Lyle wasn’t in a dungeon. While one certainly wouldn’t want to find themselves in a dungeon, the word at least suggested a sort of gravitas; in a dungeon, there would be ancient stone steps, torches lining the walls, a big creepy hooded guard, ghostly wails coming from the cells. Even the word sounded intimidating: dungeon. It sounded like a big metal door slamming shut. You still didn’t want to be in one, but at least it felt like you mattered enough to get put there.

But Lyle, as we already mentioned, wasn’t in a dungeon. He was in the basement of a tavern whose name had changed from the Silver Swan to the Golden Goose, then from the Golden Goose to the Queen Anne, then from the Queen Anne to The Old Shithole That Closed Three Years Ago. It was in the part of town that people didn’t go to unless they had to, and the powers that were decided that tearing down some old building wasn’t worth the risk of getting robbed, raped, shanked, or all three. So it remained standing, of use to no one but those in need of someplace private to conduct their business.

And so Lyle was stuck in its basement, fully naked with his arms bound to a post with thick rope. It was dark, save for a couple of lanterns that provided light in the same way a breadcrumb provided food. It was an unseasonably cold evening, and the elk could see his breath in the stale air of the abandoned tavern. He growled as he tugged at his restraints, but couldn’t find any way to slip out of his bondage.

Distant at first, but gradually louder, Lyle heard footsteps echo in the stairwell. Heavy footfalls, too, so this was someone who was big, pissed off, or both. He couldn’t do much more than watch the entrance to see who the hell it was that put him in this mess to begin with. When he saw a familiar silhouette in the threshold, though, he widened his eyes, staring at it. Her.

“Lyle,” Bryna said, in a voice so saturated with venom it could have killed a lesser man than the elk. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” She walked forward, making her way over to Lyle, letting him get a good look at the woman he had been dreading meeting again. She was impossible to miss-bigger and bulkier than most female charrs, she had the build and personality of an ill-tempered mountain. Bryna had curves (curves that were currently bare, Lyle noted, with some alarm), but instead of softening her edges they just made her look even more imposing. Lyle kicked himself for thinking he could ever double-cross her.

“I think that’s enough pleasantries for now,” the elk responded, trying to keep the quaver out of his voice. “What the fuck do you want, and why the fuck did you need me here to get it?”

Bryna tilted her head, the white-furred charr giving a fanged smirk. “Enough pleasantries? Well, if you insist,” she said. Lyle realized his mistake too late, and over his squawked protests Bryna lifted a massive foot and spiked it down on the elk’s sensitive nuts. Lyle threw his head back, an embarrassingly high-pitched wail escaping as though it was stuck and Bryna’s low blow dislodged it from his throat.

“I think you know exactly why you’re here,” the charr said, her voice never straying from its tense-yet-teasing purr. “Or maybe I’m being too hard on you. For all I know, you could have gotten fucked so hard your mind melted and dripped out of your ears.” Lyle snarled at that shot at his masculinity as Bryna continued. “But just in case something like that happened, I’ll give you a bit of a reminder.” She lifted her foot again, stomping down on Lyle’s stomach this time; as the elk gasped and panted after the wind got knocked out of him, Bryna looked down at him, her green eyes narrowed into pinpricks.

“Does the name Charles Poliquin mean anything to you?”

The panicked look in Lyle’s eyes said it all. Bryna sighed and stomped down on his ribcage, rolling her eyes as the elk howled in pain. “I didn’t break anything, you pussy,” she sneered, before she continued speaking.

“Charles Poliquin,” Bryna said, her voice returning to that low, frighteningly calm tone, “is the craven, dickless, sniveling sack of shit who had my sister killed because he couldn’t bear the thought that she had more military acumen in her little finger than he had in his whole body. He is the filthy coward who sent assassins to her home to kill her and her husband in their sleep because he knew she could take anyone in a fight. He is the slimy little bastard who knew I couldn’t kill him myself without risking another war. And,” she said, interrupting herself by kicking Lyle in the side to make him wince, “he is the man you said I would never see again after I paid you to assassinate him.”

The words came out of Lyle like a dam had burst. “I tracked him across the territory I had him in my sights I just made one mistake he left in the middle of the night I couldn’t find him again he could have gone anywhere I-ERKH!” He was cut off by Bryna pressing the heel of her bare foot upon his neck, slowly bearing down.

“In a way, this is my fault,” she mused, ignoring the sound of the elk choking beneath her. “I should have never taken you at your word. If you had killed him, you would have said so without trying to make a loophole for yourself. But I suppose in my grief I let myself hear what I wanted to hear.” Bryna smiled down at Lyle again. “What kind of man would do something like that? A woman trusts him to avenge the death of her beloved sister, pays him whatever ridiculous rate he asks for, and he skips town without finishing the job. Who would do such a thing?”

She lifted her foot off of Lyle’s throat, and the elk gasped for air once more, wheezing and coughing through his bruised windpipe. “Now, I want you to listen closely,” Bryna said. “Poliquin is staying in Port Olympia for the next week. He won’t be hard to find, and he won’t be hard to isolate. You will travel to Port Olympia first thing next morning, you will find Poliquin, and you will make sure he dies screaming. And you’ll pay me for the privilege.” Bryna rested her foot on Lyle’s chest. “Remember the money you took from me the first time? You’ll pay me double that. How does that sound?”

“You fucking bitch,” Lyle groaned, the ache from Bryna’s various stomps and chokes spreading through his body.

Bryna sighed, and returned her foot to the elk’s balls. Her rough, heavy foot dwarfed Lyle’s nutsack, and from the agony that jolted through the elk he knew that it would take precious little pressure to permanently scramble his eggs.

“Let me rephrase that,” she said. “You’ll do everything I just told you, or whoever finds you will think you tried to fuck a meat grinder.” She leaned her weight on Lyle’s balls, quietly enjoying his screams of pain.

“OW OW OW OW OW OW OW FUCK FUCK OK OK OK STOP!”

The charr lifted her foot up and nodded. “Good,” she said, “you’re not suicidal.” Bryna stepped over the elk, and for the first time since this terrible encounter started Lyle was hit with the brunt of her nakedness. He was too distracted by the existential threat she posed to his genitals to think about it much, but now that it seemed like she was giving his balls a reprieve he had time to consider the implications. He had heard of charrs who liked to be naked when doing especially violent things, but that might have just been because it was easier to clean up the mess that way. Was it a sex thing? He had mixed feelings on that, to say the least. Bryna was far from ugly, and Lyle would be lying if he said he didn’t like women who were so physically imposing. Still, there was the whole matter of nearly grinding his balls into a fine paste to deal with, and based on the look in her eyes he could tell that anything she would do to him wouldn’t be gentle.

He was in the middle of this train of thought when Bryna lifted up one massive foot and placed it right over his face. Her toes rested on his forehead, and she kept her sole lifted up just enough for Lyle to breathe while still making him understand just what was coming his way.

“While I have you here,” Bryna said, “I may as well have fun with you. What do you think?”

Lyle had quite a few thoughts on this, but he couldn’t say any of them when the charr planted her huge foot right on his face and ground down. The elk’s nose was planted right in the middle of her sole, and she wiggled her foot to move his face along with it. She kept that calm, superior expression on her face, as though she was a cat toying with a mouse.

Bryna’s foot wasn’t what you would call “dainty”. For one thing, it was big enough to completely block off Lyle’s face from view (or, indeed, air). For another thing, it was rough from plenty of walking and other sorts of physical activity. Finally, it smelled strongly of the charr; it wasn’t unclean, and it wasn’t vile, but it was thick enough to make the elk’s eyes water. That was, of course, when he got the chance to breathe, which wasn’t often; Bryna seemed to enjoy making him groan and snort for air underneath her.

“You know, you’re not the first one I’ve used like this,” Bryna said, rubbing her foot up and down Lyle’s grimacing face. “But most of them have the good manners to show me proper appreciation for it.” She used two toes to pinch Lyle’s nose, closing up his nostrils just to tease him. “It’s a privilege to be under Miss Bryna. Ask any of the bitches I’ve seen. But it doesn’t seem like you’ve come around yet, have you?”

“Fuck you,” the elk said, although considering that his nose was being pinched between Bryna’s toes it didn’t sound quite as intimidating as he had hoped.

The charr just laughed. “I know what’ll make you fall in love,” she said. She straddled either side of Lyle with her legs, lowering herself down until she sat on the elk’s stomach. Bryna grinned as Lyle grit his teeth, looking for all the world like a boulder had landed on his belly.

The charr put her feet together, resting her heels on the elk’s collarbone, showing off those big, thick soles and plump toes.

“Lick,” she ordered.

Lyle didn’t say anything. He only stared in wordless confusion and anger at the dominant female’s feet, trying to wrestle with the situation he was in. He didn’t want to lick anybody’s feet, let alone the bitch that tied him up in a basement and nearly crushed his balls. The indignity of it all made his blood boil, but the thought of what she could do to his more sensitive areas kept his more violent impulses in check.

Gingerly, with a deep sense of shame, Lyle stuck his tongue out and started to lick up and down Bryna’s feet. He felt the fur bristle along his tongue, tasted the sharp, salty sweat that had accumulated on her soles and toes, and (most unfortunately for him) heard the dominant charr taunt him the whole time.

“And I thought you were fearsome,” she purred, sighing as she felt Lyle’s tongue lick all up and down. “You could take down anybody. That’s what you told me, didn’t you?” She patted Lyle’s cheek with her foot, condescendingly. “If I knew you would be so easy to tie down and make my bitch, I’d have just hired someone else. It would’ve saved us both a lot of trouble, don’t you think?”

Lyle just grumbled, closing his eyes and trying not to think about what he was doing. This was a survival tactic, he told himself; it was something he had to do if he didn’t want to be an anonymous corpse the press would nickname “The Dickless Wonder”. It certainly wasn’t because he wanted Bryna in any way, especially not her feet! As he pressed his nose against her toes and took a long sniff from them, the elk wished he would stop sounding like such an unconvincing liar in his own thoughts.

“Good boy,” Bryna teased, wiggling her toes in Lyle’s face. “I didn’t even have to tell you to do that. Maybe you’re just a natural, huh?” She kept rubbing those colossal feet up and down Lyle’s face, marking his features with her warm, distinctive scent. It made the elk’s nose burn, not because it stank, but because it was such an unfamiliar sensation that he didn’t know what to do with it.

Bryna let the deer sniff and lick at her feet for a little while longer, fully in control of both him and the situation. She reached her hands up to rub at her firm tits, teasing her rosy pink nipples that had grown hard in the chill of the basement air. Then, without warning, she stood up, relieving the pressure on Lyle’s belly and letting the deer gasp for the oxygen that had been slowly pressed out of him by the charr’s considerable bulk.

Before he could enjoy the fresh air for too long, though, Lyle found himself staring at something a little different from Bryna’s feet, but no less distressing. At least her feet weren’t sexual in and of themselves; now, he was face to face (in a way) with Bryna’s tight pink pussy, hovering inches over his mouth. It didn’t smell or anything, thank God, but he was still wondering exactly what she wanted him to do. Lick it? That seemed like a safe bet. The elk stuck his tongue out, extended it towards her slit-

-and quickly realized his mistake. As soon as Lyle opened his mouth to try and eat Bryna’s pussy, a hot, clear stream began to pour from her, draining into the elk’s mouth. It took a second or two for Lyle to register exactly what was happening. What? Is that-no. She couldn’t-oh, FUCK. He gave a gargled cry as Bryna held his head down, fingers curled in his headfur to keep him in place.

“Keep your mouth open,” she growled, “and don’t move.”

His throat was already burning from that sharp ammonia taste, and it was all he could do to keep from spitting it out. But the ever-present threat of Bryna hurting him kept him in line yet again. He opened his mouth, scrunched his eyes shut, and waited for her to piss down his gullet.

When she did, the stream was strong, heavy and merciless. It was a very light yellow, almost clear, so she probably drank a lot of water before this. Was she preparing for this? Lyle didn’t want to think about that-he had enough on his plate trying to deal with the mouthful of sour charr-urine.

“Sour” was an understatement-it tasted terrible, like the cheapest, most watery beer mixed with lye. Tears started to leak from the corners of Lyle’s eyes, just from the potency of the piss that Bryna was force-feeding him. The charr stayed in her squat, as unbothered as though she were pissing alone in the middle of the woods. It was as if the elk wasn’t even there at all.

When her stream tapered off, Lyle’s mouth was filled almost to the brim with the evil-tasting brew. It felt like his teeth were going to be stained yellow by the time he was through. The charr smiled down at him, keeping her fingers laced into his headfur so Lyle couldn’t thrash his head or get away from her, and gave the order.

“Swallow.”

Lyle gave a low moan that just made him gargle. He took in a deep breath through his nose, clenched his fists in his bondage, and-

“HRRRRRKH!”

In attempting to brute-force the load of piss down his throat, Lyle managed to get half of it down the hatch. Unfortunately for the elk, however, the other half fell victim to his own gag reflex, rejected and coughed out in a mist that did nothing but soak his own face in charr piss. Lyle yelped, shutting his eyes before trying to blink them rapidly.

“Fuck fuck fuck it got in my eyes you fucking cunt!” The anger that had been building in Lyle through this whole encounter erupted out with that single syllable at the end-cunt-and hit with a percussive force that startled even himself. Bryna didn’t seem to be at all shaken. Lyle didn’t know if she could even be shaken at all: what would it take? Even on a physical level, she could probably take a charging bull head-on.

“I don’t think that’s very nice of you,” Bryna said, that condescending look still on her face. “If you didn’t want a drink, you should have told me instead of spitting it out.”

Lyle was so flabbergasted he could barely speak. “A drink? You pissed in my mouth, you crazy bitch!”

A slap cracked across his face, like the snap of a whip. “Do you want to try that again?” she asked, a flash of steel in her voice.

“No! What I want is for you to get the fuck off-”

Lyle stopped talking as he watched Bryna stand up straight, smirk down at him, and turn herself around. He started to realize what, exactly, the charr was doing when she began to squat down, and when the realization hit the elk lay perfectly still, staring up at the dominant female’s ass with that odd, quaking mix of wonder and terror.

“I want you to listen to me closely, Lyle,” Bryna said, her voice tense as a beartrap. “I’m going to sit on your face, and when I do you’re going to show me that you’re not a useless sack of shit. You can worship ass, can’t you, boy?” The elk just stared at the charr’s rump with a wide-eyed, almost mesmerized expression.

Bryna was a well-built, athletic woman, but she still had a huge ass. Her thick, wide hips lead to two big, well-defined cheeks, bubbly and hefty and soft with black-and-white fur. Indeed, though other parts of her body were hard, that ass was an oasis of soft, fatty flesh, the sort that you could sink your fingers into if you squeezed it, as though it was a velvet cushion. This was another thing that subs loved her for; the charr spent many a pleasant hour atop a slave’s face, letting him (or her) eat her ass until their tongues were sore.

Lyle wasn’t one of those slaves, though, at least not yet. For the moment, the very sight of that ass was enough to render him speechless in fear. The elk had just choked down a load of Bryna’s piss-who knew what she was going to do next? He took deep, heavy breaths, starting to panic, before the charr finally struck.

The shallow breaths of the elk were cut off completely as Bryna lowered herself down, sitting on Lyle’s face and bringing her legs forward. She hadn’t shown mercy to him all night, and she wasn’t about to start now-if he was going to get her ass in his face, he was going to get it full-weight. The sole of her foot rubbed up and down against Lyle’s exposed stomach, the charr smiling. “I don’t feel your tongue yet,” she said, giving just a bit of a press down to hint at him what she could do if he continued to displease her.

Lyle took the hint. In what little room he had in between the constant downward pressure of her ass and his mouth, the elk opened up and stuck his tongue out, extending it towards Bryna’s ass crack and groaning as he started to lick up and down that salty, sweaty crevice. He flinched and whined at the taste, but it was what he had to do if he wanted to stay on the charr’s good side (or at least, the not-murdered-by-Bryna side).

More than even the taste, there was the smell. It wasn’t unclean-Bryna was no slob, even if she was on the rugged side as females went-but it was thick and dense and impossible for poor Lyle to avoid. It had the salty-spicy scent of sweat, the earthy scent of feminine musk, and that bitter, ever-so-slightly sour scent of something deeper within the charr’s bowels. But Lyle didn’t have to think about that right now-he had a job to do, and he was going to do it for as long as Bryna told him to (lest the aforementioned murderous side come roaring back with a vengeance).

He took in as many sniffs as he could of the musk-tainted air, groaning and sputtering in disgust as he did so. Lyle couldn’t afford to be picky about the air quality when pinned beneath the sadistic charr, and as long as it kept him from passing out he took as much as he could get. He locked his lips around that tight, puckered asshole, giving a kiss that started as a dry peck before turning into a wet, eager show of appreciation. The elk’s lips popped as he set to work worshiping Bryna’s rear, suckling and snuffling deeper into that heavy, furry ass crack.

“Your tongue feels awful good, you know,” Bryna teased, reaching her hands back and spreading those thick, jiggly cheeks so the tight pink pucker was fully exposed for Lyle to worship. “You sure you haven’t had any practice, boy? Maybe you’re just a secret ass slut and you want to keep it a secret. Is that it?” Lyle couldn’t answer that question even if he wanted to; all he could really do was keep his nose to the grindstone (or, indeed, the asshole).

After a few minutes, Lyle found himself lulled into a certain sense of security; not that he was completely happy about the situation he found himself in, but he was starting to get used to the warm weight pressing down on his face and the thick, feminine taste on his tongue. His breath, previously choked and sullied by that heavy, heady ass-scent, was even and controlled, letting him focus on the task at hand. The wet sound of tongue against asshole was all that could be heard from beneath the charr-for a while, at least.

Then, Bryna decided to make Lyle’s life hell.

Bllllrrrrrrt. It was a low, rumbling little squelch, soft enough that you wouldn’t be able to hear it if you were more than five feet away. And yet, that little sound made Lyle’s eyes shoot wide with horror, and when the full brunt of it hit him he quite literally screamed into Bryna’s ass.

“GMMMMRRRRRRRPH!”

Bryna had farted in his face. The act itself-the very idea that the assassin would be brought so low by this sadistic bitch-was frightening enough to Lyle, but the smell was something that would haunt him for a long time afterwards. It was fucking disgusting-dense, sickeningly rich meat digested and filtered through the dominant charr’s colon, and blasted out right into his face, so wet and humid that it felt like it left a stain on his nose. And the heat! It felt like someone had taken bottles of some tropical hot sauce and emptied them into his nostrils. Lyle thrashed his head from side to side, gagging and choking.

Bryna just rolled her eyes. “Oh, you big crybaby,” she huffed, reaching her hand back to grab Lyle by his headfur and position him to face that colossal rump of hers. “Keep going. If you’re going to let a little thing like that stop you, then you’re even weaker than I thought.”

Lyle swallowed and clenched his fists, trying to keep the woozy sensation that that horrible blast had given him at bay. He wasn’t in any position to fight her, after all. And so, with his eyes shut, he raised his head back up to Bryna’s ass crack, starting to kiss and sniff and lick anew.

The elk tried his very best to zone out, to focus on the charr’s big, smothering ass and lull himself into the focused state he was in before Bryna farted on him. And sometimes, he could-he could give a big wet kiss to that asshole and feel like he was just giving a normal rimjob, or take deep, worshipful sniffs of her rich, womanly scent. But Bryna wasn’t willing to make it that easy on him.

Blllrrrrrrmpt. Frrrrrmmmmmfp. Thrrrrrrrcht. Just when Lyle found himself getting secure, Bryna’s asshole would blurt open and bombard his face with the most evil stench the elk had ever smelled in his life. The charr was a carnivore, which meant that her gut churned up nothing but dense, heavy meats to sustain her-and everyone knew that an all-meat diet made for the most diabolical gas imaginable.

What made it worse was that Bryna completely ignored him while she sat on his face. She didn’t talk dirty, didn’t tease him, didn’t even try and abuse his cock-all she did was sit and torture him with her massive, smothering ass.

Blrrrrrrrrlllllt. Lyle gave a dry, raspy cough, as though he was trapped in a burning building. He whimpered; Bryna didn’t care.

Frraaaaaaapt. Lyle choked like he had gotten a mouth full of mud. His eyes watered from the deep, swampy stench, and his stomach was turning. Bryna spread her cheeks and fed him another fart.

Grrrrrrgllllrrrch. Lyle gave a high-pitched squeal before cutting himself off with a sickened belch. The elk took deep breaths to steady himself; he didn’t want to lose control and throw up, but he was so violently disgusted that he didn’t know how much more he could take.

It would be one thing if he could get a single breath of fresh air, but that was almost impossible; Bryna’s ass was simply too thick and too wide to allow any pockets of clean air to come through. And it would be another thing if Bryna actually acknowledged his presence in any way, humiliating as it may be; the fact that she was using him as nothing more than an object made the whole thing even worse. It felt like there was an ever-expanding cloud in his head, and it made him feel fainter and fainter.

Right when Lyle felt like he was about to pass out, Bryna lifted herself off of his face. It was just enough to let the elk get fresh air, but Lyle took full advantage of it, panting and gasping and gulping down as much clean, cool air as he could. He tried to say something to Bryna, but he could barely get a word in between his own hyperventilating.

“You-” he managed, before coughing. “You fu-” He leaned his head back, eyes shut, trying to keep from passing out again. “You fucking-” He was interrupted, not by his own need for air, but by Bryna.

“Open your mouth.”

Lyle coughed again. “H-huh?”

“You heard me.” She lowered her hand to get the elk into position, her rough treatment letting Lyle know what he was going to deal with if he refused. Grudgingly, Lyle opened his mouth, not sure where this was going but not particularly keen to find out. He watched as Bryna lowered herself down again, positioning her asshole right above that open mouth, before-

It happened too quickly for Lyle to register at first. He heard a soft, wet fart, short and thick, and then he felt something hot and slimy fall into his mouth. By the time he registered the taste, bitter and spicy and filthy, his mouth was filled with a wet blaaaaat!, wet, crackling mounds coiling in his mouth and filling it to the brim. It all happened within a few seconds, and then Lyle realized what happened.

A strangled, high-pitched cry filled the air, humiliated and horrified, as the elk realized that Bryna took a big, creamy shit in his mouth. He panicked, his cries sharpening into whiny little yelps, wriggling in his bondage as he shrieked through his mouthful of nasty charr shit.

Bryna smirked down at him as she watched this pathetic display, leaning in and giving a short, clear order.

“Eat.”

It wasn’t an easy process. As Lyle felt his teeth sink into the horrid mass of shit, he had to keep himself from throwing up. The taste alone was enough to scar someone, tasting like tar and old meat and a puddle of mud. He chewed slowly, trying to work it all down bit by bit, his eyes wide and watery.

The whole time, Bryna stared at him, with those intense, piercing green eyes of hers. The charr looked every bit the huntress she was; even if he wasn’t choking down a load of her dung, Lyle would have felt like little more than prey in her eyes.

As Lyle, dejected and humiliated, wetly chewed through his mouthful, he regretted the day he ever crossed Bryna.

---

“Good morning, Lyle.”

“Mmmmmmf.”

“Did you sleep well? You’ve got a busy week ahead of you.”

“Mrrrrmmmmf.”

“Good, good. Hope you don’t mind the gag, by the way, I didn’t want you throwing up.”

“Mrrrhrrrhrrrrf!”

“Hmmm? Well, I suppose you could have choked on your own puke with the gag in. But you didn’t, did you?”

“Fhhhrrrmmmgh.”

“Right. Now, let’s go over a few things, shall we?”

“Mrr-mmrrrrgh! MMMMF!”

“What’s the matter?”

“HRRRRRRRMMMMGH!”

“Oh, the knife against your nutsack? That’s just a bit of encouragement. Now, you already know what you have to do, so I won’t waste time going over it again. But I’ll tell you that you have a week to do it-no more, no less.”

“Mmrrff...mmf!”

“And if, like last time, you can’t finish the job...well, do you remember what I did to you before I let you sleep last night?”

“Glllkh.”

“Well, that’d be your new life. Nothing but mouthfuls of shit and piss for the rest of your days. But I wouldn’t be completely without mercy.”

“Mhmf.”

“Before I’d turn you into a full-time toilet, I’d give you a last meal; something for you to eat before you’d go on...well, your new diet.”

“Mmmmm?”

“Oh? You want to know what it is? Well, what am I holding my knife against?”

“...”

“That’s right. Now, are you ready to get the job done, boy?”

“...”

“I thought so.”