tongue. "Be-before we ah, hell." I stroke fingers over her neck and sloped shoulders as she folds her lips around that tip and sucks. "I s'pose it can wait."
She giggles up at me, forcing her tongue into the slit and pumping her little hands rapidly up and down my shaft. It's a tried-and-true way to get me to surrender, and I lean back with a churrrrr, hardly noticing the tied-up man's wide-eyed stare. Sandra knows exactly how to set me off, and her emphatic licks, suckles, and stroking make it hard to concentrate on anything else.
My cock is over a foot long -- 13.2" to be exact -- which makes it longer than nearly any human's. Mustelines have long but usually thin shafts; what set me apart (other than my height) is the sheer thickness of mine. Almost four inches thick at the widest point, and not tapering all the much either. Only the softer, pointed tip let me get it into most femmes, and then not very far.
But Sandra is not just any femme. She'd been after me from our first meeting, and she knew all about me from watching those few movies I'd done. I still got offers to do more, and if the guard business fell through --
I hiss as she climbs into my lap, my huge hands going naturally around her waist, and I take an entire furred breast into my muzzle as she peels her one-piece off. Her knee comes down on the other side, and she lets out her own long hiss as she impales herself.
Sandra had watched those movies until she had my length and girth memorized, and then she'd bought a series of sex toys that scaled up to my shaft's bulk. She'd watched the movies again, religiously using those toys, one size after another, until when she finally got her paws on me she was ready for everything I had to offer.
We're both churring now, bouncing in the seat, and my tail has bushed out through the hole in the back of it to fill the entire driver's compartment. Hers thumps against the padded wall, and beneath us the springs squeak. The van is rocking, and I grin at the duct-taped man as his eyes roll around frantically. His ankles are tied too, and all he can do is wriggle like a worm, unable to take advantage of our present distraction to escape.
Sandra hisses and moans as a small orgasm tenses her vulva around my sliding shaft, and I groan in reply as the hot lust pools in my balls. I watch the man squirm, thinking about how he'd gotten here, where he was going to go -- think about anything but what was happening between my lover and I. If she'd sucked me off first as she usually did I'd not be this precariously close to spasming with her still unsatisfied.
As hard as I try to distract myself, I can feel the lust building, and building, as little biological switches flip one by one. A light seems to go on in my head, and I dig my fingers into her back-fur, lean around to bite her nape roughly. I can't hold back any more and I --
Sandra screams a churring yowl at the feel of my fangs in her scruff, bites my chest hard, and arches under my hands. Just as the overwhelming need to climax washes over me her sex goes rippling-tense, and I add my howl to her own as I give her a massive spurt of jizm. It pulses deep into her, all the way down cock wrapped in tight rippling sex, to the tip up against her cervix, there to jet into her womb. Another, and another, growling and shuddering, and she matches me snarl for snarl.
It's a minute before we fully relax, my hands stroking her back as we lick the little drops of blood from our mutual wounds. I had more scars on my chest and arms from her fangs than I had from bikers' knifes, and her scruff was a thick pad of tough hide and scar tissue. We soak in the post-orgasmic bliss; she strokes my fat middle, and it's only when the pleasure begins to ebb that her eyes turn to the man.
"It was just the two?" I stroke her short white headfur, and she nods.
"Only two answered the ad. I did all the negotiating over the phone, using public phones as we discussed." She slides out of my lap and I out of her; I grunt as jizm from my bobbing wet cock splatters the carpet. "One for you and one for me."
The man's eyes are panicky-wide now as she sniffs his feet. "Didn't you think it was odd someone would hire you to steal warehouse manifests?" I smile and shake my head. "Actually, I suppose you didn't."
Sandra's narrow muzzle goes around his feet just then, and he starts to make terrified little sounds through his nostrils. Holding his now-unbound ankles she forces her cheeks over his toes, then insteps and heels, and with a gulp I can hear even over his protests she takes them down into her throat. I don't hear her jaws dislocate, but I knew they must have about then.
I pull the blanket off him and see she's stripped him naked. He has longer hair than his counterpart, and I rub his head as she slowly sucks in his calves. She was chirring to herself, squeezing breaths around the mass of meat and bone and twitching her tail in absolute joy. Her neckfur swells, its beautiful midnight black stretching so the pink skin beneath begins to show.
"She's swallowing you whole, if you haven't worked that out." I finger his hair as he makes desperate little sounds. "She and I can do that. Your friend," I rubbed my belly, "Already knows this. You will go down her throat, into a belly you'd never think would hold you."
Sandra rolls her eyes at me, working up his thighs and swallowing rhythmically as she pushes herself onward. The main challenge for my immensely flexible lady was not to get stuck on dry skin, so she licks and wriggles like a serpent as she engulfs him.
"You will be in her belly, and it will take you apart. Flesh first, then sinew, and finally bone. The only part of you that won't dissolve," I stroked his hair again, "Is this, your body and head-hair. It's roughage you see." I grin as he gasps; he's near to hyperventilation as her jaws strain to take in his hips. She laps his cock, just as I had his cohort's, but this one wasn't responding. Had my meal cum on the way down my throat? In my belly? Or had he died without that last satisfaction?
"Sometime tomorrow she will squat down on the toilet, lift that beautiful tail, and shit out the first of you. Over the day, and the next, the rest of you will exit, the hair just bulk to make the rest pass more easily. My lady has so treated quite a few men, and women." I lean down to plant a whiskery kiss on his ear. "Your companion will leave me the same way. And all the while, as we recover from our meals, we will love each other."
My cock had never gone soft, for I knew what would happen after I pulled it out of her. She would feed, and nothing made me as horny as watching my lady gulp someone. His feet must be in her stomach now; her whiskers were moving up his belly, and her strong little hands pull at his shoulders. Already his bound hands are down her throat, and his frantic squirming just made her wriggle as if in sympathy. He was bigger than she was, but he would fit down her throat just as other, larger men had.
Her eyes focused on my erection now, and I roll out of the chair and onto all fours. Her rump goes up at once, fluffy black-and-white tail flicking out of the way, and I straddle her hips and walk forward. She lets go his shoulder just long enough to reach back and direct my tip from her sex, where I'd planned to put it, up beneath her tail.
With a slow, rumbling growl, I forced the wet cock up her ass, and she lets out a muffled squeak as her ring stretches. She could take me here -- again, she'd practiced. There was something especially arousing about going into the hole from which the man would eventually reappear. My belly was in the way, but I hunch it up over her rump and thrust.
My love lets out little, pained-sounding squeaks as I fill her, and I watch the remains of the man shrink as she swallows. Armpit-deep, shoulders-deep, and now just his pale face stuck out of my swollen lady. The cool air was full of his fear-stink, layered over with the scent of our recent mating and powerful musteline lust from our current one.
I reach down and pull off the strip of duct-tape as she got his face between her jaws, and he lets out a single, terrified shriek that's cut off as soon as it starts. Her muzzle goes firmly shut, and she stretches and gulps as she rocks under my humping thrusts. I feel him squirming as he's forced down into her belly; she swells in the middle until she is almost balanced on the furry bulk, and between my knees her pelt bulges and twitches.
His struggle is too late, as was my meals'. I hump my ladylove, stroke her belly as she relaxes as much as she can, and lower my muzzle to scruff her anew. She's tired from her meal but pushes back against my thrusts, as horny as I am. I fill the hole he'll come out of like a cork and think dirty thoughts.
This mating would take longer than the last, but soon enough I would leave my lust there, and like him, it'd come back out. Perhaps we'd be tired enough afterward to sleep, only to wake and do it again and again, and again, until we'd worked off the meal we spent so much time planning.
I dig my fangs into her nape, growl in time with her churring, and love her.