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The Hitchiker

By Strega

It was a dark green Ford Econoline van that finally slowed when Mark crooked his thumb at the side of the road. He smiled; there wasn't much traffic, and he'd begun to think he'd end up walking the whole way to Eagle River. A cheap hotel room was a far better prospect for the evening than a chilly night spent huddled beneath a tree someplace. It could get plenty uncomfortable in June in Alaska if you got wet, and the TV at the last gas station said a summer storm was on its way in.

Though the van looked to be from the early 90s it was in excellent condition and he admired the bodywork as it drove up. It was not until it came to a stop that he looked up and was taken aback by the driver. An enormous black man with a white cap nodded at him with a smile...but the smile was wrong, all wrong, and Mark took a step back when he realized what he was really looking at.

The huge man was wearing a skunk costume. And even that was proven wrong when the window whirred down and the man leaned closer to Mark. When he opened his mouth to speak it was instantly obvious that it was no mask.

"Where are you headed?", the skunk said, with what must pass for a friendly smile if you are a seven foot tall, five hundred pound skunk man. At least the lips-closed smile hid the fangs that showed when he spoke. The skunk was seated in a huge captain's chair with a hole in the back for his equally enormous fluffy tail.

"Wow," was all Mark could say. Then the side door slid open on his side of the van and a much smaller, obviously female skunk in a well-filled T-shirt and red shorts poked her nose out.

"Hi, stranger," she said with a smile. "We're headed to Anchorage and if you're going in that direction. There's plenty of room."

Mesmerized by the chubby skunkette's barely contained boobies, he found himself climbing in. There were no seats behind the two captain's chairs but the floor, walls and even the ceiling of the van were lined with shag carpet that at least on the floor had padding under it. There were a couple of backpacks and a toolbox along one side and some camping gear racked on the wall below the ceiling, but the big van was practically empty. Well, except for a musky, but not unpleasant smell that came from the carpet as much as it came from the skunks. The van smelled like its owners.

"I'm Mark," he said as he slid the door shut behind him and his pack. "I'm hitchhiking over the summer to see the country. I hitched all the way up here from Arizona."

The words covered him looking the skunkette, and to a lesser extent the skunk driving the van, over. From this distance he couldn't imagine they were wearing costumes. Their heads were the wrong shape and unless the puff of white headfur that he'd thought was a cap fooled him, he didn't think a person's face could be under there and have the eyes in the right spots for the 'mask'. The pink-padded hands, damp nose and tail just looked too real. They were either movie-quality skunk suits or....

"Oh," he said as he remembered. "You must be Striper," he said to the driver. "I read something in the paper about you once. Something about a lawsuit? It said you lived in Alaska, now that I think about it."

"That's right," said the driver with a chuckle. "And back there with you is Sandra. You be nice to my wife or I'll have to eat you."

All three of them chuckled at the joke, though he sure wouldn't want to piss off a woman-sized skunk like Sandra, much less her far larger husband. Even a little skunk was to be left alone if you knew what was good for you. He'd had a German Shepherd back home that never did learn that and stank to high heaven at least three times a year. Plus, these skunks had sharp looking claws (with red nail polish in Sandra's case) and equally sharp white teeth.

"Lawsuit?" He asked as Sandra stowed his backpack with the other two. One was much larger than the others for obvious reasons.

"You've heard of 'driving while black'? Well, imagine 'driving while a skunk.' My husband sued the cops for harassment and won. Even then he kept getting pulled over. I didn't drive then, so it wasn't as bad for me in Missouri, but I know what it was like to stand out. Finally he moved up here. Alaska is the land of people who want to get away from people, and the cops give the locals a bit more leeway because of it. Even so he had to sue again, and won again, but we've been up here for ten years now. They know us, finally and we don't get pulled over ten times a day because the cop thinks a bear is driving a car."

"And the lawsuits paid for this van, and a house too," Striper said over his shoulder.

It was fascinating watching them talk, moreso with Sandra since she was facing him. Animal-human hybrids were so rare he'd only seen them on TV. He'd never expected to meet one, much less a pretty one. Somehow the animal face and tail on her mostly humanoid (if furry) and very female body weren't jarring at all. At nineteen years old it was inevitable that certain thoughts arose. What would it be like to -

The van had been in motion for several minutes now and Striper said, "Bit of a detour here. There was a dead moose on the road on the way out and by now the road crew will be cleaning it up, so I'm going to take the scenic route."

"Take your time," Sandra said in what could only be called a purr, and Matt jumped as he felt her hand on his thigh. Her thumb brushed a bulge that had sprouted beneath the denim. "Matt wants to be friends, I think."

"Now hold on," Matt said, but she'd already stripped off her shirt. The exposed furry mounds drew his hands like iron filings to a magnet and it took all his self control to not find out if they were as plush and jiggly as they looked. He snapped out of it as she giggled and reached for his belt.

"But you're married," he fumbled as he tried to push his shoulder blades through a carpeted van wall. Suddenly he knew how those cats in the Pepe Le Pew cartoons felt. Despite his efforts to keep her roaming hands at bay she'd undone his belt and his boxers couldn't keep him from springing to full attention.

She'd also managed to get her shorts and sandals off and though equipped with a great big fluffy tail and skunk face, plus those little claws, she was human enough. If he weren't in a van with her husband, who was built like Andre the Giant with fur, he'd be pulling her closer instead of pushing her away.

"It's OK, Matt," she purred as she gripped him through his shorts. "I like a little variety and my husband doesn't mind. You can't knock me up and I promise you won't catch anything from me, so what can it hurt?"

'Dear Penthouse', he imagined the letter reading. 'I never thought it could happen to me....' but as he was thinking that he was pulling off his clothes. Even as he kicked off the second leg of his Levis Sandra was impaling herself in his lap and she was as soft and wet and ready as he could have wanted if his to-do list for the day started with "1. Bang a skunk woman."

"Told you he wanted to play," Sandra said with a giggle, and Striper shot her a grin from the driver's seat. Thankfully the big skunk kept his eyes on the road despite the bouncing and churring from the back. Sandra was not a quiet or passive lover and Matt didn't have a whole lot of control as to what was going on. He had a plump and surprisingly athletic skunkette in his lap, though, so that was just fine.

With his hands finally free to roam he found her breasts felt like fur-covered gelatin and that there was plenty of muscle under the pelt of that plump ass. Her claws scratched his back and she nipped at his ear and neck. He was going to have some hard to explain hickies from the feel of it.

He'd never had such an exotic lover, or one as active and vigorous. Despite his best effort to concentrate on the sight of her tail thrashing back and forth and not on the skunk-pussy gripping his shaft the constant pumping was too much to resist. Less than two minutes after she sat down in his lap it all came to a head.

"Oh," Matt said in surprise, for he really had been trying to hold back. He clutched Sandra tight against him as he came, and had he been the one on top the spasming muscles in his thighs would have forced him in her to the limit. As the orgasm faded the first word out of his mouth was, "Sorry."

"It's all right," the skunkette purred. "I'm getting what I want."

"You didn't get much at all," said Matt, and helped her rise from his lap. Or at least he tried to. A creeping weakness in his arms made it difficult to even grip her rump. Alarmed, he tried to roll up onto his knees, but a hundred and fifty pounds of skunkette on his lap was too much now to even budge.

"That took something out of me," he said, but he was afraid, now. In hindsight the weakness had begun shortly after the sex did, though he'd been too distracted at the time to notice. Now that he looked at her with a suspicious eye, he could see that Sandra wasn't at all surprised by his condition.

"You drugged me," he murmured, and tried feebly once again to stand up. Sandra wasn't having any of that.

"It took a long time to work out what would work on a human but not a skunk," she said cheerfully. "You're only the second person I've used it on. It's on my lips, by the way. I liked the idea of drugged lipstick. Very James Bond."

"Where are you taking me," he whispered, sure now he'd fallen into the clutches of unusually furry serial killers. He was right, in all but the details.

"My husband and I are going to Anchorage," she purred. "But you're going someplace else first." And with that she leaned close and fitted her jaws around his face.

For a moment Matt was too shocked to even move. The skunkette made up for that by doing all the work. The light that made it in through the van windshield was rapidly replaced by a dim pinkness as she rocked her head forward and let his entire head slip into the slick depths of her throat. Somehow her upper and lower jaw stretched apart like a snake's, and before he knew it his neck followed his head and fangs were scraping his shoulders as she worked her way over the widest part of her meal.

And that's what he was, he suddenly realized. Striper had stopped not to give Matt a ride out of the goodness of his heart but to get take-out for his wife. The impossibly elastic skunkette had already swallowed his upper arms and if he didn't do something about it real quick he'd end up as a huge bulge in her midsection, like the victim of a nature program gone horribly wrong.

Belatedly he began to struggle, weak as he was. Unfortunately he most certainly wasn't the first person to decide he didn't want to end up as aftertaste on her burps and the skunkette knew exactly what she was doing. By the time he recovered from his shock and began to squirm she had a tight grip on his wrists and had pulled him away from the van wall so he fell on his belly on the carpeted floor. Stretched out with nothing in reach to grab and nothing but a shaggy wall to kick he couldn't stop her jaws from inching down his belly. Warm, too-slick gullet crept further and further over his shoulders, preceded by fangs that scraped over his skin, and beneath the gullet-flesh were strong muscles that tugged him ever so slightly deeper with each gulp.

If it weren't for the drug he probably could have stopped her. Though she was strong and skilled he must weigh as much as she did and eating a meal your own size had to be a difficult feat even when it's helpless. He was young and muscular enough to cause a predator a lot of trouble...which meant, of course, it was safer to incapacitate him first. And she had. As his face emerged from her gullet into the stinging folds of her stomach he realized that unless a miracle occurred she was going to get her meal. Barring outside intervention the only thing between him and becoming a few more pounds of fat on an already plump skunkette was whether she could fit all of him down her throat.

Fangs scraped over his naked, sweating rump and his cock ended up someplace he might have badly wanted it to go, if circumstances were better. It was just that it'd never have occurred to him that his dick would be in a woman's mouth due to her swallowing his upper body. Her tongue began to lick and tickle and despite the horror of his situation he was, after all, still a teenager. By the time his shaft's head followed his other head into her throat he was stiff as a board.

If he weren't halfway into being eaten whole he'd have eagerly thrust into her. Even so, the rhythmic contractions of her swallowing muscles rolled over his cock and he simply couldn't help tensing and pushing himself against them. Unfortunately the same contractions were pulling him inch by inch down her throat and depositing him in her stomach and his uncontrollable urge to slide his dick along her slick throat-wall only helped ease him in that much faster. It was an instinctive response to the stimulus that he was simply unable to prevent.

His family would never know what happened to him. He hadn't called them in days and the last they heard he was about to enter Alaska from Canada. There would be no funeral, no body to bury. He was just a meal now and he was sure she wouldn't be eating him unless she could so thoroughly digest him there'd be no identifiable remains in her poop, which in any case would mix with all the rest in the sewer system or outhouse or whatever. Unless they somehow got caught before he was digested, or they were stupid with his few belongings, he would simply disappear without a trace. One more victim among who knew how many to vanish down the throat of a cute skunkette.

Even with those thoughts running through his head he couldn't help but rub himself against the silky wetness of her throat and he exploded for a second time not five minutes after the first. It would have been the start of an amazing day if he, along with his spooge, weren't on their way through the skunkette's digestive tract. He just hadn't reached the really icky bits yet.

But he was getting there. A great contraction of her throat muscles pushed his ass into her stomach and his legs were well on their way to following him. Wrapped in slick strong muscle and too weak to resist he could only wait for the end. If it weren't for the air swallowed along with him he would already be dead and once he was all the way down and she belched up the air he would graduate from "Person" to "Meat."

With her fangs scraping over his heels and one gulp away from the very end the skunkette shifted where she lay. He felt her tense and her heart race and he somehow knew that that things were suddenly going wrong for the skunks. He'd have been more sympathetic were she not eating him. Unfortunately their troubles didn't keep Sandra from swallowing that one last time.

*****

"Trouble," Striper suddenly snarled. Sandra saw a reflection of flashing blue light through the tinted rear window. A cop, out here on a lonely road for God knows what reason, was pulling the van over.

It only took Sandra a few seconds to stuff Matt's clothes and backpack, along with her own pack, into the toolbox, even though she was bloated to bursting will still-squirming prey. Her meal hadn't quite given up yet though he must know there was no escape.

Now she had to ensure that at least one person survived what would happen next. The van was pulling to the side of the road as she put her hand on her husband's shoulder.

"You know the plan," she said, and Striper nodded. Despite the terror in his eyes he knew what he had to do.

*****

It'd been a long and boring day for the state trooper when he spotted the van. As it passed the dirt road he was parked on he caught of something very odd through the windshield. It looked like nothing so much as a big dog driving the car.

It wasn't the first time something weird like that had happened, and he put the cruiser in gear and pulled out behind the van. It couldn't hurt to have a word with the driver. Maybe it was just a funny hat, but maybe it really was something weird. He'd talked to a driver earlier who drove the front half of a motorcycle mated to the back half of a VW beetle, with a dog in the passenger's seat. He'd warned the driver to wear his seat belt and off the two had driven, both wearing goggles. Only in Alaska.

The first thing to look for, of course, was someone unwilling to pull over, but the van pulled to the side of the road within seconds of his lights going on. The second thing was to watch the tailpipe to see if the engine was still running. That was forgivable in the winter but suspicious in other seasons; it might mean an intent to stomp on the gas as soon as he got out of his patrol car. The smoke from the tailpipe stopped.

Ninety-nine percent of traffic stops were routine, boring, unmemorable. You never knew which would be the other one percent, though, and the trooper was fully alert as he approached the van.

His eyes went wide as the window whirred down and a pointed black muzzle with a white stripe down the middle poked its nose out to look at him. What the hell was driving the van, anyway? A bear with a white toupee?

"Is there a problem, officer?" the 'bear' said, and the trooper just stood there staring. Then he remembered a briefing from his first day on the job. "Just in case you see one of them," the briefer had said, "There are these two...well, skunk people is all I can think to call them, living in Anchorage...."

"License, proof of insurance and registration, sir," he said out of pure habit. Habit was all that carried him through taking the proffered documents and heading back to his cruiser to check them out on the computer.

So: Name, Striper. Last name, none. Married to a female skunk person named Sandra. Occupation, security guard. His wife was a stripper. Not high class occupations, but the skunk's record was clean. Not even a traffic ticket in the last two years. A footnote explained that there had been incidents in the past and that the skunks weren't shy about accusing cops of harassment. Well, it wasn't harassment: he'd stopped the van for a good reason...sort of.

"You were weaving a bit, sir," he said as he handed the cards back over. That was a lie, but a small one.

"Must've been adjusting the radio," the skunk said with a chuckle.

Other than the driver being a very large skunk person, everything seemed normal and above board...but the trooper lived by his instincts. There was something, maybe the set of the skunk's ears, that made him look nervous. No, not nervous: outright scared.

"Mind if I have a look in the back?" the trooper said.

"Not a problem," Striper said, and reached for the door handle.

It wasn't until the brush-tailed furry creature got out of the van that the trooper realized just how enormous he was. The skunk was easily a foot taller than his own six feet and had a bulky zeppelin-like build. Despite huge feet in open toed shoes and hands that could wrap fingers around a man's head, the skunk's fat middle made him seem to expand down from a point at the top and then taper from his eighty-inch waist down to his feet. It was a wonder the seat belt fit, though from the looks of it the driver's seat was custom made for him.

Black fur showed beneath a tight-stretched XXXXL T-shirt where the belly stuck out. There was an odd lump or two there, but the trooper had a friend with a hernia bulge and looking at that sort of thing made him deeply uncomfortable. That was lucky for him, and as it turned out for the skunk as well. He wasn't looking when the bulge in Striper's middle shifted ever so slightly.

The obese skunk waddled to the back of the van and threw open the doors. The trooper stayed out of reach thanks to training and the sudden knowledge that if the skunk got a hand on him, or God forbid just fall on him, it would be big trouble. He didn't relish trying to push seven or eight hundred pounds of fat skunk off of himself.

There was practically nothing in the van. A big backpack, a tool box, and and some camping gear neatly racked on one wall. The walls, ceiling and floor were lined with what looked like one long strip of thick carpet.

The skunk noticed him eying it and said "For camping. When you're furry you don't need sheets, so sometimes my wife and I sleep in the van. That carpet is all the insulation we need in the summer."

The skunk burped and immediately after made an even ruder noise. "Sorry. Too much pizza."

"I'll say," the trooper didn't say. If he'd had a partner with him he'd probably have searched the van. Once the skunk let him look he had that power, and the big furry really did seem nervous. Some people were afraid of cops, though, and it's not as though there was a dead body in there.

He gave the skunk a last long look. Striper seemed to be calming down, and the trooper shrugged mentally. "Okay, we're done here. Eyes on the road, and have a nice afternoon."

"You too, sir," Striper said. The trooper gave the fat skunk a last look as it waddled back to the van door. He'd have a story to tell at the station tonight.

A real skunk doesn't sweat, Striper thought as the police car disappeared into the distance. His fur on the other hand was damp with it. He made a show of holding up his cell phone so if the cop looked in the mirror, he wouldn't wonder why the van was still there.

As soon as the cop was out of sight he leaned into the space between the front seats and threw up.

He'd done it before, but never with such a large meal. He'd long since worked out how to reverse the process that could send an entire adult human down his throat with one gulp. This meal, though, was fatter in the middle than any human he'd eaten. Or at least it should have been.

First to appear were the red-painted claws and pink pads of Sandra's furry feet. They gave a gratifying kick as they appeared; though he had swallowed and kept alive prey in his belly before, that prey had never been his wife.

Keeping a human alive in there was just for amusement; hoping that his wife survived five minutes was another matter. It had taken all his willpower to not appear so terrified that the cop became suspicious; he could hold back his digestive process, but what if the heat or lack of good air took her from him? What if the cop arrested him for some imagined offense? He'd have the awful choice of attacking the cop - if the cop had called in their license number before pulling them over he might as well turn himself in should that happen; throwing up his wife in view of an officer or officers, or digesting the one woman he'd ever truly loved.

But she was alive. Wet fur appeared inch by inch as he heaved up up, her tail matted and her sleek pelt slicked down with saliva that had lubricated her for swallowing. Her lush tail swished to the side, strings of mucus stretching between its fur and her thighs as she worked the doubled-over thing loose from his gullet. She was coming up far more easily than she'd gone down, and he suddenly realized why.

As she was thrown up, so she herself threw up. He felt the bulk she left behind as she coughed up that hitchhiker By all rights the man should have come up anyway, but she reached back down his throat and pushed the human back into the stomach even as her rump and body emerged from Striper's jaws.

There was a faint squirming in his gut as the hitchhiker - Mike? Something like that - was freed from Sandra's taut belly into a looser one. Somehow the man clung to life even after five airless minutes in his wife's gut. Unlike Striper she had no reason to hold back her stomach acids and the hitchhiker was no doubt already in some pain. Striper didn't care, not in the slightest. His only concern was for his wife, who miraculously seemed little the worse for wear despite her wet fur. She twitched her tail, stretched, and climbed back into the smaller of the two captain's chairs.

She opened her mouth to say something, or perhaps just to reset her jaws on their hinges, but he was already kissing her.

She wasn't the only woman he'd had in his arms. Far from it; even these days some human women found him attractive and their marriage was an open one. Years back, in Mexico, he'd been the star of four low budget porn movies. Over the years he'd fucked more women than he'd eaten, and he'd eaten upwards of fifty people now. Then of course there were a few men and even that cow. He didn't like to talk about the cow.

Sandra was his soul-mate. If she had died, if he'd had to digest her, he didn't know what he would have done.

She as always was the calmer and more rational. "Drive," she said as soon as she wormed loose from the kiss. "If that cop comes back you'll have to swallow me again, or if another one sees us and talks to the first it'll be hard to explain why you are thinner and how I got in the van."

He pulled the van back out onto the road as she wiped her nose and pawpads with cleaning wipes from the glove compartment. Though he had shut down his digestive process as fast as he could, a small amount of acid remained and had reddened her eyes and exposed skin. There was nothing she could do about her damp fur or the smell of bile; she needed a shower or a good long soak in the tub.

"You didn't need to give up your meal," he said as he drove. "After all you went through."

"If we get stopped again," she said reasonably, "It will be the same problem all over again. You can hide a human in your middle, I can't."

Striper belched and nodded. They'd known picking up (and picking off) hitchhikers was risky. They'd planned for this day and it looked like they'd gotten away with it even after being caught red-handed.

As surreptitiously as he could he swallowed a mouthful of air to replace what he just burped up. He'd done the same thing with Sandra in his belly. It was an hour's drive back into Anchorage from here and the odds were against the hitchhiker surviving that long no matter how hard he tried not to digest him. He was going to try, though.

"I thought we'd gotten past being pulled over for looking funny," he muttered. "That cop must have been new."

"We need to get out on the back roads more, go camping more," Sandra replied. "It was a mistake to drive out this far looking for prey without getting the local cops used to us."

Striper smiled. No thought of laying low emerged from her lips. No, she had already thought it out and reasoned out a way to reduce their risk while still filling their bellies with hitchhikers and the other easily disappeared.

"State fair is in two weeks," he said. "Bob from work asked if I could man the security company booth. Lots of people will see me there, and it's usually near the cop and army booths. Might be a good way to remind the highway cops that I exist."

"Bush Company will have one too," Sandra said. "I told Mike I was busy that weekend, but..."

Sandra had worked at the Great Alaskan Bush Company for almost ten years now. Stripping made her a surprising amount of money since she was the only skunkette most of the johns would ever see, and at least once a year some creep tried to ambush her or followed her home and ended up with rather more of himself inside her than he expected. She'd soon work off the resulting rolls of fat dancing and people who went to strip clubs and stalked strippers were exactly the sort that could disappear into the moist depths of a skunkette's digestive tract without anyone noticing - or at least caring. They always burned the clothes and even the money and credit cards they got from their meals; they went out of their way to make sure nothing was left to tie them to the disappearances. Eating people was its own reward.

"Well, it could have gone worse," he said, and Sandra nodded. It could have indeed.

******

In the slow gurgling hell of the skunk's belly Mark awoke. Coated in slime too slick to get any purchase and surrounded by the mephit's heartbeat he stirred, for something had changed. The vibration of the van engine was gone, and the big skunk - the second skunk whose stomach he had occupied this afternoon - was up and moving.

The sweltering confines of the furry predator's Innards twitched, and Mark felt another change. There was a cough and a gurgle, and the belly around him tensed and rippled. it took him a moment to realize what was happening.

The skunk was throwing him up! It must have been caught, and it was either regurgitate its meal or face a murder charge. He wriggled around until he felt the entry sphincter against the top of his head, and an obliging convulsion of the surrounding musculature began to push him out of the slimy gut.

Back he went up a throat he had only known before as a squeeze on the outside of the fur and muscle wrapped around his body. The big skunk had swallowed the small one, fat though she was with himself, with little difficulty. It had been far trickier for Sandra when she ate him.

A faint gleam of pink light smote is eyes, and Mark winced. After who knew how long in wet darkness it hurt. Rear teeth and then fangs scraped over his scalp and chin as his face emerged from Striper's muzzle, and he was blinded anew as warm water struck his eyes. For whatever reason the skunk was retching him up while taking a shower. At least it washed the mucus off his face as it fell.

Finally he blinked his eyes clear and had his first good look around. It lasted only a moment and consisted of a second fanged maw gaped wide to receive his face.

"Oh, God," Mark whimpered as Sandra's jaws unhinged around his head. The brief and welcome light was smothered as a now familiar muscular contraction pulled his head and neck into her throat. As fast as Striper threw him up, there was his wife to swallow Mark back down again.

He'd gotten just a glimpse around as she began to feed, enough to see her hands wrapped around what must be her husband's cock. The horrible couple was making out in the shower even as he was fed from one into another.

He could actually hear Sandra's belly gurgling, down at the bottom of that smooth chute of throat. The skunkette was hungry, and she was about to have her much-delayed meal. It had been a bad couple of hours for everyone, especially Mark. He'd been in two stomachs already and the only bright spot in all of it was that he hadn't been digested. That, he knew, was about to change.