Tail's 12 Days of Shitsmas
This is a pretty wacky NSFW christmas story involving Sonic characters with some erotic/humurous themes, mainly involving scat and farts. Basically, Shadow takes a huge dump down the chimney of Tail's cottage... If your into that sort of stuff, please enjoy!
Tail's 12 days of Shitsmas:
Tails is totally obsessed with Christmas, and more embarrassingly, he still believes in the empirical existence of jolly old Father Christmas himself. Tails built an old-fashioned rooftop chimney and fireplace in his cottage for this very reason. His life-long dream was to capture Santa, and keeping all the presents for himself.
As the clock ticked closer to midnight, he found himself alone in his cosy little winter retreat. Seizing the rare opportunity of privacy from Sonic's smelly feet and Robotniks supervillain antics, Tails indulged in his guilty pleasure: binge-watching all the Nostalgia Critic Christmas specials whilst munching on peppermint popcorn and drinking hot-eggnog. The room echoed with the familiar sound of peppermint popcorn crunching between his teeth as Tails, adorned in the solemnity of his cottage, immersed himself in comfy Christmas joy, savoring every moment of hilarity and nostalgia.
Tails was enjoying the antics in Doug Walker's review of 8 Crazy Nights when suddenly he heard loud footsteps on his rooftop. Surprised, he put down his eggnog, muted his laptop, and listened carefully. His heart suddenly swelled with excitement, he wondered if his dream of catching Santa might actually be happening tonight.
On the rooftop, there was no sign of Santa, but an almost equally thicc artificially processed transgenic hedgehog, the ultimate lifeform named Shadow. Shadow's glistening muscles catch the moonlight, highlighting the well-defined contours of his dark body. A thin layer of fat covering his beefy form adds a touch of suppleness, creating a harmonious balance between power and warmth. His most captivating aspect, however, was a set of gigantic black buttcheeks, swaying gracefully around his backside like ethereal companions.
Dr. Eggman had put the most effort into hand-crafting Shadow's delicious booty using Black Arm DNA, modeling it after his own chunky butt. His posterior was like a muscular bubblebutt balloon filled with gas. The loose Santa pants struggled to contain the sheer size of Shadow's black bum. His monolithic spheres seemed to challenge the laws of physics, jiggling and clapping as if possessing an evil mind of their own. Nestled deep within this ample backside was the vent of Shadow's digestive system--an incredibly pungent butthole steeped in aged perspiration, seldom escaping the confines of his immeasurably hefty cheeks. Adorned with intricate patterns of curly hair, his bright-pink stankhole glistened in the moonlight during the rare occasions when he peeled open his ass, as if he were opening to the middle chapter of an enormously long manuscript, revealing an iridescent spectacle of oily residue and shitdrips that collected in the creases of his wrinkled starfish.
His chunky rancid asshole spoke in a Lovecraftian language of unnaturally juicy, wet splurts, splorts, airy SBDs and squeaks, seemingly imparting only sinister information to the olfactory senses than any intelligible meaning. Despite the lack of clear semantics, one unmistakable message echoed through Shadow's unique form of fartcommunication: "U are Shadow's buttslave." As Shadow ran, his cheeks jiggled gracefully, leaving trails of fartdust in their wake.
Shadow was wearing Santa's iconic red uniform, popularised by the famous Coca-Cola adverts. Shadow's meaty sausage and ballsack amply filled the crotch of Santa's pants better than the old wizard ever could, permanently staining them with pissdrops and precum whilst quivering with boundless jizzloads.
Santa had dissapeared under... mysterious circumstances. Let's just say he was transformed into a thong with a particularly soft, beard-like white pouch.
To keep the festive spirit alive, Shadow took charge, flying Santa's sleigh himself across the globe and making all the customary stops.
On his transatlantic journey, Shadow noticed that Tails was at the very top of Santa's naughty list. This surprised Shadow, as Tails was such a goodie-two-shoes. But soon he got a wicked idea, and he snarled his sharp teeth in an evil grin... While other brats on the list received Shadow's used socks or G-strings, potentially requiring a whole-house fumigation, Shadow had something very special in store for Tails on this magical yuletide night...
The ultimate lifeform stomped around, searching for the old-timey chimney Tails had installed. Tails kept listening to the footsteps above him, seemingly getting closer and closer. Curious, he got up and went to his window, pulling back the lavender curtains to look outside. The stormy night was quiet, with nothing unusual in sight, except a wild reindeer that appeared to be licking a snowman's carrot. Yet, the footsteps continued, steady and mysterious. Tails felt a rush of joy. It seemed like something special was about to happen, Santa must be on his roof!
Shadow chuckled mischievously from the rooftop as he pulled down Santa's trousers, which he himself had been wearing (and which fit like extra-tight sweatpants on Shadow) and plopped his juicy booty onto the chimneytop. As he took his seat, his butthole responded as usual by letting out a quick but squeaky toot, echoing through the chimney. His fart shot down with incredible speed, and upon reaching the fireplace, encountered the flickering flames below. The combination of rotten gas and fire led to an explosively reactive burst of light and sound. This farty pyrotechnical spectacle added an extra layer of holiday merriment to Shadow's already jolly night.
? Tails was startled by the loud and sudden noise and flash of light coming from his fireplace, but he dismissed it as just an especially crackly woodlog. He did however notice a faint odour... *gag* ... maybe his eggnog was starting to spoil in the heat?
He lit a little candle shaped like Santa and hoped the funky stank would dissipate, Tails HATED smelly stuff... he once threw a hissy fit at Sonic for letting loose a particularly pungent and sour poot after indulging in a hearty feast of chili dawgs. It was Tails's own fault for cooking Sonic nothing but cheap, gas-producing food, but Tails would get his just desserts for such cheapness soon enough...
The memory of the blue hedgehog's juicy toot lingered in Tails's mind-palace, making his snout vigilant about any offensive aromas that might disturb the tranquility of his surroundings.
Meanwhile, Shadow was still sitting on the chimney like a brick-toilet, gleefully scrolling through Instagram on one of the many iPhone 12's he got from Santa's bag of presents, waiting for the magic in his bowels to happen. Relaxed, he let his chunky buttcheeks spread generously over the chimney opening, exposing his pink stinker to the fireplace and impeding any escape of smoke from the house.
The smoke, however, did engulf his smouldering farthole with heat and soot, a situation Shadow found rather ticklish. His thicc cheeks felt hot against the chimney in the winter cold, snow melted instantly on his ass and thighs. A snowflake fell on his alien cock, and melted onto his foreskin. Shadow sighed and relaxed his butthole even more, releasing more heavy flatulence into the chimney with a bassy symphony of blorps and blurtps. The fireplace grew hotter with the added fuel of his homebrewed methane.
His voloptuous cheeks and wrinkly balloon-knot effectively plugged the chimney opening, trapping all the stink and noxious gases inside Tails's cottage. The perspiration accumulating around his fleshy donut trickled down onto the fireplace, evaporating into a noxious, sauna-like smog infused with the rich, heady stank of Shadow's buttfunk.
Down below, Tails wondered if it was starting to rain, observing water droplets disturbing the serene ambiance of the gentle fireplace. He stood up from his recliner to check, but no sooner was he totally assaulted by the salty fog of sweaty asstrench.
The stink brought back memories of a time when Central City's public septic tank had to be cleared with boiling ocean water. It was like his snout had been transported back in time on that fateful day, into the scalding river of decaying poopwater and fishy brine. The innocent rutabaga flatulence from Sonic paled in comparison to this unholy sulfuric blast, seemingly emanating straight from Satan's craphole.
Tails, utterly floored by the foul smell, sat back down and discarded his eggnog into the trash, sealing the lid. He obviously attributed the stench to rotten eggs and milk, but somehow, it was even worse than Tails ever imagined spoiled eggs and milk could smell.
As the briney droplets of sweat around the wrinkles of Shadow's reeking asshole continued to swell, they grew large enough to extinguish the fire entirely.
Tails was startled by the sudden dissappearence of the flame. He was further confused by that damn lingering stinky smell that just refused to dissipate. Feeling a growing sense of unease, he rose from his seat and approached the nearest window with the intention of letting in some fresh cold air. To his dismay, the window was stuck, seemingly frozen shut in the winter chill. Tails quickly cursed his servants for neglecting to loosen the windows before retiring for the night.
By now, Shadow's bootycheeks hovering above were also drenched in sweat and quivering, trying half-heartedly to hold-in the growing need to totally dump out all the evil contents of his ass.
You see, Santa eats a lot of cookies and milk during his annual global expedition. To be more precise, he likely eats a metric ton of decadent chocolate chip delicacies and dairy-laden treat, generously offered in billions of households worldwide, in exchange for laboriously delivering PS5's, iPhones and other gadgets to every spoiled brat on Earth. While Shadow wasn't particularly concerned about delivering presents (those, he reserves for himself), he still diligently visited every house on the list in order to devour every fudge-packed morsel and guzzle down every tall glass of warm milk, turning each stop into a delectable feast.
This means that Shadow's crapfactory was baking a quite massive Christmas cake, made from all the digested cookies and milk. His lactose-intolerant farts sent shockwaves throughout the sky, and smelled like the rancid distilled juice of butcyric acid and rotting lemons.
Beyond the traditional pairing of cookies and milk, children in the UK and Australia actually serve sherry and mince pies. Shadow ate chicken pies, beef pies, pork pies, and even kangaroo pies! In Ireland Shadow was greeted with a pint of Guiness instead of the usual milk, and then another pint, and another, and another... The Guiness made Shadow's ass leak out a hot continuous stream of chokingly heavy and absolutely evil-smelling beer farts.
The millions of sips of sherry and chugs Guiness left Shadow rather piss-drunk by the journey's conclusion in Russia. In his Dionysian stupor, he playfully pissed his name in the snow more than once, swinging his formidable sausage from Santa's sleigh and unleashing carefully aimed, hot reeking blasts of piss onto the winter wonderland below. Shadow took perverse pleasure in this childish celebration, entertaining thoughts of hanging his fat naked bum over the sleigh's edge and releasing equally potent torrents of diahohrrhea, although he would have to reserve such antics for another time. Tonight, every single drop of his chunky fart-gravy was reserved for Tails's extra-special Christmas present. Just the thought of sloppily unleashing all the greasy minced pies baking in the depths of his bitter shitter made Shadow's cock shudder with sinister delight.
In the land of the rising sun, Shadow Clause indulged in the consumption of several buckets of succulent Kentucky Fried Chicken. Fearing the potential constipating effects of the copious white meat intake, Shadow found solace in the fact that KFC's distinctively oily nature would serve as a convenient lubricant for his impending anal evacuation strategy.
In Sweden, children add a distinct Scandinavian touch to Santa's annual journey by leaving him a steaming bowl of rice pudding with cinnamon. Little did they know that the delicious carbohydrates from the rice would take a direct route to Shadow's already ample bum, and contribute a sticky consistency to the already colossal shitload he was in the process of concocting. His bowels were blending international flavors in a unique and unforgettable culinary assortment of poopy turd-sausages.
On top of that, Shadow was still stuffed from a massive Thanksgiving feast, and the leftovers from said Thanksgiving, and the leftover-leftovers of those leftovers. Thus, his chunky puckered starfish, sitting in the centre of his dumptruck, had been marinating in the pungent fumes of ripe Thanksgiving-farts for several days.
This amalgamation of culturally diverse culinary delights coagulated in Shadow's belly into a smouldering cauldron of horrifically sloppy anal goulash. All the fruity Christmas cakes, rich and buttery cookies, turkey and mashed potatoes, heavy Guiness, aromatic peppermint canes and other holiday treats were churned by Shadow's bowels into a nightmarish slurry of viscous and oily diarrhea. The once sweet and lovely flavors were transfiguried into a hideously bitter and brain-meltingly rotten shit porridge that defied the joyous spirit of the holiday season. Shadow found himself juggling this asstronomical muck-mass deep within his bum, inadvertently leaving a trail of dark-brown skidmarks in Santa's borrowed underwear. Chuckling to himself, Shadow reassured that Mrs. Santa would take care of the aftermath.
He was edging his dump, clenching his hole muscles, feeling the growing mass of crapola slide up and down his sphincter-tube and tickle his prostate. His steamy sausage grew between his voluptuous thighs, even the snowflakes couldn't cool him down, they melted onto the tip of his foreskin and watered down the thick dribbling precum collecting around his big, purple, spherical glans.
Undeterred, Tails moved to another window in the hope of finding a solution, only to encounter the same resistance. With a sinking feeling in his chest, he checked yet another window, and then another - all of them appeared to have been deliberately nailed shut. Tails's heart sank further as he realized the depth of the predicament he was in. The windows, like prison bars, denied him access to the outside world and the potential escape from the inexplicable and noxious fartmosphere permeating his once-cozy abode.
In the midst of the bizarre events unfolding, Tails's sense of foreboding intensified, and a chilling realization dawned upon him: he was trapped in a confined space with an unrelenting assault on his senses, the origin of which remained shrouded in mystery. The stench grew more potent with every second (and every gallon of gas pumped out of Shadow's wicked manhole), invading Tails's nostrils as if threatening to burn them off. The heavy miasma tingled in his head, seemingly attempting to replace his brain cells with farticles. His stomach lurched with nauseating shit-warmth, intensifying with every breath of Shadow's proprietary blend of sharts and farts. Tails finally decided he needed desperately to get outside of his entire cottage, and go for a walk in the freezing cold. He tried to open the door but... it was locked from the outside. He banged and banged on the wooden door, but to no avail. He began sweating cold sweat, feeling as though he was being suffocated with spoiled, garlicky tear gas somehow.
Shadow heard the panicked bangs, their sound echoed against his pulsating crapper. Now the jig was up, and Tails had unintentionally helped Shadow find the perfect timing to unleash the brappy product of his ass's Christmas cooking. His bum had laboured for nearly 24-hours to make Tails a delicious, hot Christmas dinner, after all.
In the tranquility of the openness of the snowy rooftop, Shadow settled his dumpy properly onto the "seat" with a sense of ease. The ambient lighting of the stars and a hushed atmosphere enveloped him, creating an environment conducive to total butt relaxation. As he finally allowed his body to follow its natural course, a gentle release unfolded, a quiet concert of sphinctorial muscles working in harmony to push out the oversized ass-load. Five high-pitched fart squeaks were all his bum would allow before a loamy mass of shitcake crunched out of his slimey slippery hole and took over the soundstage.
Once a source of coziness and warmth, the fireplace had now become a portal to Hell for the evil force of Shadow's shart-cannonn. What should have been a passing wisp of woody smoke from the chimney became a terrifying tornado of sharty fumes. Soon enough Shadow's butthole sprung a leak, splurting out a thin flow of yellowish-brown poopjuice. The spotless surface of the floor was instantly stained with watery skidmarks as the first droplets, which resembled dark tears, slipped through the cracks of Shadow's massive ass and fell to the floor below.
The poisonous butt-paste first descended gradually, its malignancy almost poetic. Like brown toothpaste coming from an especially sweaty and sloppy purple asshole. The drops grew in number until a foul liquid curtain appeared and began to pour down in unrelenting waves, creating an unholy splash-zone of anal gravies of various flavours and smells. It looked like a rotten brown waterfall, with every shitty cascade bringing the vile spirit of sharts into Tails's home that would tarnish his cottage's purity forever.
The initial invasion was slow but inexorable, transforming the floor into a morass of putrid sludge. The liquid, with its vile consistency, spread like a creeping infection, seeping into every grain of wood, making it damp and soggy like the end-products of Shadow's digestive system itself, or like the thousands of rolls of toilet paper that have dissolved inside Shadow's liquidy asscrack. Everything in Tails's house was melting into immeasurably rotten anal slop. Tails's eyes flooded with tears as his hopes of ever meeting Santa were twisted into unending misery.
Meanwhile, the experience of Shadow up above was of a peaceful and unhurried expulsion, devoid of any discomfort. The process of taking a dump of this caliber, though intensely private in all normal cases, was being shared personally with Tails. With each passing moment, and passing gas-pocket, a feeling of relief washed over Shadow, as if his body was shedding the weight of the world's tensions. He gently peeled apart his sludgey asscrack to allow for smoother evacuation. Sticky strings of buttsnot bridged his spherical bum cheeks like extra cheezy mozzarella pizza. But this was cheese you definetly didn't wanna eat...
As the relentless deluge of the foul booty substance continued to pour out of Shadow's ass and through the chimney, Tails found himself trapped in a waking olfactory nightmare. Not even Supersonic could withstand this horrible smell-torture. The once-pristine cottage had been fartfully transformed into a macabre poop dungeon, with the putrid liquids now rising like a malevolent tide, threatening to drown everything in a greasy buttswamp.
The insidious tide pumping from Shadow's demonic anus showed no mercy, filling the house wall-to-wall with the products of his beslimed bumhole. The cottage's interior became a canvas of grotesque patterns as Shadow's assload splashed and sprayed the surfaces, leaving behind a nauseating mosaic of skidmarks. Rooms were quickly filled, wall to wall, with the thick shitslop syrup. Chairs became islands in a river of corn, nuts, and dried fruits as the excrement continued its relentless flood.
The scent of absolute shit filled the air. Tails, now wading through the rising pool of diarrhea, scrambled to salvage belongings and understand the cause of this inhumanely shitulent anal-disaster. The shit flowed with a determined insistence, filling every nook and cranny of the cottage.
The viscous slop, a concoction of varying textures and repulsive shitchunks, pooled around Tails's ankles, filling his socks with the gift of Shadow's shit. Each step through the noxious mire became an arduous struggle, the sludgy substance clinging to his clothes, his skin, and every inch of his being. The stench intensified, a suffocating shart miASSma that permeated the air and invaded his immortal soul.
As the level of the nightmarish concoction continued to rise, it now lapped at Tails's knees, then his waist. Panic set in as he frantically tried to navigate the shrinking space, but the relentless advance Shadow's cascade of rotten turds offered no respite.
It flowed with an almost sentient malevolence, seeking to consume and submerge everything in Shadow's runny beer dump. The reading-room, once a sanctuary, became a grotesque aquatic prison of watery brown diarrhea. Furniture, now barely discernible beneath the surface, dissolved into muck. Tails's struggles grew sluggish, his attempts to stay afloat were futile Shadow's asshole had a few more gallons of rancid poutine to push out, the thought of which he savoured deliciously.
Tails screamed in abject terror. The soundwaves of his shriekes echoed through the chimney, and reverberated against Shadow's thick anus-ring, which was currently in the proccess of gaping open and delivering a particularly rancid oily combination of Japanese KFC and Swedish pudding, packed into a putrid sausage and dangling from sticky strings of anal mucus. Tails's screams felt good against Shadow's strained butthole, they vibrated his mega-flesh-cheerio like a good sextoy, and some of his hollers of anguish even managed to slip up Shadow's hole, when it wasn't stuffed with crap, and Shadow promptly farted the trapped screams right back out. Shadow laughed coldly...
The air in the cottage became an unbreathable blend of decay and death. Tails, now immersed up to his chest, gasped for breath in the claustrophobic atmosphere. He floated along with the half-digested turds from gobbled-up minced pies and Guiness. Every inhalation brought with it the nauseating taste of total ass, and every exhalation seemed to contribute to the rising diarrhea tide.
With the liquid now at neck level, Tails's struggles became pathetically feeble. His home had been invaded and transformed into a chamber of toilet horrors, and the lone figure within it faced the grim inevitability of being swallowed up by the nightmarishly smelly products of Shadow's punishing digestive system. In the chaos of the rising tide, a moment of inadvertent vulnerability led to a horrifying realization--some of the repugnant shit had found its way into Tails's mouth.
A sickening taste invaded his senses, a mind-melding fusion of rancid textures that assaulted his tastebuds with an almost tangible malevolence. The involuntary ingestion triggered an immediate physical response, like the stink vibrated a chord in his body with a thousand viscerally repulsive overtones. The vile concoction clung to the tongue like it had been transported deep into the confines of Shadow's waxy turdcutter, compelled to suck the personal fluids of a juicy deep-fried diaper.
The taste, a wretched medley of slime and gritty fartfunk, defied any conventional description. It was as if the essence of rotting milk and beer had been distilled into a noxious elixir, assaulting the tastebuds with an unspeakable pungency that seemed to linger in his very soul. The once-familiar comforts of taste were replaced by an overpowering bitterness, a perversely acrid reminder of every single delicious meal Shadow had devoured that night and melted into Tails's own personal shart-flavored toothpaste from HELL.
Shadow marveled at the unspoken symbiosis between mind and ass during this sloppy process. The Dark Arms ass, in its alien wisdom, orchestrated a symphony of contractions and releases, each movement contributing to the overall harmony of the dump.
With each involuntary swallow, Tails experienced a wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm them. The putrid concoction left an indelible mark, its repulsive aftertaste lingering like a malevolent specter.
The very act of breathing became labouris, as the toxic flavors permeated his airways, further intensifying the sense of drowning in a horrible swamp of ass.
As the nightmarish scene unfolded, the lone resident grappled not only with the physical ordeal of the rising tide but also with the insidious invasion of their own body by the repugnant substance. The accidental consumption served as a cruel reminder of the surreal and horrifying reality that had taken hold, a taste of despair amidst the suffocating embrace of the nightmarish soup.
Tails gargled the sickly sweet poopudding as his eyes and snout slipped beneath the surface, his last breaths rising up as farty bubbles in the anal pond which had once been his cottage.
The room, now a submerged catacomb of sphinctorial chaos, was Tail's Game Over screen as Shadow's relentless quicksand of asscream teetered off into a small shit trickle. In a poopy tomb, Tails was buried alive.
The thought of what had befallen Tails made Shadow's head feel feverishly hot, in a good way; his glorious cock twitched, jutting up into the cold air and pumping out 15 ounces of sweet and thick jizz-honey, like melted coconut icecream, the only half-way palatable thing to be produced by his ultimate body so far.
Shadow stood up proudly from the chimney, wiped his sweaty brow, wiped his muddy crack with Santa's empty sack of presents, and went home to nurse his oncoming Guiness and sherry hangover...