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Amethyst's Christmas Tales

December 2023

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Expiration

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by anonymous

“Urgh…"

Larson groaned, blinking back to the real world as his head ached and pounded. What had happened? Why was he down there? It didn't make sense, the world around him muted and dark, with just one, flickering light above him: a bare lightbulb.

“Unff…"

The wolf groaned, struggling – though quickly realised he was bound. A wooden chair rocked lightly under him and Larson blinked more rapidly, an old red fox coming into focus opposite him. He looked a little like him in terms of his physique, but it took him some time to recognise the other grey-furred wolf, Samuel, eyes widening.

“Unff… Sam… Samuel! What have they done to you?"

Samuel groaned and let his head roll from one shoulder to the other, though it didn't help him in the slightest.

“What happened?" He moaned sluggishly, barely able to get the words out. “Unff… Why can't I move?"

“Oh, you don't need to worry about that," another anthro said, someone standing out of their line of sight. “You don't need to worry about anything at all, in fact."

A wolf stepped forward, though he was not dressed anything like what Larson and Samuel may have expected. A shiny latex suit covered him from neck to toe, encasing even his feet and toes, hiding them from view. Not that Larson or Samuel would ever have focused on something like that, no, but his bulging belly rose against the front of the suit, making it stretch. Overall, he seemed as chubby and heavily set as the two bound furs.

“What do you want from us?" Larson growled, wrenching at his bonds as more strength returned to him. “Fuck off! Let us go!"

“Oh, I shan't be doing that," their kidnapper said with a toothy grin. “You're here for my entertainment, after all. So, here you go. The show must get started, after all."

Samuel grunted and tried to pull his head back and away as their kidnapper, for they couldn't have thought of him as anything other than that, pulled a gas mask to him, with big inserts for them to see through. Not that it would have done anyone any good, for the two bound furs were not going anywhere, squirming and thrashing and rocking their chairs, though they simply did not possess the ability to get loose from their bonds.

“Unggh… No, please," Samuel begged. “Don't… Just let us go, we won't say anything, we promise. We won't do anything, nothing at all."

“Oh, I don't care about that."

There was no emotion in their kidnapper's voice, the wolf operating, chillingly, as if he had done it all over a million times before. He forced the mask on over Samuel's head and sealed it tightly, though there was still a gap at the front where a filter or something was supposed to go. Neither of them were all that well-versed in gas masks or the like to say, one way or the other, and it wasn't going to make a difference to them anyway.

Samuel slumped and Larson tensed up as the wolf approached him next with another mask. The wolf being ready for their kidnapper did not help in the slightest, not as he loomed and grabbed his ear, twisting and pinching it just to make Larson cry out. It was enough to have the wolf distracted, if only for a moment, and he snarled as the mask was forced on even over his jerking head, snapping against the crude rubber of it.

His kidnapper, however, managed to wedge it on either way, even though Larson was the feistier of the two; he hadn't got to be as good as he was at his work, after all, by not dealing with difficult customers. Just like the wolf.

The kidnapper smirked, standing back as they heaved there, their masks in place, adjusting to the tight clasp of rubber around their heads. It was tight and constricting, yet another form of bondage for them to grow used to, and Larson heaved, turning his head back and forth. The lenses of the mask were tinted, though he could still see the wolf moving about through the smudged lenses, blinking rapidly, his eyes watering.

The stench of death clung to the insides of the masks, drowning them in the reek of those who had gone before. Old sweat and saliva had somehow layered itself into even the rubber and they both gulped in all the fresh, clean air they could, even if it seemed like they were down in some kind of musty basement.

“Now… For your end. I'll just sit back and watch you two, it'll be a show just for you," the wolf kidnapper told them, his smirk out of sight. “You don't have to do anything special, trust me… This will all be very easy for you."

Yet Larson didn't quite understand that as the kidnapper connected the two masks with a hose of some kind, using that space for the vent and filter at the bottom. It didn't make sense, though it was never meant to make sense to him, not in the slightest, not as he groaned deep in the back of his throat.

“Unff… No, please… Let us go…"

Larson had never in his life thought he'd be begging for it, though there was nothing for him to do, nowhere for him to go. Helplessness closed in on him and he shuddered in place, the dull, stale breath of the fox connected to him filtering into his muzzle and inside his mouth.

For Larson couldn't just stop breathing, no, not as he tried to moderate his breath, mind racing. There had to be something, anything, his body still doing all it could, even then, to cling to some life. It may not have even been all that much of a life, in all honesty, but Larson still wanted it. He deserved it, despite his advanced years.

Samuel grunted, fear tangling with his nose. He tried not to breathe, for it strained his senses too much, making his head pound worse than it had from whatever had knocked him out in the first place. Even Larson's sweat seemed intent on making itself known, though he didn't want to breathe in the scent of his fearful friend.

Only…there was no other air to breathe. And there was very little air in the hose connecting the two gas masks as their kidnapper sat back, comfortably, to watch. It would be a little while, but not all that long, and it was exactly the show he was there for.

“Mhm… This never gets old…"

The latex-clad wolf smirked and watched, though they did little at first. Yet he knew exactly when his captives realised their air was running out, as they twitched a little, rocking back and forth, heads turning and tugging at the hose.

“Hey… No… No, this isn't… Samuel, take shallow breaths!"

Larson was the first to understand, his head a little light, stale air washing into his lungs. But there was no fresh air at all, only the rank, stale air as he strained, trying his best to stay calm – yet where was he to go?

There was nothing at all, grunting thickly in the back of his throat, even his tail twitching back and forth. Samuel fared little better, puffing in short, sharp breaths, more frenzied than Larson, though he didn't realise just how close their end was.

Stale sweat and cloying fear sank into him as the fox whimpered. He strove for more, aching deeply, though the burning strain in his lungs did not help. He didn't get as much oxygen with every breath and heaved and panted, his body doing instinctively what it thought it needed to do. Yet that was not always the most helpful thing to him, not when his air was running out.

And when it had run out…well… There was nothing more for either the fox or the wolf.

Just suffocation.

“Nnngghhh…"

Samuel moaned, chest fluttering, though his head dipped. He tried to breathe, but he couldn't. He tried to twist his head, to dislodge the hose, but his hands were bound to the chair and there was no way for him to get them free in time, if that would even have been within the realm of the fox's expertise.

Larson grunted, head working slowly. His thoughts dragged at him and yet…he couldn't let that slow him down. He twisted, trying to pull at the rough ropes holding him fast, and yet…there was nothing he could do.

His limbs grew weaker, less and less oxygen pumped around his body. His lungs ached and burned, having run out of air, though he gaped like a loon, even if no one could even see his expression.

Not even as he died.

He fought, his body twisting and jerking, the need to survive aching through him. It burned deeply, like something was clawing its way out of his body, through his lungs, yet there was no use even in fighting. He would be there until the last moment, the very last breath.

Oh… He'd already had his last breath. How unfortunate for him.

The wolf squirmed, though he didn't seem to have the energy to keep his head up anymore, no, not at all. He slumped forward, dragging at both his bonds and the chair, rocking it. The dull clunk of wood on concrete sent a painful reverberation through him… Yet there was no more fight in the wolf for him to give.

Not as his lungs fluttered and pulled at air, fighting for a life that was no longer his to claim. He couldn't breathe in nothing, carbon dioxide exhaled and left for them to drag into their lungs.

“Mmph…"

He gulped, dizzy, his head swimming. But he had to try to cling on to life, had to try. His fingers twitched, but they barely moved at all, eyes watering, every last part of his body strained and aching.

Larson gaped, opening and closing his mouth, yet that didn't help. Not even as the hard rubber pressed into his muzzle, restricting how far he could even open his mouth. The wolf's gut grumbled against his clothes as his body gurgled, adrenaline pounding through him, though there was nowhere for him to actually use that adrenaline.

He tried to strain towards the fox, blinking, yet even his vision was going hazy and fuzzy. He blinked it away, yet it did not leave, even as the sharp burning in his lungs ramped up and up and up. Pushing his tongue out, Larson swiped it against the hose, even as unconsciousness swam around the edges of his mind, closing in on him with every passing second.

“Oh, what a show… I have enjoyed you two…"

The kidnapper sat back, the wolf who, to them, had no name watching the show, how they twitched, chests quivering, tongues lolling out, surely, into the insides of the masks. He would have other victims in there, soon enough, but he didn't need to concern himself with later.

Not as the fox slumped into unconsciousness, his chest juddering and his heart stilling. Without oxygen in his blood, he faded, the light dissipating from his eyes. The lack of oxygen failed the wolf too, adding his drool to the mask as it slicked from his open maw, adding to the trophy of the gas mask's collection.

The last thing Larson knew was of the tightness around him, like his whole body was being pinched, unknown fingers even digging into his lungs, his other organs too. He hung there, drooling, losing his fight against asphyxiation, tail hanging slack.

“Huff…"

“Huff…"

“Hu…phh…"

He faded, giving a last rattle, though the dull, dead air in his lungs was of no use to him, not anyone. Not as they died, forced to share the same air until they expired, staleness seeping through their beings.

In the end, their kidnapper had all they craved.

In expiration, they gave him one, final show.