POV vore - you and Striper the skunk
Story by Strega on SoFurry
Striper is normally very discreet when he sets about eating someone. He makes sure there is practically no chance he’ll be caught doing it. Piss him off enough though, and even Striper may snap.
GOT A GIANT ODOR? The clapboard sign says. CALL ACE CLEANERS!
The front-and-back sign is worn by the most appropriate mascot imaginable: a bulky plush skunk over seven feet tall. Just the tail sticking out the back is bigger than you are.
You've seen plush mascots before. This one is unusual for its sheer size and the skunk-tail, which instead of a plush shape is a mass of black and white fur. It protrudes from a hole in the butt of the skunk suit and looks out of place. Either the whole suit should be plush or none of it should be, is your thinking.
You smirk as you imagine how hot the person in that suit must be. The cartoonish features show no sign of discomfort, of course, but you half expect the suit guy to keel over even in these fall temperatures. Disappointingly, he doesn't. Or she doesn't, though it would have to be a truly enormous woman to fill up that suit. Even with the oversized skunk head to add height the person it must be well past six feet tall.
There's a game you play with mascot suits. You've played it with the gopher mascot they sometimes have at the mini-golf course and the moose one at the Alaska State Fair, too.
"Oops," you say as you step on the skunk's oversized plush foot as hard as you can. "Sorry!"
There is a grunt of pain from inside the skunk head and it turns to look at you. Visibility is very bad out of those little eye holes and by the time it turns you are out of its field of vision. You smirk, add a kick to its shin for good measure and disappear around the corner before the store owner can come out to defend his employee.
The great thing about tormenting a mascot is you can get away with it all day. Every time the sidewalk is clear of witnesses or a crowd provides cover you sneak up behind the skunk, "accidentally" elbow it or step on a giant plush foot, and are away before it can turn. With nothing better to do you come back over and over, leaving enough time between attacks that the mascot never knows when to be alert. With poor visibility, worse hearing and the job of showing off the sign to keep it busy, there is no way for the mascot to see you coming.
It's all in fun, you'd say if confronted. The suit and it's padding mean you're not doing any real harm. Sure, the guy wearing it must be pissed, but that's not on you is it? It's just a joke.
Eventually the store owner twigs that something is going on and yells at you as you sprint away. You give it a rest then, heading to the park to climb trees and watch people walk their dogs. No one pays attention to just another teenager killing time.
It's almost sundown by the time you head back. You are disappointed to find the skunk gone. Then you see a furry tail disappearing into the alley between cleaner's shop and the next one. Maybe the suit guy has to pee or is just getting off work.
Following the mascot into the alley is a spur of the moment decision. You find the huge skunk just turning back toward the street and slip easily to the side, staying out of its field of view. One more stomp on its foot and you'll be on your way.
You've made the mascot's life a nightmare for most of the day but this time you make a mistake. You just barely brush up against the huge fluffy tail. As though you stepped on a tripwire one thick arm shoots unerringly out. The white-gloved hand at the end is as big as your head and pins you hard against the brick wall.
You try to wriggle free as the skunk turns but the hand presses down even harder. Reflexively you grab at the plush arm with both hands and feel how thick the forearm inside it is. You knew it had to be a big guy in there but that muscular arm is the size of your leg!
You can't believe how strong the man in the suit is and a moment later something else you can't believe happens. The skunk's free hand comes up and pulls off the suit's head. Under it is not a sweating human face but another skunk muzzle, and this time a real one.
It's not a human in the suit but an enormous skunk. The padding around its middle makes it cartoonishly fat but the rest of the bulk is all fur and muscle. The skunk must be over seven feet tall and built like a linebacker. No wonder the furry tail looked so real, it belongs to the owner of the suit.
The skunk sets the empty suit head, which instead of being mostly foam as you expected is barely big enough to accommodate his huge pink-muzzled snout, on a nearby trash can and grins at you. You don't like that grin at all and you like it a lot less when he reaches for you with his other hand. He shook off the white cartoon glove when he put down the head and claws sink into your shirt. Each of his fingers is as thick as your wrist and with one quick tug he tears your shirt off. Five seconds later your shorts go the same way and you have nothing on but sneakers and underwear.
He looks you over, a skinny teenager more than a foot shorter than he is. Even without the bulk of the suit he must be three times your weight. With just one hand on your chest he has you completely helpless.
He wraps the torn clothing around his free hand with a flick of his wrist and tosses it into the closest dumpster. He is about to say something when you suck in a breath despite the pressure on your chest. He feels and sees you getting ready to scream for help and suddenly your head is in his mouth.
The grip of jaws above and below your face squeezes your mouth shut before you can cry out and he grabs your elbows with hands so huge he could pull you apart like a cooked chicken. Instead his tongue gathers itself beneath your chin. You realize what is about to happen but it is much too late to apologize. The skunk rocks his muzzle forward, sliding it down over your neck, and with a wet gulp your face is in his throat.
You kick helplessly, managing to plant a toe in the padded middle of his suit. The idea was to kick him in the balls but he's so huge that as he lifts you toward his jaws you only have an instant before they are out of reach and you miss. With an easy side to side wriggle of his muzzle his cheeks slide over your shoulders and if his intention wasn't clear before, it sure is now. He isn't doing this to scare you. You pissed off the guy in the skunk suit and now you're going to wear a skunk suit of your own. Sadly, the one you'll wear is the kind that digests you.
Fleshy throat squeezes down as he swallows, pulling you deeper, and with an upward flip of his muzzle he's already to your waist. Your own weight helps push you deeper now. Anyone walking past the end of the alley would get a show but it will be a brief one. With just a few upward jerks of his nose he bolts you down and when he swallows the third time his throat is wrapped around you all the way to the knees. Your face squeezes through a fleshy valve and slimy folds of stomach expand to make room. You were right. It is hot inside the suit. It's sure hot in the stomach of the one wearing it, anyway.
There is a pause as he reaches your ankles but only long enough for him to pluck your shoes off. Your socks you get to keep but they aren't much consolation when the next snap of his jaws takes on your feet. You feel his arm move as he tosses the shoes into the dumpster after your shredded clothes.
A pointed skunky muzzle closes around your feet and the last touch of blessedly cool afternoon air is cut off. The huge skunk tenses, swallows, and a combination of your own weight and the strong ripple of throat muscle sends you sliding down his gullet.
It was all over in less than a minute. You feel the costume stretch tight as a hundred and forty pounds of nearly naked teenager slides into the skunk's stomach. The thick padding that gave the skunk costume its cartoonish look flattens so the thing retains much of its already pot-bellied look. You doubt you even enlarge its middle much. You kick, desperate yet knowing you are doomed, and the skunk ignores you. From its movements you sense it putting the costume head and glove back on. No one would ever know by looking at it that a whole human now lies curled up in the skunk's stomach.
The skunk lets out a deep belch, venting most of the air that went down with you, and tugs the costume back into place. You feel the pressure front and back as it puts the GOT A GIANT ODOR? sign back on. That covers up what little extra bulge shows through the padding and you feel the full-bellied waddle as it goes smugly back out onto the sidewalk to keep on advertising.
Your scant items of clothing are already soaked through with stomach acid and your skin stings everywhere it touches. You try to struggle, try to fight, but the muscular stomach stretched tight over you is backed up by the padded costume and the sign on top of that. There is no escape. Your chance to avoid a slimy digestive fate ended when he opened his mouth.
By now you should be dead, you realize. The only reason you are still clinging to life is the skunk replaces each burp with a gulp of air. Just as you tormented him all day, he keeps you alive as the sting of digestive juices gets worse and worse. The air keeps the acid from filling the whole stomach but drip by drip it still stings your skin.
But there's more to it than torturing you. If he disappeared off the job right when a certain teenager vanished, the police might put two and two together. Instead he stays on the job, covering up your fading struggle with the suit's padding and the sign. He stays there on the sidewalk in plain view, having left for only as long as it took to swallow you. He couldn't have planned that; it was pure luck that you showed up right when you did. Good luck for him, very bad luck for you.
It occurs to you as you stew in the deepening pool of stomach acid that he couldn't be sure it was you that bumped into him there at the end. It might have been any random teenager or even a simple passer-by who suffered from his pent-up irritation and disappeared down his throat.
But it was you, and despite his efforts to keep you alive the pain gets worse and worse as you are slowly digested. The temptation to dip your face into the acid and take a deep breath gets stronger. Yet you are still alive when you feel a change. The skunk shucks off the clapboard sign and lifts one leg. You feel him climb into what must be a car or other vehicle, settle back in the seat and sigh as he can finally relax and let the belly bulge hang out. Someone else must be driving; you don't feel the pressure of a steering wheel against the bulge.
The skunk lets out another long belch and this time doesn't swallow air to replace it. As the fleshy folds of stomach close in you know that unless he gets very unlucky, no one will ever discover what happened to you. By the time he goes back to work in the morning he'll have digested most of your body and no trace of the incriminating bulge will remain if cops show up and make him strip off the plush suit. Your shoes are in a dumpster and even if some homeless guy doesn't grab them, shoes are a pretty common thing to find in the trash. Your wallet has a student ID card in it but you bet he was smart enough to think to look for that.
Your socks and underwear, sodden with acid, are holding up a lot better than your skin. Unlike your flesh and bone they seem likely to survive. He knew just what he was doing when he tore off your clothes but didn't bother with the small bits. They will make their way through his roomy plumbing without issue. The rest of you will too, once his stomach acids do their work.
People disappear all the time in a city the size of Anchorage and you're the latest one. There's even a local TV segment about it. Your mother likes to watch it and you've caught plenty of episodes. One thing you've learned is that it's almost impossible to track down a killer if you can't find the victim's body, or at least identifiable remains. The skunk's stomach will make sure there simply isn't any body to find. And as for remains?
You're pretty sure the cops won't think to fish through the sewer system looking for a pair of socks and some underwear. And by the time anyone realizes you are missing, that's right where they will be, along with whole lot of used-to-be-teenager mixed in with the rest of a city's worth of crap.
It seems like you chose exactly the wrong mascot to pick on this time. The skunk lets out one last burp and settles back in his car seat to digest his meal. Given how casually and competently he ate you, you probably aren't the first to take a trip through this skunk. And you probably won't be the last.