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* Skunk Hunt * (c)2021 Kevin Foxboy, All Rights Reserved

Roleplay hunts, animal mascot costumes, bikinis, briefs, pagans, adult lounge,

ponyplay, dogplay, BDSM collar, cuffs, chains, hood, gag, calm, relax, passive,

docile, tail anchor

~ 2021-0208.1815

Hello, I'm Alex, and I'm a Skunk.

I mean I'm a 23-year-old guy who works at the Main Line Hunt Club, bringing guests

the food and drinks they order, or sometimes bussing tables when they've eaten. At

the MLHC there's also some employees who dress up in animal costumes, and run

along various marked paths as hunt prey.

Due to the fact that the fur costumes get people physically hot, even though they're

vented - the costumes, not the people - they often go to the undressing room to

remove the costume fur and the support suit, down to the rather skimpy, but still

decent, two-piece bikinis for women, or bikini briefs for men.

Custom is to wear the fursuits outside when it's cool enough, or just the swimsuits

with fake animal fur trim when it gets hot. In Spring or Autumn, there's a mixture, and

the fur is actually lightweight enough to stay warm.

Keep in mind that there are people walking around all year in fursuits and running

slippers, flexy enough to get a good grip in dirt and loose gravel, while still providing

protection from any hard rocks. It reminds me of mascots at sports or entertain-

ment events, and they do try to get the guests to come watch.

The ones who run in the hunts that the place is named for have replaced the foxes

and other animals the guests used to shoot. They're not allowed to actually shoot

the costumed people, or use paintguns on the fake fur, so the guns shoot rubber

that doesn't really hurt.

To be totally honest, I've enjoyed shooting most of the folks doing animal roleplay,

partly because it's anonymous, even when they get undressed or just remove the

costume head and show their human faces. I like seeing the women unhead and

then show their sexy curvy bodies in those bikinis, partly because I'm a hetero-

sexual guy, and partly I like seeing the lack of tan lines from the tan-thru swimwear.

I'd worked at the MLHC in the dining room and guest lounge for about two years

when I started noticing a delightfully curvy vixen, I mean a young woman wearing

a lady-fox fursuit. The fake fur was contoured to show off her body, and the under-

lying support suit clung to her curves in a most enticing manner.

The top part actually had breast curves built into it, and I wasn't the only guy who

was interested in finding out if it hugged her real body or was just padding. It was

quite strange at first (or second, or third) sight, because of course actual female

animals don't have human breasts, just columns of nipples. And they're hidden

by the fur, except maybe when the animal's lactating to feed children.

As it turned out, Alice Vixen (those staff members who run as hunt prey use the

costume species as a family name) was in fact quite curvy with C cup human

breasts which I've had the distinct pleasure to caress into and out of her bikini.

The human woman has just the two breasts, unlike the lady fox she dresses up as.

She's planning to wear a contoured front under the fursuit, molded foam adding to

her lovely C-cup natural breasts, giving her the shape of three rows of two fake

breasts each, a very foxy set of eight total nipples.

I'd very much like to help her by holding her warm body close as she adjusts the bra

straps holding her own breasts, as well as the B and A cups, and the fake nipples. I've

noticed there's a coven of pagans on the MLHC grounds who are quite accepting of

folks going around wearing animal fursuits, or just the bikini or swim briefs.

In the adults-only section, the pagans often go around completely nude, carrying a

beach towel or storage pouch belted around their waists. Everybody sees everything,

and quite soon gets used to seeing and showing. And nobody gets molested, unlike

outside where they're supposed to have strict social morals.

~

Since the support suits are stretchy and form-fitting, and the fursuits are fake fur,

there's no problem wearing them while we serve guests their food and drink. I think

the place used to be a summer camp, because there's a barn with various animals

hoofing or pawing around like displays.

There's an area nearby where professional wranglers handle the horses the guests

ride when they hunt us. The rifles don't use bullets, so it's not The Most Dangerous

Game, but we are supposed to get down on the hunt path ground and be dead when

we feel the rubber bullets.

I was pretty surprised the first few times I went along on a hunt as a background skunk

animal. It's supposed to teach the hunters not to go around shooting wildly, but hunt

responsibly. I'd worked in the dining room and guest lounge about two years, watching

folks dress up and run around as biped animals, thinking it was pretty kinky when the

adult hunt prey would get undressed, shower, rinse themselves out and slip a long tube

up each others' fundaments.

Then they'd put on the support suits and fish the tip of the tube through the slot at the

back, step into the fursuit legs, and attach the fake animal tail to the tube. It takes a

bit of getting used to, first for the empty feel after rinseout, then the full feel of the

tube, and then the weight of the fake tail.

There were only two people at the MLHC who dressed as skunks when I first worked

there. Bill and Sue were brother and sister, and she seemed ok with letting him see

her lovely nude body in the common shower room. But they went to the separate

men's or women's rooms to rinse out and get their tail anchors inserted.

A few months after I started, the owners decided to have actors roleplay other woods

animals, not just hunt prey. It's been a gradual shift, because of course they have to

wait for someone to come looking for work, who's willing to put in the time and effort

to study a particular species' behavior, as well as shower and rinse with other people,

and get the anchor and tail.

There doesn't seem to be a section in the local newspaper classifieds for animal

roleplay, and by the way it's adults only because of the casual nudity.

"Year-round nature camp seeks adult men and women to dress up in animal mascot

fur-suits as background characters. Wide choice of mascot species to choose from.

No previous experience needed, will train behavior. Plenty of outdoor activities and

exercise runs available. Must get along with other actors as well as guests. Live-ins

preferred, but transport negotiable."

That's actually the ad I answered, although of course it included the address and

directions. Recently out of college, I needed a job and apartment to support myself,

and as a theater major I figured I'd be a shoo-in. I started having second thoughts as

soon as I drove by on the access road, because I saw at least two dozen people in

fursuits cavorting on the dry grass, running over to watch me with their furry tails

waving and swinging.

I kept looking around for a Cheshire Cat or a Mad Hatter, but I did see a six-foot tall

rabbit. And by the way, the guy wearing the fursuit is indeed named Harvey. Glad they

have a sense of humor. It felt very strange to be sitting in a car, hemmed in by metal

while they ran around free and gawked at me. Shouldn't it be the animals in cages?

Anyway, now that I am one of the free-range animals, I'm definitely enjoying the joke.

It's normally pretty quiet in the fields along the road, and I've enjoyed running along

looking furry with my big bushy skunktail waving around, the support rods holding it

up with the last third or so curled under.

The secret is, every year just before growing season, several of us use gasoline-

powered tillers to break up the soil and smooth it out. No dangerous holes to risk

twisting an ankle or worse.

We've also run the big tiller along the hunt trails, making six-foot-wide paths for the

big bio-equines, quite smooth for safety. The Hunt Club actually hired a retired race-

track groundskeeper to supervise, to make sure we had packed the surface to avoid

the big heavy horses making deep hoofprints for the next horse to trip in.

~

I used the term bio-equines to distinguish the big undressed furry mammals from the

folks who run along pretending. These ponyboys and ponygirls pull modified sulkies,

wearing hoof-shaped high-heel support boots to give them a digitigrade stance, and

once they're used to balancing, they get the full unguligrade boots shaped to hold

their feet pointed without heel support.

Hooves are shorter and wider than human feet, so there's actually plenty of padding

inside the boots to compensate for putting all the weight on the toes. If you've never

seen men and women wearing lightweight boots, skimpy swimsuits with fur trim, fake

tails and heads, and full leather tack harnesses, bridles, mouth bits and reins, please

come out to the Main Line Hunt Club and watch our pony players strut around before

getting harnessed, led around by folks roleplaying grooms and trainers, then harnessed

to sulkies to pull guests around for tours or carts with supplies.

Oh, and be sure to compliment the human ponies as you watch their muscles move,

especially the firm, mostly-bare rumps and thighs as they walk, jog and run. Especially

Wilma and Grace, two well-matched dark-skinned young women who run as ponygirls,

sometimes even along with guests riding bio-equines.

Or Hans and Gunther, a cart team moving food and other kitchen supplies from the

delivery foot of the access road all the way to the kitchen, or along the walking paths

to the cabins. These men are quite friendly as ponyboys, especially when you remem-

ber to bring apples for them. Their work keeps them lean and muscular, so if it's beef-

cake you enjoy, sit with the cart driver and watch them up close.

Now me, I prefer the ladies with their curvy bodies and sexy female muscles, their fake

tails swishing and long bare legs flexing, their bare arms ending in hoof gloves around

the sulky handles. The slight sheen of sweat as they've been running alongside each

other, pulling guests in separate sulkies along the paths.

Please come over and enjoy them harnessed together to a tour cart.

~

Now since these are actually humans who volunteered for ponyplay, not captives being

punished or forced, the whips aren't used to hurt them, unless that's the BDSM scene

they've agreed to. Hans and Gunther actually don't mind a little gentle whipping, espec-

ially when they're being driven, because they're big strong men just roleplaying ponies.

It's rather a shock for new guests the first time they see ponies being whipped along a

pathway. The sound of leather on bare flesh is quite convincing, and some of the more

careful thinkers understand that we're criticising the treatment of bio-equines. It's one

thing to discipline them to train them, since actual ponies don't understand plain

English, quite another to beat the animal just because you're frustrated and they

can't get away.

Anyway, several of the Main Line Hunt Club's hunt prey roleplayers get into some

of the milder BDSM activities, because it's actually rather fun to be cared for while

gently restrained. You know, wearing a collar and leash rather like a pet dog, crawling

behind a person roleplaying a master, or learning to walk in the hobble chains, espec-

ially learning to balance with your wrists cuffed together behind your back.

If you don't know how relaxing it is to just set aside your cares and let someone lead

you around, please come to the hunt club and let us show you. I definitely enjoy being

leashed and led, and if you haven't seen a guy in a skunk costume, collared and

chained, walking carefully on leash, please get out more and enjoy.

Now it's true that I've also been the one leading a mascot, either male or female, and

the skimpy briefs or bikinis certainly show their toned bare flesh nicely. I've even had

the privilege of leading fully-dressed guests who want to try it for themselves.

So you see that the MLHC is able to accommodate several layers of roleplay, with

people acting as animals, as well as trainers, riders, and drivers. And yes we do let

guests wear their own swimsuits when it's warm enough, although their fake tails

are just belted on, for sanitation.

There are also a few guests who come back for relaxation throughout the year, first

as mounted hunters. Then when they see the mascots, they're not sure how to handle

the kinkiness of learning it's a person in a costume running along as hunt prey, just

background animals they don't shoot, or hunt dogs.

The waiters and kitchen servers don't always wear costumes, and some of them even

wear street clothes, as I did when I first started. I've seen kitchen staff wearing bikinis

or briefs, some with fur trim, but I think there're some health code laws that prevent

furry arms or legs, or animal heads.

Or chains, for that matter. Too restricting, I guess, and staff has to be able to balance

and see safely. But collars are ok, just no hanging leashes. I was very surprised the

first time I saw people wearing animal collars, just going about their kitchen duties

like nothing was kinky.

But quite soon it all became familiar as I stayed in the Hunt Club staff dorm and didn't

need my street clothes, just the bikini briefs. I wear my collar, wrist and ankle cuffs

too, but not the close chains while I'm serving, just the loose wrist ones. I don't want

to risk losing my balance in the hobble, despite enjoying the restraint.

I often wear the briefs with fur trim, because I enjoy the tickle of the fake fur on my

mostly-bare skin. It's decent enough to let young children see, since the briefs cover

the adult bits, and the fur hides the bulges. And our human feet have the slippers for

traction.

The women wear fur bras with chest ruffs so it's not a furry Hooters. At least, not with

children around. When they're done eating, and go out to play with adult supervision,

or later when they're supposed to be sleeping in their cabins, the ruffs sometimes

disappear or get stuffed down the bras, still covering the cleavage.

After all, this is the Main Line Hunt Club's semi-public dining room for guests, who

stay in cottages, and day-visitors, who don't. It's not a gentleman's club, that's a sep-

arate lounge with frosted windows and PG13 foyer.

~

I'd like to divert a bit here to discuss the adult lounge. It's actually a separate building

with its own little grill, and a wraparound enclosed veranda with the PG13 foyer. Some

guests like to sit with their Significant Others, and we don't police who they choose

to associate with.

It's only inside, once you get past the chaperones, that the more adult stuff occurs.

That's where I like to work, bare-chested and bikini-briefed, and I'm indoors so I can

go barefoot, bare-legged, bare-armed, with just the spiked collar, wrist and ankle cuffs,

and frequently the close wrist chains, hobble ankle chains, and sirik chain from my

collar, down my bare chest and belly, to the ring joining my wrist chain, then down

along my bare legs to a ring near my shins joining my hobble chain.

There's a definite medieval vibe to the place, with low lighting and round columns,

low tables and chairs, and us scantily-clad servers, both male and female roleplaying

free servants in clothes, or indentured servants in cuffs and clothes, or even slaves

in briefs, cuffs, collars and chains.

The cuffs and chains are blackened steel, to look like medieval iron, strong enough

to hold the roughest man but leaving steel for weapons. They're quite real, quite

locked, quite inescapable. I really enjoy the feel of being collared, cuffed and chained,

because I can set aside my outside worries and responsibilities, give my cares to the

person chaining me, and just relax to be indentured, or even a slave.

I'll even enjoy squirming around, trying to fight the chains, just to avoid insulting the

handler's dominant power by being too easy. There are some Main Line Hunt Club

mascot roleplayers who actually seem to have difficulty resisting, like the guy who

calls himself Kevin and who runs in the hunts as an American Red Fox.

He comes into the adult lounge in fursuit, wearing a collar and leash like a pet dog,

led by a strong-willed woman who looks about forty. I know for a fact that Kevin likes

his dog roleplay, even crawling behind the Mistress and only talking in dog whimpers.

But Lisa likes to tease him by making him walk upright with his wrists bound behind

his back, the fursuit head hiding the big grin I've seen him wear.

~

Another aspect of the servant/slave BDSM roleplay that tends to squick the mundanes

and new guests is that confident, self-centered, deeply heterosexual players set aside

their personalities, relax and let themselves flow with the scene. Even without fursuits,

there's a definite theatrical aspect, which my college theater experience helps me when

getting into role.

Sometimes I come into the lounge wearing my skunksuit, because I've just been out

running as a background animal in a hunt. If you've never been served food and drink

by a guy dressed in black fur with a pair of white stripes from his neck down his back

and over his big bushy skunktail, I suggest you come over to the Main Line Hunt Club

and try us out.

One of the times early in my employment at the adult lounge I asked for a set of large

irons to fit over my skunksuit. The blackened steel almost disappeared against the

black fur, and it was fluffed up over the irons so the collar, wrist and ankle cuffs were

partly hidden.

The man locking me up used spiked cuffs since they were large enough to fit over

the fur and gave me a rough appearance, as if I was a new captive who hadn't sub-

mitted to the bondage yet. It was just a role, and he kept asking for my consent. He

used a small driver to tighten the bolts holding my cuffs closed, and I was really

held, unable to free myself.

I had to deeply trust the man chaining me, because the steel would hold me even if

this was real captivity and I might struggle hard to free myself. He wasn't the only

man in the dressing (also undressing, for a role) room, and with the binding rings

on my collar and cuffs they could really restrain me spread out to various stone

columns and force me to endure whatever perverted pain they wanted to apply.

I was terrified for real the first time men locked me up and spread me out. I was

completely helpless, and although I had roleplayed a servant with a few of them,

they were now gripping my arms to closely chain them, and the fact was although

they didn't use locks, I was unable to bend my hands enough to unclip my wrists.

And the cuffs were too tightly held to let me use one hand to free the other. They even

put a black bondage hood over my eyes so I couldn't see, but I found out soon enough

when they removed it later to hood Bill and Sue, and lead them out chained as a pair of

captured skunks.

I don't know what it is about the folks that roleplay skunks, but we tend to enjoy a bit

of rough treatment. Maybe it's to brag that we can take it, even the women like Sue.

I frankly believe she got her brother involved in the BDSM LARP, not the man first.

I suspected that our handlers were grinning widely, but with the hood over my eyes I

couldn't see. I felt the heavy material drawn up over my head and down, adjusted to

fit me closely without pulling my hair, and tucked under my spiked collar.

I forgot to mention that with the hood, I wasn't wearing the fursuit skunkhead. I had

tried to complain about being headless, because it was, after all, a part of the mascot

look. But the hood had been preceded by a gag shaped like a big man's cock, and it

was drawn tightly back and buckled behind my neck.

I think I mentioned that skunks like it rough, and the men held me tightly while I was

chained, gagged, and hooded, and the fake cock was so thick and long I was preoc-

cupied with avoiding my throat's attempt to reject it.

It was while I was pushing on the oddly-shaped invader with my tongue, and working

my jaw to relieve some stress from the thickness, that I noticed the tangy mango

flavor and the thick cream filling my mouth. It tasted good, and I swallowed. I was

led, pulling me against the hobble chains to remind me how tightly I was held, unable

to see, speak or hear in that hood.

I was too afraid of these men and their rough handling to struggle against the chains,

or even squirm. I walked carefully in the hobble and had to trust they would lead me

around the low tables and tall columns, not hurt me by making me walk into a stone

column or trip over a table.

~

I suppose that if I were really a medieval captive they would be a lot rougher and hurt

me until I begged to obey them. As it was, the cuffs and chains held me even if I

struggled, and the handlers pulled me along by the chain leash until I settled down

and followed meekly.

They led me up to a stone column, and I expected them to release the close chain, but

first I felt a new chain clipped to my right wrist cuff. I still felt intimidated by their hand-

ling of the blindfolded skunk, and forgot to fight when they unclipped my wrists, held

my right wrist, pulled my left around the column, and clipped the chain to my left wrist.

I was held helpless with my wrists chained, and the column was thick enough I couldn't

get my hands together even to feel the bondage. They chained my ankles spread out the

same careful way, the thick stone holding my ankles apart and unable to move. With a

flourish, the bondage hood was opened and removed, leaving me humiliated chained

wrist and ankle with the fake cock filling my mouth and the mango-flavored cream

making me feel relaxed.

Then they put the costume skunkhead on me and closed it around my neck, tucking it

under my spiked collar. The chain leash hung down my chest, but swung up to a hook

while a tight chain held my collar to the column. I was a chained captive skunkboy in

a medieval-themed room with roleplay servants, indentured, and slaves.

Then I saw Sue being led up to the stage by Bill. Both were dressed in their usual bikini

briefs with added see-thru tops covering their arms, and pantaloons down to their

ankles. Then a pair of people dressed as gray foxes came up and began playing an

oud and a tamborine.

The music reminded me of middle-eastern belly-dance restaurants I've eaten in. I'm

pretty sure I wasn't the only one mesmerised by Bill and Sue's well-coordinated undu-

lating. While some of the guests were obviously enjoying the novelty of a scantily-

clad man up there waving his arms and shaking his legs, I was admiring Sue's frankly

sensuous motions.

One of the men guests came up to me and slid around the column behind me. I felt

him pull on my wrists and whisper "good boy" as he tested that I was securely held.

Then he tested my ankles, satisfied I was well and truly held. Then I felt his hands

stroking my slippers and feeling up my furry shins.

I don't know if he was gay or enjoying the fur, but I didn't resist his fondling my feet,

heels and ankles, his hands gliding over the steel fetters to continue up my shins

and calves. He slid over my knees, one hand on each, and I got the distinct impres-

sion this man was quite used to feeling a chained captive.

He whispered that I was one of the few males he'd touched, and I was scared that he

was allowed to feel me up in public. I was definitely creeped out and afraid to resist.

He hadn't chained me, but was testing my submission as he fondled my furry cos-

tume and rubbed it on my flesh.

His hands started up my thighs. I couldn't take any more, and tried to jump away. All

I did was hurt my ankles on the tight chains, and he gripped my collar past the spikes,

pulled me close, and slapped me on the costume head. I was still gagged, and he

roughly moved the fake cock, reminding me of his total control over me.

He squeezed something at the outside end, and mango cream flooded my mouth. He

told me to swallow, and squeezed my mouth full again when I obeyed. I felt a wave

of calm relaxation flow over me, and I belatedly realised I was being drugged.

~

I'd told the MLHC owners I was willing to roleplay an anthro skunk, and also to let

them treat me rather roughly. I was relating the story of one of my early times in the

adult lounge, not the actual first, and I've gone along with some of the captive role-

play in the public lounge.

While I'm wearing the skunksuit, my handlers are careful not to damage the fur, and

the support suit protects my human skin while reducing the impact of slaps. I've let

them feed me the mango juice before, and allowed it to relax me. I wasn't mistreated.

Now with the big mouth ring and the fake cock, I couldn't talk; I could barely grunt,

and any objections were quite effectively muffled. I knew the taste and the effect

of the mango, and I tried to struggle against the cock cream before I was made

relaxed. I thought that a gay man would be more accepting of the gag and the fake

semen, but I was heterosexual and still am.

This guest was treating me like a medieval captive; not roughly but feeling me up my

fur without regard to my humiliation. As I slid into calmness, I was aware that I was

hidden by the skunksuit, and nobody would recognise my human head. And with two

other skunk-players in the lounge, I was anonymous in my bondage.

The skunkhead muffled the lounge music, and I knew that my handlers had padded

the earholes. I forgot to object to the guest fondling my skunkfur, and let his hands

flow up my knees to my thighs again. If you've never submitted to a man clipping

your close wrist chains and hobble ankle chains around a stone column, please

come to the Hunt Club adult lounge and let the handlers show you a good time.

I started to enjoy the feel of the man's hands on my body. Hey, pleasure is pleasure,

and since both of us were anonymous, no harm, no foul. He went about halfway up

the front of my thighs, then I felt a second pair of hands squeeze the outside and

travel up toward my hips.

I heard an unknown feminine giggle that I was sure was a second guest, then another

pump of the fake cock and a big dose of the mango cream. I hadn't seen how big the

storage bag was, and I wasn't sure if the spiked black-steel collar was used to hang

it. She rubbed my throat inside the fur, and I swallowed all the mango she wanted to

feed me.

I wasn't so relaxed as to have any trouble keeping my legs straight. I felt another chain

go around my hips and hold them tightly to the column. Then another around my waist

and a third around my chest. I was kept wondering why they felt they needed three

more tight chains, but I couldn't breathe deeply, and I hadn't agreed to breath play.

~

I felt her grab my costume muzzle and push it to my left and up. I saw a leather harness

go over my muzzle, up and over my head, buckled tightly in back. She pumped the fake

cock in my mouth, and my mind started to go all squishy from the mango cream and

the exciting bondage.

Imagine if you will, a 23-year-old man wearing a skimpy men's bikini, a body-hugging

undersuit, a skunk-shaped fursuit with costume head and a fake cock gag. I squirmed

and pulled against unseen multiple chains including my wrists and ankles, and now I

was muzzled. I didn't want to insult their dominance over me by being too easy, but

there was very little room to show resistance.

And the tasty mango cream pumped into my mouth by two unseen guests had me

swallowing helplessly and feeling really good. It wasn't an act when I stopped strug-

gling and sank against the chains, unable to stay standing. My captors had won, and

I was completely at their mercy.

The two guests took turns feeling up my body, from mid-thigh around my helpless

rump and hips, making me groan in lust and stiffen inside my bikini. Another muffled

giggle and dominant grope of my groin meant the woman had noticed my helpless

submission.

My mind felt so squishy and compliant that I couldn't help leaning against her in my

multiple chains and rubbing my costume muzzle on her shoulder. She accepted my

affection for a few seconds before rubbing my chest and over my shoulders. The

mind-clouding lust in my loins cleared partially as the center of my pleasure moved

and I felt two other hands slide from my rump to my fake tail.

I began to beg into the fake cock. If the man groped my skunktail, the anchor would

wriggle around my fundament and I would lose control of my own cream inside the

bikini. It would be very embarrassing, although only I would know, since the skunksuit

kept me anonymous.

But then everyone in the adult BDSM lounge would learn of my embarrassment as

soon as the costume head was removed, and my helpless animal response would

become evident when the rest of my skunk costume was removed out from under

the chains.