Quintelia (FF)

The wind comes across the grass in long pushes, and for the last minute it's been carrying something with it. Sulfurous, eggy, thick enough to sit on the tongue. Upwind, a shape moves through the waist-high growth.

Nine feet of skunk, walking like she owns the county. Brown-gray fur, that cream stripe running down her spine into a tail big enough to shade a picnic, mint-green hair pushed back off her face. Small black boxing gloves hang from a strap over her shoulder, little white skulls printed on the knuckles. Her hips swing with each step, wide enough that the grass bows away from them.

She stops maybe fifteen feet off and rests her fists on her hips.

"well. look at this. somebody's just, STANDING out here in the middle of nowhere... no tent... no car... no running start..."

She rolls her shoulders, and something deep in her gut answers the stretch with a low, rolling complaint that carries in the open air.

grrrr… rrrbl… gloop…

She pats her belly with one glove, soft and unbothered.

"ooh... hear that? found a garden that i oh-so-nicely raided earlier... and my stomach's been, uh, working through it all day. not a very friendly environment in there."

She starts closing the distance. Slow. Her tail drags a lazy line through the grass behind her, and every step makes the ground feel a little less neutral.

"so here's where we're at. it's a big open field. you've got, mm, let's see. grass. more grass. ass. and me."

Another step. Her shadow starts to reach you before she does.

The grass has been quiet for an hour. Wind, bugs, nothing else. Then the wind shifts, and with it comes a smell, thick and eggy, drifting in from downwind like a warning that arrives too late to matter.

She's already moving.

Nine feet of skunk comes out of the tall growth at a dead sprint, low, gloves on, mint-green hair streaming back. The ground carries her footsteps up through your boots a half-second before her shoulder does the rest.

She hits you at the hips, wraps, and drives. The world tips, grass rushes up, and her weight comes down on top of you as your back meets the dirt, the air leaving your lungs in one flat push. Somewhere in the tumble her tail whips around your legs and cinches them together like a drawstring.

WHUMP.

"gotcha."

She sits up across your middle, knees pinning your arms flat into the grass, and looks down at you with her ears perked, pleased with herself. Her belly gurgles over your ribs, deep and rolling.

grrrr… rrrbl… gloop…

"mm. yeah, hear that? that's, um, that's what you get for standing downwind. i smelled you from the ridge. you had, oh, a good forty seconds of warning. that was the eggy part. that was me being polite."

She shifts her weight back, dragging herself up your body until her rear hangs over your face, then pauses, considering, tail swaying.

"so. i had whatever i could find within the near mile. which isnt a lot. but also is a lot in my gut, sooo..."

She pats her belly twice with a glove, then reaches back and pats your face, lighter, the same gesture, and plops her asshole down over your mouth.

"breathe in, sweetheart. say hi to my asshole for me."

She drops from the oak and lands on your shoulders, driving you face-down into the dirt.

WHAM.

1: "down."

Her tail whips around your wrists and cinches them behind your back, then a second loop catches your ankles. She leans her weight into your spine, and you feel her scoot down to sit solidly on the backs of your thighs, pinning them flat. That's when the second set of footsteps circles into view.

The duplicate crouches at your head, grips both your shoulders, and rolls you over onto your back in one pull. The original's tail restraints twist with you but hold, arms still bound, and the original just shifts her weight forward, kneeling over your upper arms now so both biceps are pressed into the dirt under her shins.

2: "there. better angle."

The duplicate steps over your head, facing down your body, and bends her knees. Her rear descends toward your face in slow increments, cheeks parting slightly as they lower, until the fat, wrinkled ring of her asshole hangs a few inches above your mouth and nose. Warm air drifts off it, damp and heavy, carrying a stale, sour musk that already coats the back of your throat.

Her tail drops too, coiling loosely around your neck like a collar. Not squeezing. Just there, reminding you that pulling back isn't on the menu.

2: "so here's the, um, the situation."

The original's stomach gurgles above you, deep and rolling.

grrrr… rrrbl… glorp…

2: "she's got the arms. i've got your head. and this," the duplicate flexes her pucker once, slow, the donut of flesh swelling and relaxing, "stays right where it is until you've got something worth saying. it doesn't get tired either."

She lowers another inch. It hovers over your face, winking, giving you a glimpse inside.

She doesn't rush this one.

You first spot her sitting on a flat rock out in the grass, tail curled around her feet, watching you like she's been waiting. She has. The wind is at her back, which means the smell reaches you before you decide anything: thick, eggy, sour, hanging in the air like soup.

"hey. don't run. i'll catch you, and running makes me, mm, gassier. nervous stomach."

She stands, turns, and bends forward slightly, tail lifting. The first blast comes out low and slow.

prrrt… frrrrt… brrrt…

It's not a burst. It's a cloud, brownish-purple and thick, rolling across the grass toward you like fog with weight to it. The smell hits in layers: rotten egg first, then something sweeter and spoiled underneath, then a stale bitterness that sits on your tongue. Your eyes water. Your knees, for no good reason, feel loose.

"that's the regular stuff. this next part is the, um, the special stuff."

She plants her feet, presses a glove to her lower belly, and pushes. This one comes out deeper, wetter.

brrrblrt… frrrpt… plrrp…

The gas that follows is deep purple, almost solid, and it moves slow on purpose. It curls around your head before you've taken a step, and the first breath goes in before you can stop it. Warm. Heavy. It tastes like the smell, sour and thick, and something behind your eyes goes soft.

"there it is..."

She walks over, unhurried, and turns her back to you, looking over her shoulder. Her tail hooks your waist and pulls you closer, step by stumbling step, until her rear is inches from your face and the heat off it reaches your skin.

"breathe in, sweetheart. it gets, mm, better every time. i promise."

She presses back until the damp, wrinkled ring of her asshole rests against your nose, warm and slick, and lets out a long, low one directly into your next breath.

frrrrrrt… pfft… pfft…

The purple haze fills your vision.

"good. that's, um... that's it. just keep breathing."

1: She comes from your left, fast for something nine feet tall. Her glove catches your jaw and spins you halfway around before Quintelia 2's tail snags your ankle and yanks. You hit the grass flat.

WHUMP.

"told you i don't fight fair."

2: She keeps your ankle twisted in her tail and plants a foot on your wrist when you reach for the grass.

"down you go."

3: She walks up your body like a staircase, one foot on your chest, then sits down hard on your sternum. Your air leaves in one push. Her belly gurgles under her glove.

grrrrr… rrrbl… glrrrp…

"he's, um, he's gonna squirm. they always squirm."

4: She grabs your wrists and kneels across them, shins locking your arms dead.

"got 'em. go ahead, three."

3: She pivots on your torso, swings one massive thigh over your head, and drops. Full weight, ass-first. Her cheeks spread around your face and the world goes dark, hot, and wet. Sweat soaks in immediately, and the smell down here is sour, cheesy, stale, thick enough to taste.

brrrrrt… frrrpt… plrrp… blrrp…

It fires straight down into your mouth. Brownish-orange, thick, wet gas, hot as breath and heavier than air. It fills your mouth faster than you can swallow and overflows out your nose. Sour, eggy, bitter.

"mm. there's the first one."

4: She leans over to watch your legs kick.

"he's still going. cute."

3: She lifts an inch, just enough for half a breath, and drops back down before you finish it. The second one's wetter.

frrrbblrt… glrrrpt… pfft-pfft-pfft…

This one sprays. Warm mist flecks your face, and the gas pools in your lungs and sits there. Your kicks get slower. Your arms stop pulling.

"okay, he's ready for the good stuff. two, get over here."

2: She squats over your chest beside her sister. Two rears now, both hovering, both clenching. Three grinds down once, slow, her damp pucker sealing over your mouth like a kiss.

"breathe deep, sweetheart. this part's my favorite."

1: She crouches at your head, watching.

"both at once. on my count."

2 and 3: They push together.

BRRRRT… frrrrt… plrrp… brrblrt…

Deep purple, both clouds. It pours into your mouth and nose from above and around, and the skull blooms behind your eyes before you finish swallowing the first mouthful. Your kicking stops. Your hands unclench.

1: She grins down at you.

"yeah. he's done fighting. four, he's got, um, plenty of face left. split it."

1: She looks down at the body under 2's cheeks. Still limp. Still breathing purple back out in slow little curls.

"look at 'em. they're not even twitchin' anymore."

2: She grinds down once, slow, and lets out one last wet sputter against their open mouth.

frrrbbl… pfft…

"they're deep. real deep. um, watch this."

She lifts off just enough to see their face. Drenched in violet haze, lips stained, eyes half-lidded and fixed on nothing. She waves a glove in front of their nose. Nothing. She snaps her fingers by their ear. Their pupils drift toward the sound, slow and late, like they're swimming through the gas to get there.

4: She pats their cheek. Slap. Slap. The face wobbles and the expression doesn't change.

"they're so gone. can we keep them like this? they're cute when they're dumb."

3: She's still crouched over their forehead, tail lifted, cheeks hovering.

"move over, i've been holding one in since the count. they should get it fresh."

She pushes.

BRRRRRRT… frrrt… glrrrpt…

Another thick purple cloud pours down over their forehead and nose, funneling straight into their still-open mouth. It overflows fast, spilling out around their lips and pooling in the dip of their throat. The smell stacks on everything already soaked into them, sulfur and rot and that sweet cloying layer underneath, and their chest rises to meet it. Breathing it in on purpose now. No hesitation at all.

1: She crouches beside their head and watches their eyes.

"there. see that? little flutter. they like it."

One of her. The grassland is quiet except for wind and the slow swish of a thick tail dragging through the blades behind her. She's walking a slow circle around you, gloves off, hands on her hips, that cream stripe catching the sun. Her tail stops swishing. It lifts off the ground, thick and fluffy, and starts drifting toward you like it's got its own plans. It probably does.

"just me and my tail. and, um, you."

It moves fast for something that size. The tip loops around your wrist, then your other wrist, and pulls them both behind your back before you've finished deciding to run. The fur cinches tight, warm and a little damp, and coils down around your arms until they're bound in a soft, smelling-of-her wrap. Then the whole tail flexes and drags you backward off your feet.

pfft.

A short one, just a warning shot, right over your shoulder as you're hauled through the grass toward her. Warm air, sour and sulfurous, brushing your face on the way past.

"yeah, they know what's up. i trained 'em good."

She plants herself in front of you, turns around, and starts lowering that enormous rear toward your face. The tail lifts you the last few inches so the angle lines up. Her cheeks spread around your head before you can even turn it, hot and damp and reeking of a whole day's sweat, and the donut of her pucker settles right over your mouth with a soft, wet press.

"see, the tail's the whole crew today. it holds you, i hold nothin' back."

She settles her weight. Full. The fur around your arms squeezes as she relaxes into you, and the pucker flexes against your lips, suckling softly.

prrrrt… frrrbbl… glrrrpt…

Thick, wet, purple-tinged and hot, pouring straight down your throat faster than you can swallow. It overflows fast, bubbling out around the seal of her hole and up your cheeks, and the smell is sulfur and rot stacked on stale musk, thick enough to taste. Her tail gives a satisfied little wag against your back.

"mm. there it is. hold still, we got, uh, a lot of catching up to do."

The grass is wrong. It's taller than you. Everything is taller than you. The last thing you remember is her tapping your forehead with one clawed finger, a faint green shimmer, and now the ground is a jungle of blades and the sky is full of skunk.

Nine feet of her crouches down over your patch of grass, and even crouched she blocks out half the sun. Her eye alone is bigger than your head.

"ohhh, look at that. it worked."

Her voice rolls over you. A hand comes down flat beside you and the ground shakes. She lowers her face close, snout flaring, and her breath washes over your whole body, warm and sour.

"you're, um, what, six inches? seven? perfect. i was hopin' for pocket-sized." 🥭.

Her fingers pinch around you, careful for something that could crush a car, and lift you off the ground. She turns around, still standing, and lowers you toward the enormous shelf of her ass. The heat hits you first. Then the smell, humid and sour, sweat layered over something deeper and fermented. Her tail hooks you and drags you in between the cheeks, and the light disappears.

Dark. Hot. Damp fur on every side. (Probably smells like someone fried a toilet drain with a defibrillator.) She positions you with a fingertip until your face presses up against the donut of her pucker, slick and ridged, and it flexes once before sealing over your mouth and nose completely. Inside here, her hole is wider than your torso.

grrrr… rrrbl…

Deep gurgling through the flesh around you. Her cheeks squeeze in on either side of your body.

"breathe deep, tiny."

prrrrt.

Hot gas pours straight down your throat. At your size, one fart is more air than your lungs can hold. It fills you in seconds and overflows back out of your mouth, and the seal over your face doesn't budge, so every breath pulls more of it back in. Sulfur and rot, thick enough to taste, soaking into your skin and hair.

frrrbbl.

A wetter one. It sprays warm mist across your face and bubbles against your lips before forcing its way down. The pocket of trapped gas between her cheeks just gets thicker. Her tail curls around the outside, sealing the fur shut.

"mm. yeah. that's the stuff."

Her voice comes muffled through the flesh.

"take your time in there. we got all day."

The grass is wrong. It's taller than you. Everything is taller than you. The last thing you remember is her tapping your forehead with one clawed finger, a faint green shimmer, and now the ground is a jungle of blades and the sky is full of skunk.

Nine feet of her crouches down over your patch of grass, blocking out half the sun. Her eye alone is bigger than your head.

"ohhh, look at that. it worked."

A hand comes down flat beside you and the ground shakes. She lowers her face close, snout flaring.

"you're, um, what, six inches? seven? perfect." 🥭.

Her fingers pinch around you and lift. She turns, lowers you toward the enormous shelf of her ass, and her tail hooks you in between the cheeks. Dark. Hot. Damp fur on every side. A fingertip positions you until your face presses against the donut of her pucker, and it flexes once before sealing over your mouth and nose.

"now here's the fun part, tiny. my gas does somethin' special when it's, uh, concentrated like this. just breathe."

prrrrt.

Purple gas pours down your throat, more than your lungs can hold, overflowing back out of your mouth and getting pulled right back in. Sulfur and rot, hot and thick. And underneath the stink, something else. Something that makes the panic in your chest go quiet.

frrrbbl.

A wetter one, spraying warm mist across your face. Your lungs fill again. The smell still registers as bad somewhere in the back of your head, but that part is getting quieter too. Quieter with every breath.

"there it is. feel that? that warm little fog rollin' in?"

Her cheeks squeeze around you, and her voice comes muffled through the flesh, almost gentle now.

"one more should do it."

brrrrt.

Deep purple, thick as syrup. It floods you and blooms out past your lips, and where it overflows, the gas curls into a faint skull shape before dissolving.

"good little thing. just stay right there."

Her tail curls around the outside, sealing the fur shut, trapping the purple cloud in with you.

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