Musy Rumps

This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.

Please note that all characters are clearly over eighteen and written as such in all stories.

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The blue jackal whined and whimpered as he was locked into the stocks, though what it was that his crime was... Well, he didn't quite know. Res just had a certain kind of knack for getting himself into sticky situations, one way or another, and that was that, just the way it was for him. Maybe, in another life, or early on in his, he'd been cursed, though the truth of the matter was far more insidious than even that.

"Come on, please, guys," he pleaded, even as a bigger, stronger German Shepherd lady locked him in, her muzzle clamped shut, though her eyes danced with glee. "Let me go, I've not done anything... I don't want any trouble."

"Ohhh, you want to go, do you?"

She smirked and tapped the side of her muzzle, but she was not about to let someone go when they had trapped a kinky little butt-sniffer in their stocks. It was what he'd been caught doing, after all, sniffing underwear while sorting the laundry at his workplace. So, he'd "like" what they had planned for him...

Res, however, had only been doing the laundry and most certainly not sniffing any underwear while on that weekend gig. Truly, it had not been his thing to sort laundry from rich folk at the gym: who had ever heard of just having clothes only at a posh fitness centre to work out in? It was weird... It was a different way of living in single use that he was not familiar with and honestly never wanted to, as hot as some of the clientele looked, especially the horses, when they were working out. They had to do something, he supposed, to fill their days when they didn't have to work for a living...

"Use him as you please, ladies and gentlefurs!"

What? Use him how? He didn't want to think about it, but the stocks were on a staging area in the grounds of the health centre and leisure club, though there were more there than the rich furs that he'd seen using the facilities. And what there were surrounding him, not far from their facilities, were a lot of horses.

He whimpered, tail tucking down. That wasn't good, wasn't good at all, something rising in him as a stallion backed right up to him, shoving his arse in his face. It was abrupt and it was stark and he really should not have felt all that blood rush to his crotch as he whined.

"Nooo..."

"Get all in there, I heard you like this."

Dimly, he thought that that palomino stallion may have been one of the coaches, but no amount of holding his breath against his better will and desire could stop Res from not taking in the horse's musk. He wanted to and didn't want to, both at the same time, for their backsides were thickly muscled and alluring...

He moaned... Yes... But no... But yes... All kinds of horses crowded in, but they were all wearing thin clothing so that the shape of their rears were exposed, everything on show.

Their sweat clung to him like a second skin as the jackal tried to shake his head to clear it. It was wrong, it shouldn't have turned him on, but they had unknowingly stumbled on what really did turn him on, far more than sniffing any underwear ever would have. For it was their fresh sweat and lingering, teasing, light musk that had his little cock hard and, well, attempting to tent out the front of his shorts. Truth be told, his little prick was so small that it could not be seen at all, blessedly hiding his arousal even as his own body-shamed him in another way.

The sun shining down could not have contrasted the situation more, stallions, mares and more alike shoving their buttocks in his face, tails falling over his head. It shielded him from view, though he sweated lightly through his own clothes, trying to keep his tongue inside his muzzle even though it wanted to spill out as he moaned and shuddered in place.

"He likes it..."

"Dirty boi!"

They were dirty, not him, he wanted to say, but they were quite right in saying that he guiltily loved it. How their sweat wrapped around him, a sensual feel, a taste on his lips, the musk of their buttocks, under-tails and inner thighs exquisite. If he had been free to enjoy them, perhaps as a partner, he would have spent time lapping luxuriously, savouring it, though it was humiliating still, burning his cheeks and neck, to be so exposed in a kink out in public.

It was something for private, at least for him, something to be taken care of gently, not treated so crudely and roughly. Still, he gasped, moaning out loud, languishing in their scent, his nose constantly twitching as it moistened. He bore up into the stocks, but, even then, Res could not have said whether he was trying to get more or less of their scent as every last one of the horses rocked against his muzzle. They swapped out frequently, so that he could never be sure whether he was squashed up against a black or a bay or a palomino or a grey, one colour blurring into the next, though the musk of the stallions and how it clung to their sweaty nuts was something that would always set them apart from the others.

"Get a good sniff in there, boi."

"Come on now, don't be shy!"

"Ooooh, he's a kinky one, isn't he?"

"So naughty..."

"Not for much longer!"

For it was not a reward to him, but a punishment, even though Res did not know it quite yet. In a sense, he had thought that he had gotten off quite lightly (from the crime that he had not committed) when things escalated. It was not swift but a slow grind. The first thing that he noticed was that the scent of sweat was heavier around him, as if it was cloying and trying to work its way deeper into his lungs. That was not so much something that bothered him, but it was how it lingered, how it seemed stronger, forcing its way up into his system.

His stomach twisted. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

For there was no more light sweat and musk, no more of a tease to tantalise his senses, his muzzle damp as a bare-buttocked mare laughed and ground her very obviously sweaty backside up against his muzzle.

"Get in there, love," she cooed, though there was a dark edge to her tone. "Got in a nice, hard workout just for you."

He could tell, coughing, shaking his head, rattling the stocks as he fought. They didn't even notice him struggling as more and more musky equines crowded in, treating him as a toy to be used, for he was there for their entertainment, of course. If he was there to entertain them, why should they not take advantage of him? It was only fair...

But Res didn't think that it was very fair at all as he was enveloped by their scent, the biggest, muskiest stallion yet laughing as he practically sat on the jackal's face.

"What's the matter, not good enough for you right from the source?"

Res hacked and gagged but there was no escape to be had from the sweat pouring over him, dripping onto his muzzle, the old, ranker musk of the big stallion, who perhaps had not showered especially for him, clinging to him. He writhed and twisted, bearing his neck into the stocks, but not even clenching and wrenching with his paws got him anywhere, nothing except a bruise. He could have hurt himself further, yet they were not going to let him out anytime soon, though the jackal hated the thought of wondering exactly when they were going to let him out at all.

Were they going to let him out? He gasped and heaved, another smaller rump, belonging to a dainty mare with a truly wicked grin on her muzzle, pushed into his nose, swamping him. What if they never let him out? What if he was trapped in there forever? Forever forced to sniff and please sweaty rump after rump, just as their toy, forevermore...

The jackal's natural submissiveness pulled at him, yet it was not enough to overrule how he truly felt about it, how his guts rolled, even his cock softening, though he was not drowned in musk enough for it to retract all the way into its sheath. It hardly made a dent in his underwear anyway, too weak to even leave a wet spot, his chest heaving, eyes streaming, too much musk swarming around him as if it was so strong that it had taken on a life force of its own.

Yet different notes of musk presented themselves in the thicker aromas, as reeky and as pungent as they were. With equines, there was something earthier about them than other species, a guilty part of him wanting to sniff, even though he knew too that it would be beyond what he wanted, that his cravings did not match up at all to the reality of the situation. No, he liked the light crispness of fresh sweat and musk, what was just about sinking into one's fur, or perhaps had lightly been generated after a day of walking, no more than that. The animalistic intoxicating of richly overpowering musk that poured into the back of his throat and had him gagging, crotch throbbing with blood in all the wrong places, was not his speed, no, not at all.

Yet it was where he was forced to lie as the afternoon (he thought it was still afternoon, at least) wore on. He could not tell one horse from the next, but he was very dimly aware that new horses were crowding in, someone overseeing, encouraging and shouting at them to squeezing and grind their nicely sweaty rumps up against his muzzle.

"Don't be shy, ponies! This butt sniffer deserves every one of your rumps!"

The German Shepherd lady must have changed out at some point, yet the round fleshiness of a mare's large rump pressed onto his nose, though he swore there was some tarter, thicker arousal there. It was overwhelmed, however, by her musk, so heady and pungent that it reminded him of thick woodland -- only that the scent of it had been dialled up to one hundred, nothing natural and fragrantly sweet about it.

But what was he to do about it as his fight slipped from him, more and more, moment by moment. He was there to please, to serve, to be a dirty little butt sniffer, humiliated and locked in his place by force for them all to enjoy. Res might have whimpered and pleaded still for release, but it was not as if any of his pleas were vocalised, knowing that he was there until they were done with him. It was better, at least for him, if he accepted it right there and then, so that he didn't have to face more trials later on.

That was not for the musky jackal to decide, however, as they transferred their reek to him, his nose twitching, moist and taking in every scent that was forced onto him. He had to keep sniffing and sniffing, helpless before the horses, no matter how much breath he tried to take in through his mouth instead. It was as if they already knew exactly where their weak spots were and exploited them, drowning them in musky earthiness, making it so that the memory of their scent would never again be missed.

For the jackal would forever be drowning in it, gasping for a single breath of fresh, clean air, whimpering, whining, though his little cock throbbed. A part of him would love it while the rest would be repulsed, the raw need of the equines coming above all else as he was punished and humiliated in the stocks.

They wouldn't be done with the little butt sniffing jackal for a long while yet...