Road Trip
I always love a road trip.
Driving across the endless empty miles of western America, the radio going at full blast, good friends stuffing you with endless snacks--what's not to enjoy?
This trip was just me and my mates off to visit family. My roo had just come back from a long assignment when he'd gotten word of the wedding of an aunt--not someone he was specially close to, but mother to his favorite cousins.
Of course we begged to come along. Mattock may like his independence but he'd been spending too much time away from us. (Not that I don't appreciate my otter, but Darkwater definitely fills a different niche out of my needs.)
So we'd set out on the long drive, tubby skunk and tubby otter and tubby roo all piling into a car that just seemed to keep getting smaller and smaller by the day.
Nighttime came and we stopped at a gas station to fill up, switch drivers, and hit the restrooms.
At least, I attempted to, anyway.
My otter turned me away at the men's room door. "This place ain't for you, diaperbutt."
I whimpered a bit and tried to persuade him otherwise. "Not even to change?"
He looked me over. "You don't need a change. You're not leaking yet."
"What if I need to--uh, you know--Mattock doesn't like it if I use my diapers for--"
The otter smirked. "That sounds awfully hypothetical. I'll risk it."
He entered the restroom and locked it behind him.
I went outside, grumbling, and would have headed back to the car before I noticed there was another gas station next to the one we were at.
All right then: Marty's Truck Stop it is.
I went in, passed the Americana dining tables, passed shelves of souvenirs, and passed into the truck stop's restroom.
It was one of those full-service places: stalls and urinals were present in conjunction with lockers and showers, at least one of which was running.
I wanted to indulge my horndog instincts and check out whoever was in the shower, but at this point the call of nature was stronger. I found an empty stall, pulled my pants and padding down--Darkwater would get suspicious if I changed--and took a seat.
I didn't even get a chance to get comfortable before the door burst open (none of the stalls had functioning locks) and I was invaded by one of the largest furs I'd ever seen--and almost certainly the largest fox.
He filled up most of the comparatively wide stall, at least nine hundred pounds of flab and russet fur. He wasn't the cutest but I wouldn't kick him out of bed.
A restroom stall I was using, though, would be a different matter. "Ocupado, boss."
"Don't care," he said, snarling a bit. "Scram, tiny."
The rudeness caught me with my pants down, literally, and I hardly knew how to react. While I was still trying to splutter out a response, the fox reached down and lifted me up by the scruff of my neck.
Two thoughts shot through my mind at once: first, the fox was ridiculously strong, and second, that while being lifted up by the scruff of one's neck may be fine when you're light as a kitten, it hurts like hell when you're a three-hundred-fifty-pound skunk.
I gasped out a sharp cry of pain. The fox lifted a footpaw and used it to pull down the toilet seat, dropping me on top. "The fuck," I said, rubbing my neck. I should've gotten up and run but the pain was too much of a distraction.
The fox unbuckled his belt and dropped trou. His hanging gut prevented me from seeing anything salacious, at least till he turned around, lifted tail, and showed his massive flabby rump.
Under better circumstances, it would have been a butt I would have loved to get lost in--immensely soft-looking, bearing a subtle scent of maleness, and absolutely deep enough to bury a snout in.
Instead, however, he backed it up against me, reached back to heft its weight up a little, and dropped it on my head.
"OINK," I said, from under the mound of fox ass. I wriggled to escape, but with the way the fox filled the stall, I had nowhere to go.
Nowhere to go but down, as he started pressing his weight more and more onto me.
Now, sometimes when a guy sits on you, it's because he wants you inside. But this fox wasn't working me into his hole, just squashing me under nine hundred pounds of foxflab.
I definitely felt myself starting to compress, though "compress" was far too gentle a word--I felt my bones grinding together as he flattened me.
Compared to what I'd just gone through, it didn't hurt, per se... but the pressure was overwhelming as the warm softness of the fox's hindquarters ground me into the cool firmness of the toilet seat. I started to feel... less solid and more like a big blob of skunk myself as his ass ground down.
With my snout pressed flat against his rump I felt my head pushed down into my body like I was some kind of fuzzy turtle. I felt my own belly bunched around me as I got flatter and flatter, and it wasn't too long before all that was left of me was a thin sheet of skunk, face up and rump down, with my limbs and tail hanging off me limply--which he then reached down to fold back up under me, compressing me all together.
I was so lost at this point. I would have cried out but I had no control over my body at all. (Not that it would have made any difference; I'm sure the fox's enormous rump would have been able to muffle any sound I would have been able to make.) I could only sit and stare into the darkness under his ass, wondering what he was going to do to me.
Well, at least I didn't have to wait too long. The big fox reached under his butt and pulled me out from under him, holding me up so I hung limply in front of his face. He gave a childish laugh and stuck his fingers in the open space that used to be my mouth.
It was a weird, sort of shiver-inducing feeling. Not just from touching my muzzle--but from the way I had been flattened, the fingers that pushed into my maw went right through me--right through my tailhole. It was an erotic thrill to be so penetrated from end to end, even if those ends were only a millimeter or two apart.
And it was just going through my head that the anatomy really shouldn't work that way when the fox started spreading his fingers apart.
My mouth and hole stretched open and I could only moan and writhe internally.
The fox reached in with his other paw and started pulling me open in earnest, each hand pulling one side of my holes apart from the other until my ass and mouth had stretched to the point where the fox could have easily worn me around his fat neck if he wanted to.
I kept trying to think about what the fox would want with a big ring of flatskunk and came up empty. If it's obvious to you, do keep in mind that my brain was basically trying to work two-dimensionally at the time.
After I had been shaped to his satisfaction, the fox stood up, lifted the toilet seat lid, arranged me so I covered the exposed surface of the toilet seat, and sat back down on top of me.
Oh.
I wasn't sure how I felt about being a toilet seat cover. On the one hand... all right, I lie, you know me and you know exactly how much I'd enjoy it. I still would have liked a bit of advance notice, at the very least to tell my mates not to worry about me.
Oh well. In the darkness under the fox's rump I could see nothing, but somehow my other senses were in order: the solid pressure of his weight covering every part of me; the mixed scents of public toiletry, sweaty fat, and my own body; the weirdly stretched-out taste from my mouth ringing the fox's hindquarters... and then I heard the stream of piss starting to blast the toilet bowl.
And despite everything, I could taste it. Like, not in the familiar way that piss pools in your muzzle while you work to swallow it down--after all, though it was going through my body, through what was technically my mouth, it wasn't actually hitting me or anything.
And yet I tasted the fox's bitter piss as it passed through me anyway, the giant hole that was my stretched mouth reporting that yes, I was indeed being used as a toilet accessory.
It really is hard to tell what's going on when your brain is squashed out of shape. The fox's heavy rump was slowly grinding me harder against the toilet seat as he pissed, and i thought maybe he was just getting comfortable, till suddenly my perspective shifted and I was full of piss and only getting fuller.
As my consciousness was forced into the toilet at large, I felt all the more the heavy weight of the fox, the taste of his piss pooling in my bowl, and the near certainty of what would come next as I heard him catch his breath and start grunting low and deep.
I'd've braced myself if I wasn't already bolted to the wall and floor.
I could only fixate mutely on the fox's rump as he went about his business. The taste of shit mixed with the piss already filling me as he dumped his load in my bowl with a steady series of plops.
The sensations were disconcerting. Being a toilet is like being a big open hungry mouth. You take whatever the world throws at you and just sort of... mull over it for as long as need be.
Because unless you've got a fancy sensor, you don't get to swallow until someone flushes you.
I sat immobile with what felt like an ever-growing mouthful of piss-soaked scat as the big fox continued to release his prodigious bowel movement. Sure he was huge and had room for a lot in him but as I felt the pile of muck rising towards my brim I wondered if I'd even be able to take it all.
His ass sputtered as he finally finished emptying himself out, and soon I had the extra flavor of dirty paper added on to the pile.
It was a weird weight off my back as the fox stood and hitched up his pants. "Don't know how often they come round to clean this place," he said. "But till then, enjoy."
He left the stall. I sat and simmered, full of the taste of his waste.
My otter found me an hour later, pushing open the stall door and taking a quick step back to defend himself against the stench.
When it'd aired out a bit he came forward and slid a paw along my seat, which was still covered in a thin layer of skunk. "Boy, he did a number on you..."
I sat there, bowl-mouth full of shit.
"Well, let's get you up so we can get back on the road. But first, I think you need this..."
He lifted his foot and pushed my flush lever. I felt a sensation like inhaling deeply and swallowing hard as the wet scat was forced down the pipe that felt like my throat. Fortunately--I guess--it didn't clog me, and I was soon full of reasonably clean water.
Then he peeled me off the toilet seat carefully and walked back to the car, wadding me up in his paws. "Told you the restrooms weren't for you, diaperbutt."