The past several days had been very busy for Bruce. He had trekked the Gorith forest and their hills resolutely, going off what little direction he had. He brought enough food and supplies to last him the first few days of his journey. From there he had to rely entirely on the land around him, foraging for whatever he could get his paws on. The Gorith forest was renowned for its isolation. Dozens of square miles of nothing but densely packed trees occasionally lifted into the air by the swell of hills. It was a place rife with unique geography and flora, mostly gone undocumented by civilization. Of course, the forest’s dreadful isolation and chaotic topography meant very few people ever had the gumption to go and discover them, not that it was what brought Bruce there.

He was a spotted hyena, built well for carrying heavy loads over copious distances. His shoulders were incredibly stocky, a theme that carried down to his arms and legs. His hair was blonde and naturally spiky between his two perky, brown ears. Though his face and snout were heavy set, he had a pair of sky-blue eyes that reflected both warm kindness and keen intellect. He wore a loose white tunic and a pair of baggy brown stockings, both made of a soft wool. On his feet were heavy boots, sturdily built for long treks like the one he was on now. He carried a massive travel sack on his back, laden with camp gear and navigation tools. It had grown conspicuously lighter once the food ran thin, then heavy once more as he felt the tug of exhaustion on his muscles. The journey’s hardships were well written on his clothes. Scratches, dirt marks, and grass stains covered him, but did not deter him. He was out looking for something, and he was going to find out whether it existed or not.

For years now a rumor had been growing into something of a folktale among the people of Bruce’s village. A few cases of stolen goods, missing children, burnt crops, and long droughts made imaginations go wild. Nobody knew who mentioned it first, nor would anyone fess up to concocting the legend, but soon it was on everyone’s lips: The Skunk Witch of Gorith. She was the one who stole the goods. She was the one who snatched children in the night. She burnt the crops. She cursed the weather and shooed away the rain. Soon she was the scapegoat everyone referred to. Stroke of bad luck? The witch probably cursed you. Kids misbehaving? Threaten them that the witch would carry them off in a sack that night. Lost something? The witch took it. She had become folklore as well as taboo, a sort of bogeyman worthy of fear and scorn. She was an easy target, given nobody had ever seen her. Everyone had their own idea of her, but the consensus was that she was a wiry-furred old hag with a crooked nose, a hairy wart on her cheek, a hunched back, and knobby old fingers tipped by cracked claws.

But that was simply their imaginations. Nobody had ever seen her nor presented proof of her existence. Everyone knew somebody who had seen her, but was never the person who had. Those who were referred to either lived in another village or were a long dead relative. Regardless, hardly anyone doubted her existence. She was an accepted blight on life, just like mosquitos or hunger. So everyone did what they could to make sure the Skunk Witch of Gorith was never upset, lest she take it out on them by stealing or burning something of theirs. Nobody went into her forest, her territory, unless they wanted a nasty curse on their heads.

Bruce wasn’t so superstitious. He was the first person in a very long time to question the veracity of the witch’s existence. He asked everyone he knew for concrete evidence, but nobody had anything. Curiosity got the better of him. He wanted to see her, and if she didn’t exist, prove it by walking through the Gorith forest and return unscathed. He brought it up to his friends and family. Most warned him against such folly, others dared him to do it. Hardly either side swayed him more than the other. He had put his mind to something. He was going to do it. He prepared for the trek and set out with hardly any fanfare, which he approved of. He sincerely doubted that he was going to run into anything while he was in there. He would scour the forest through and through, come back, then tell everyone what he did or didn’t see.

A week into navigating the forest he started growing bored. The forest wasn’t offering anything special or new. He saw some peculiar flowers and came across a gurgling stream, both of which he sketched into his notebook. That was about the extent of his excitement. He ended every day setting up camp and telling himself the next day he would encounter something new. Every day he didn’t made it harder to convince himself that night.

That was until the day he did find something. He was trudging through a particularly bothersome patch of woods when he broke out into a small clearing. It was its own little space seemingly walled off by the closely placed trees around them. The sun took its chance to shine down hard on the ground, allowing some level of grass to grow. A tiny hill swelled up in the center. Curiously, the hill itself was a hut. Bruce could tell because of the circular window peeking out of the grass and a small brick chimney poking up proudly from its summit. Around its base were some garden plots, each one sprouting different flowers Bruce had seen on his journey. A cobblestone walkway led towards the side of the hill where there was an escarpment. Bruce would’ve bet his favorite hat that if he walked around and saw where the path led to, there would’ve been a door.

Frankly, he didn’t know what to do or what to think. The past several days of veritable nothing hadn’t prepared him for such a curiosity. Who lived way out here in the middle of the forest, way far out from everyone else’s business? It couldn’t have been some abandoned shack or structure. The neatly tended flowers and well-cleaned window proved that someone lived in it. Such a burrow, no matter how quaint or peaceful looking, had to have taken an extraordinary amount of time and effort to make, at least by one man. 

Or perhaps a witch.

Bruce stood there wearily, having been reminded the reason he came there by that innocent looking shack. If the skunk witch were real, she most certainly would not take kindly to having her property wandered onto. What would the punishment be for such a violation of her privacy? He waved those thoughts off. It was just a burrow, nothing more, nothing less. Witches lived in caves or evil castles, not such pretty little abodes Bruce wouldn’t mind retiring in. He’d have himself a closer look. What harm would it bring?

He walked around to look at the escarpment. Sure enough, there was an arched wooden door. On it was a small cast iron knocker and knob. Two small windows flanked both sides of it. More flowers were planted along the walkway, each one a different color from the one next to it. Bruce no longer pictured a wicked witch living there, but rather a friendly old hobbit willing to share a pipe with him. He took a quick look around, double checking that he was alone in the clearing. Seeing that he was, he waltzed up to the door. Maybe whoever owned the place was home. The desire to know more about the place and who called it home burned at him insatiably.

He knocked on the door gently. “Hello?” He lowered his paw and listened. There wasn’t so much as a stir. He heard the murmur of the tree branches as the wind bowed them, but nothing else. He knocked again. “Hello? Is anyone home?” This was hardly the hour to be asleep, although Bruce felt a yawn coming on. His jaw opened wide, showing off his sharp, ivory teeth and pink tongue. He knocked again. No answer. Oh well. Whoever lived there was either off doing something more important than entertaining hyenas, or was remaining silent to ward him off.

Bruce yawned again and turned around. He blinked his eyes, which were suddenly feeling heavy and dry. The pack on his shoulders grew burdensome, as did his boots and paws. When was the last time he ate? It wasn’t long ago. He had eaten plenty the past few days, more than enough to maintain his energy. Now, quite suddenly, walking back down that path felt like a hike of its own. He yawned again. He didn’t feel like taking another step. He looked up into the sky. It was bright enough to sear an intense afterimage into his retinas, yet the sun wasn’t even visible. He couldn’t stand anymore. He had to sit down. He tried to carefully come down to the ground, but ended up plopping on his butt, clanging all of the metal gear in his sack. The world was slipping. The hard cobblestone beneath him turned into a lush, feather mattress. The hard metalware in his pack, grinding against his back, became a fluffy pillow. He yawned once more before his eyes closed, leaving behind the clearing as it turned into fuzz. His head nodded once, twice, three times, then finally bowed forward for good. 

He was out like a light.

*	*	*

Bruce woke up far more abruptly than he had gone to sleep. His eyes shot open as a deep gasp swelled his lungs. He hardly got to enjoy his sleep, he had been torn from it so rudely. All he saw were the boards of a wooden roof. Hanging from it by a single long string was a glass orb, filled with fireflies, currently resting unlit. He couldn’t see what he was lying on, but he could feel it digging into his back. It was a wooden table, or so it seemed like. His bright blue eyes darted around in a panic, trying to absorb everything that it could. He tried moving his head to the right. He could only move it a nudge. Moving it the other way yielded similar results. Am I paralyzed? He could feel everything just fine. The air around him brushed around his fur as clearly as it would if he was naked. In fact, he was naked. That became apparent once he felt a breeze kiss the underside of his bare scrotum, making him shiver sharply.

He tried balling his paw into a fist, which was laid out right next to his thigh. He could, but only after a serious level of effort. Closing it felt like there were strings bound to his knuckles. He rolled his ankles, wiggled his toes, and lifted his limbs. Every movement felt like there was some invisible force holding him back with a continuous current of energy like trying to put two magnets together by the same pole. He grunted and snorted with each burst of energy he put behind getting up, but it was all fruitless. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“Oh, are you awake? Good.”

Bruce felt terror stab through him like a lance. It was a woman’s voice, smooth and calm. He couldn’t tell what direction it came from, as though it was some voice emitted from the walls themselves. Footsteps approached him from above his head. He tried moving his head to look, but still couldn't. He jerked as he felt a gentle paw slide beneath his ear and down his neck. Fierce shivers rolled through him as a single claw traced down his vulnerable neck and then his collar. A figure floated into his vision. They wore a dark blue cloak. Their face was shrouded over by a drooped hood. Through the veil of darkness covering their face he could see the glint of two sharp, emerald colored eyes. His heart pounded in his chest. His breathing escalated, hissing through his nostrils. He was ready at any moment for her to rake her claw across his throat and watch the lifewater flood out.

“Shhhhhhhh,” she hushed him. Her paw went up to his chin to soothe him. “Please relax. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, at least not for now. Can you talk?”

Bruce opened his mouth and let loose a weak “Ahh…” His mouth was incredibly dry. After a few attempts to swallow, he spoke. “Y-y-yes.”

He saw a line of teeth appear in the darkness of her hood as she grinned. “Good. You’ll be doing a fair bit of talking for me down the line, I assure you. Do you know who I am?”

He had a pretty good idea. “Y-you’re the sk-skunk w-w-w-witch of G-g-gorith…”

“Is that what they’re calling me? Well, I suppose it isn’t wrong.” She grabbed her hood and pulled it off of her head. Bruce was struck by what he saw, but not for reasons he would’ve expected. Witches, according to everyone, were old, haggard women bent over with arthritis. They had warts, scraggly fur, and lazy eyes. The Skunk Witch of Gorith was nothing of the sort. She was young, or at least appeared to be. Not a wrinkle sat on her face, nor a wart or any other kind of imperfection. Her fur was black and lustrous like obsidian. The single stripe of white that ran down the bridge of her snout was snow white, as was the heavy head of hair that sat on her scalp. Two triangular ears sprouted from her head, lined on the insides with white fur. “Although, in my opinion, ‘witch’ is a rather harsh term.”

Bruce blinked a few times, muted by her beauty. She chuckled. “Not what you were expecting, were you? You must’ve thought I was old, wrinkly, and with warts.” He gulped and nodded. “Hence why I think ‘witch’ is rather unfair. I pray that I’m dead before I turn so hideous. Now, tell me, what’s your name, traveler?”

He didn’t think telling her that was a good idea, but something told him that she would’ve been able to tell if he was lying. “Bruce.”

“Bruce… I’m sorry we had to meet in this fashion, but you rather forced me once you waltzed up to my door so nonchalantly. What brings you out to my woods on your lonesome? On the hunt for the dreaded skunk witch?”

He tried shaking his head frantically. “No! I was… Just looking for…” He searched his mind for things he had seen. “Flowers… I was searching for flowers.”

She clearly didn’t believe him. “Flowers? A man goes trekking out into the woods for days, as I’m certain you have, looking for flowers. I failed to find any in your pack.”

He cringed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I’m sorry.”

“Just tell me why you came out here.”

“In my village they talk about you all of the time. You’re a ghoul there. I wanted to see if you were real. I didn’t think you were.” He smiled awkwardly. “I see that I was wrong.”

“A pleasant correction, I’m sure. Tell me, Bruce, what do they say about me back at your village?”

“Nothing kind, I fear.”

“You can tell me. I assure you I’ve done none of it, the cruel ones, at least.”

“Well, they blame you for droughts and stolen goods. Parents warn their children that you kidnap the ones who misbehave. Anyone who has bad luck says you’ve cursed them. Just about everything bad that happens gets blamed on you.” He felt guilty telling her all this. Just from looking at her, he could tell she wasn’t the malignant sorcerer everyone said she was. Then again, she had knocked him out cold, taken his clothes off, then put him on a table with what was either a spell or a potion to keep him immobile.

“That doesn’t surprise me in the least. I start practicing the smallest amounts of witchcraft and suddenly I’m the bane of everyone’s existence. I left that place the first instance I could. I have the trees to keep me company now. I’m much better for it. They don’t judge me, you know.”

“And neither do I!” he insisted. “I always thought their persecutions of you were childish. You clearly-”

“Shush.” He snapped his mouth shut. “I won’t tolerate any flattery. It will earn you no favor here.” She leaned over him until their faces were just an inch apart. He could smell the floral scent emanating off of her. He saw the reflection of his terrified expression in the pool of her eyes. “You’ve intruded on my home, my sanctitude. No matter the reason, I cannot let that go unpunished.”

His heart turned to lead, icing the blood in his veins. “I’m sorry,” he squeeked.

“No, but you will be.” She stood up. She grabbed her cloak by the shoulders and pulled it over her head, all the way off. It drifted to the floor with a soft whumpf. She was totally nude, all for Bruce to see. More surprising than her youth was her build. She was deeply muscular across her body, sporting a nicely defined trunk and arms. Her breasts were nicely shaped and full, topped off by rosy pink nipples. Her figure, though athletic, was distinctly feminine thanks to curvy hips, thighs, and buttocks. A magnificent skunk tail sprouted up from behind her, apexing well above her head. At that moment, Bruce wasn’t sure if he should’ve been terrified or in love. 

She saw him staring and smiled. “Like what you see?”

“Yes… You’re quite beautiful.” He flinched. “I mean… I don’t mean to flatter. I-”

“No, no, you’re fine. You’ll be more acquainted with it shortly~” 

He didn’t know whether to be aroused or threatened by that. The witch stepped away. He listened with some serious anxiety as he heard her rummaging through something. Maybe for some potions, or a spell book. She came back with neither. Instead she had a smooth wooden ball attached to two straps. She stood by his head and held it over his face by the straps. “Open your mouth,” she commanded. He wasn’t so eager to obey. Just as he started to contemplate what he should do or say, she snapped her finger. His jaw slung open, totally independent of his control. The energy that was pinning down his limps seemed to have opened it. She lowered the ball into his mouth. His jaw clamped on it, once again outside of his control. She brought the straps down over his cheeks and buckled them together behind his head, gagging him. The wood scraped pressed hard against the roof of his mouth. Saliva was welling around his tongue already. 

“There we are. You’ll be glad I gave you that, I assure you.” That didn’t bode well. She left him again to retrieve something. When she came back she climbed onto the table and threw her leg over his belly, straddling him. She sat down on him, squeezing the air out of his lungs through his gagged mouth. Her weight and warmth on his body felt spectacular. Her fur was divinely soft as were her pillowy haunches now mushed onto his gut. He could feel the heat of her quim against his fur, creating a small twitch in his penis down below. It all would’ve been so much sexier if it wasn’t so intimidating.

Her paws were behind her back, hiding whatever she carried. She smiled down at him most menacingly. “I noticed how large of a man you were the moment I laid eyes on you. You have quite the strength, I’m sure. I had to see you more closely once I had you. You didn’t disappoint, and in one regard you certainly surpassed my expectations.” Bruce felt her skunk tail lower onto his legs. The soft fur of its underside brushed against his manhood, making him wince. “You’re quite the man indeed. I haven’t seen too many men in their nature, but I can bet that yours is among the most impressive~”

Bruce blushed. While he appreciated the compliment to his reproductive organs, he wished that it had come at a more opportune moment. Hopeful as he may have been, he wasn’t so sure she had any plans to please herself on it, not when she was still holding something behind her back. “You must be proud of it, I’m sure. I know I would be. But I haven’t forgotten…” Her face turned frightening as she angled her head down at him, casting it in a foreboding shadow. “You came here without my permission, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to punish you where your pride is.” 

She brought her paws out from behind her, showing him what was in them. He braced to see something terrible, like knives, or hammers, or some other diabolical instrument. What he saw certainly wasn’t reassuring, but it was nothing quite as heinous as that. In one paw was a long, slender belt made of leather; it looked like a leash. In the other was a crop rider with a solid wood handle. His eyes shot between each object as he desperately tried to piece together what it was she was planning. Whatever it was, it could not have been pleasant.

She scooted backwards down to his thighs, gliding the soft fur of her buttocks over his penis, earning a grunt through his nose. She put her tools in one paw and placed the other on his scrotum. It sat on his loins like a heavy, ripe fruit, burning with the heat of his body. She rubbed it up and down, rolling his swollen orbs round with it. He bit down on the gag, feeling the gradual stiffening of his penis. It was slung across his hip, a fat column of dark meat blanketed around the tip by his foreskin. The head peeked through slowly as it tipped towards being parallel with his trunk.

“There we go. We’re getting excited, aren’t we?” the witch purred. “Although things certainly could move a bit faster, don’t you think?” She lifted her paw from his crotch and gave a curt snap of her finger. Bruce’s eyes bulged from their sockets as his cock sprung upwards as if a rip cord had been pulled through it. It sprouted out straight like a soldier at attention, already throbbing full of blood and leaking a thin layer of precum. A heavy ache settled in his balls, almost like a bruise. It was as though he had been edging himself for the past several hours, or days, even. His body demanded release, but whether the witch would grant him as much remained a mystery. “Much better~” The witch held his penis gingerly, just barely brushing her thumb along its underside. It drew more of his precum and triggered an involuntary flex. He winced hard. The pleasure was close to, but did not quite warrant, an orgasm. “Your balls feel nice and heavy now, don’t they?”

“Mmhmm…”

“Mmm, I bet they do. That’ll make what happens next allllll the sweeter~” She placed the crop rider behind her, between his knees. She snapped the belt out taut above him, making him flinch. “Let’s get that pride of yours under control, shall we?” Bruce could only lie there and watch as she brought the belt down to his exposed genitals. She slid the end through the buckle and held it around his scrotum, just below the root of his penis. She pulled it tight. 

“Hnnnnnnfffffhhh!!!” His testes were shoved together just above the loop, forming what looked like a plump, brown heart. She pulled, pulled, and pulled until she could buckle the belt through the tightest hole. She let go of it, leaving his balls squeezed into a fleshy knot of pain. His teeth glistened on the gag as his lips furled back into a snarl. He huffed and groaned past it, sending flecks of spittle squirting out of his cheeks. He fought hard to reach for his crotch, but the invisible force remained as strong as ever, keeping his paws close but so agonizingly far.

The witch grinned maliciously as she laid the tips of two fingers on his sack and rolled it into a small circle. “Mmmmm, it hurts, doesn’t it?” The agony was clear on his face. He broke into a sweat. He nodded. “I know it does. Your manhood doesn’t feel so proud now, does it?” She lifted her two fingers and slapped them down on his balls. He grunted loudly as a lighting bolt of pain ripped through his nuts and across his entire lower body. He huffed and puffed through his nose. The first of what would become many whimpers eeked out of him. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You know you deserve this~” She grabbed his balls with the tip of her fingers, just barely pressing in her sharp claws. She twisted them one way, then the other as if she was trying to open a doorknob. “Men who think they can waltz into my forest uninvited ought to know better. I think this lesson will do enough~”

The lesson was more than learned at that point. He could feel the cords connected to his testicles twisting around another, nigh into a helix. She would change directions, offering some respite until she hit a degree of rotation just as, if not more, painful. He tried pleading, but the gag robbed him of any coherence. All that came out were cries of anguish, echoing through the burrow, unheard by anybody else beside that cruel, cruel witch. 

She leaned back and retrieved the crop rider. She grabbed his shaft and pressed the head of the rider to his balls. “Think you’ll ever come here again?” she asked. She lifted the rider up and flicked it down. Whip! The resulting pain was a white hot explosion that reverberated through his pelvis. “No, I don't think you will.” Whip! She swayed her head side to side slowly, spilling her hair over each shoulder. Her voice purred while her body writhed on his legs. She was enjoying what she was doing, very, very much. “I think you’re gonna go back to your village and tell all the men not to come here ever again.” Whip! “I think you’re gonna tell everyone the witch is just a girl who wants to be left alone.” Whip! 

He promised again and again that he would. She understood it clearly, but heeded none of it. Every garbled sentence he let out was punctuated by a shrill squeal, courtesy of the whip hitting his sacred eggs. Her paw, meanwhile, was lovingly drifting up his shaft, milking as much precum as it could without making him cum. That wasn’t going to happen, not yet. She squeezed his cock hard and brought the rider horizontal to his body. She pressed the whip to his shaft and shoved it down hard. The respite his aching scrotum felt was quickly replaced by the pain of having that solid handle grinding his member from head to hilt. He closed his eyes and wept, praying to anyone who would listen to make it stop.

“Mmmmm, you’re a big man. Yes~” The witch purred, grinding the whip up and down his dick like a rolling pin. “There’s a lot of you to play with down here. I think I’m gonna have more fun with you than any other man, that’s for sure~” She pulled the whip off of him only to give him a trio of solid thwacks on his balls. She waited for him to stop wailing before she spoke again. “Yes, there’s a lot I have planned for you~”

The witch came off of him and stood on the floor. She snapped her fingers. Bruce sat up like a dead man rising from a casket. His face lit up with surprise. He didn’t do that, at least not by choice. The force that had kept him pinned shoved him from behind by his shoulders into that position. Suddenly he felt it grip his wrists and his hips. It turned him around, forcing him onto his belly, flat to the table. He felt it collar his neck and lift him up, nearly choking him. He had no choice but to push himself up onto his paws. It jerked at his knees, putting him onto all fours. Finally, his tail flicked up, exposing his enormous glutes and their deep crevice. He whimpered through his gag. This was not going to be any better.

The witch walked up to the table and grabbed the belt hanging from his scrotum. She pulled it through his legs and then up to the ceiling, bringing his balls back with it and pressing them to the underside of his buttocks, inches below his exposed, brown star.. “Nnnnnnnnggghhhh!” he groaned, feeling like they were ready to tear off at any moment. The witch tied the other end of the belt to the base of tail, holding his aggrieved scrotum where it was. The invisible force wasn’t letting his tail go back down. His cock, still erect as ever, hung down straight towards the table, pulsing and throbbing as if its life depended on it. More and more precum dribbled from it, plipping to the wood below.

The witch walked up behind him to take a look at his enormous posterior, constellated with brown spots. There were his poor nuts, bunched together like a pair of criminals shackled together in the back of a police car. They stared back at her despondently, awaiting their next punishment. “Such a fine specimen. I almost feel guilty delivering such punishment.” She brought the crop rider up behind him and swiped it back down on his balls. Bruce cried out. Thick columns of drool oozed down his jaw. “Almost.” She whipped them again, and again, and again. It felt like the pain would never end. This was an eternal punishment, one that he would never escape.

The witch put the crop rider down beside his knee. She closed her fist around his balls and grabbed his shaft. She gripped them both like a vice. Her paw ripped back and forth across his length brutally. “You’ve proven yourself quite resilient, you know? I’m impressed. Who am I to punish you without rewarding your stoicism?” Bruce cried and moaned loudly. Tears ran down his cheeks in force. “I’d like to see you cum. I know you can do it. You’ve got balls like a gourd. I can feel the weight of the seed you carry.” The fingers around his nuts squeezed, twisted, and kneaded them chaotically. Her other paw, gripped into a fist around his cock, jerked him hard. “Do it. Cum for me and I’ll release you of this punishment.”

Bruce wasn’t sure how he could climax in such a horrendous situation. Pleasant as it may have sounded, that was the absolute last thing he thought he was capable of. But through some black magic more wicked than anything fathomable, he felt a queer pleasure buidling inside of him. That did not soothe or vanquish the pain, not even close. It still shredded the flesh of his sack and rippled across his backside, clenching his sphincter into a crush. The delight merely stood among the suffering like a rogue rainbow visible through the clouds of a terrible thunderstorm. The rainbow grew brighter and brighter, but the tumult of the storm did not abide or sway. The twist of his balls was like a lightning bolt. Every tug on his cock was a roar of thunder. The chaos of sensations echoed through his gagged mouth as a series of squeals and shrill howls.

It all burst apart once Bruce finally came. A wail most feminine sounded out through the burrow once the storm erupted into a fury, centered by the rainbow now glowing as bright as the sun. His cock spewed in the witch’s paw, painting the table below with several thick spurts of cum. Her jerking came to a stop. She gripped around his glans and jostled it, increasing the already deadly pressure his seed came spitting out with. “Theeeeeeeere we go. That’s it. That makes me happy~” The assault on his balls relaxed into  heavy petting, finally letting the storm of pain break apart to make way for the rainbow. The euphoria was intense, as were the emotions that slid down his face in the form of tears.

“Shhhhhhhhh,” the witch hushed. She reached for his head and petted his hair. “It’s alright now. You’ve done your job. It’s over now.” She untied the belt from his tail, letting his scrotum drop finally. His tail remained where it was. She rubbed around his bloated haunch. “I think you’ve learned your lesson. What do you say?”

He groaned several times, trying to regain cognizance. “Hnnnghhh… Hnnnghhh… Hnnnghhh… Mmmhmmm…. Hnnnghhh…”

She patted his butt. “I thought you did.” The force holding his hyena tail up dissipated, letting it droop. “But you aren’t done. I have a simple task for you, call it a parting gift~” She snapped her finger. Bruce felt forces walking his limbs over to the side of the table. First his foot eased itself down to the floor, followed by the other. He was yanked down to his knees. His paws were drawn around his back, clamping his forearms together like handcuffs. He knelt upright, unable to relax or slouch. The belt around his scrotum still rang with acute discomfort. Spit had accumulated across his bottom lip and drooled off of his chin. “Oh no, I think we can get rid of that now.” She snapped again, and the ball gag unbuckled from behind his head, sending the straps forward. It fell from his maw, bounced off the floor, then rolled to a stop. Its wooden surface was darkened where his mouth had been around it.

He gasped deeply. His jaw muscles were painfully stiff. He closed his jaw and rolled it around, savoring his newfound freedom, as minor as it was. “Huhhh… Huhhh… Oh God… Please… Let me-” 

He was silenced by the press of her finger to his lips. She leaned towards him, hanging her rotund bosom from her chest. Her emerald eyes pierced him fiercely. “Enough. I said you had one more thing to do for me, and now you’ll do it. You have no reason to complain, not after the mercy I’ve shown you. You’ll do as you’re told and that’s the end of it. Is that understood?” He nodded. It wasn’t wise to incur any more of her wrath. Her face softened. “Good boy. Now, you may have cum for me, but I won’t let you be the only one to have some fun. That wouldn’t be fair, would it?” He thought she had had plenty of fun whipping on his nuts, but there was probably nothing that could satisfy this dastardly witch.

She reached down and grabbed the belt. He gasped as she pulled it tight, drawing him closer to her. The force holding him in place relaxed, letting him waddle on his knees where she guided him. She turned her back on him and leaned over the table. Her skunk tail was lifted, showing him her rambunctious ass. Her haunches were two thick mounds of soft flesh, each one harboring a core of well-defined muscle. He could see her pink star staring back at him from between her buttocks. Just beneath it was her cunny, now dripping with liquid arousal. The smell was something fierce, piercing his nose and swarming his mind. Saliva filled his mouth once more as gluttony overtook him. 

And the witch wasn’t even using magic. She looked down her back at him with a coy smile. She swayed her ass in front of his face. “Do you like what you see?” He nodded dumbly. “Would you like a taste?” He licked his lips and nodded again. “I know you do. Come here.” She tugged on the belt, making him gasp and scoot closer. The heat of her cunt brushed his snout. He was utterly hypnotized by the beauty of her womanhood. The pink of her slit stood in great contrast to the pitch black fur surrounding it. A glistening moisture was settled around her crotch. He could see every unique bend and fold. He wanted to taste it so badly. She seemed to read his mind, or at least the utterly transfixed look on his face. “Go ahead, then~”

She pulled on the belt. He squeaked softly and tilted forward. His face fell right into the plush embrace of her buttocks, washing it with her wonderfully soft flesh. The tip of his snout graced the fringe of her cunt. He sniffed once, twice, three times. Her angelic smell, so fleshy and raw, swelled his lungs and rendered him drunk. He closed his eyes and slipped his tongue into her folds. She jolted as a lightning bolt of her own zipped up her spine, perking her nipples and making her skunk tail go kerfluff. “Ooh! That’s it~ Ahh… Keep doing that~”

He obeyed, no longer requiring threat of punishment. He dazzled his tongue around the wet gate of her quim, glancing it across every sweet mark where she needed it. He found her precious pearl, indicated by a sharp gasp and shudder. He could feel her thigh muscles twitch and jerk around his head. He flicked his tongue there wildly, eliciting more quivers and moans. She had to support herself with her arms on the table, unable to stand on her legs alone as she felt the pleasure intensify into something paralyzingly good.

Bruce wasn’t safe from her control, however. She tugged on the belt occasionally, garnering a whimper or gasp. The pain only encouraged his assault on her cunt, driving his tongue deeper and more frantically. Her moans were a sweet melody to his ears. They were like some pagan incantation, taking control of his mind and fueling his desire for more of her luscious taste. Truthfully, there was no wicked ritual of any sort. In fact, the spell locking his limbs had worn off due to the pleasure knocking her out of focus. Without even realizing it, he reached around and grabbed her thighs, pulling his face into her ass deeper and deeper.

She rewarded him by grinding and rolling her hips on his face hard, dragging his head along for the ride. She moaned loudly, chanting his praises. “Ohhhh, yes! Hahhhh… That’s it… Oh God… Huhhhh…. Yes~.... Ohh… Yes… Bruce… Yes~” He moaned too, only to be muffled by her enveloping haunches. It was all so sweet, the tastes and smells. Even the exigent ache in his balls was something to cherish. He wanted it to last forever.

Tragically, it proved not to once the witch came. A throaty groan erupted out of her mouth. Her jaw hung low and she nearly collapsed onto the table. Quakes rumbled her buttocks and thighs, wobbling around Bruce’s face. Her cunt gushed a heavy torrent of her waters, drizzling down his still lapping tongue, over his face, and down to the floor between his feet. Without thinking, she pulled on the belt one last time, giving him another bolt of pain as thanks.

Her terrific orgasm came to a close, and she finally relaxed. She slumped over the table, chin laid flat, panting heavily. Her paw let go of the belt, finally letting the poor hyena go. His face came out from her ass, vandalized by a thickish smear of her cum. He breathed deeply, still yearning for her taste. He licked at his lips incessantly, trying to get as much as he could. He had the chance to remove that wretched belt from his scrotum, but for whatever reason, wanted it to stay there.

The witch laughed, jostling her butt. “Well~ That was above and beyond what I expected. You truly are a proud man, I’ll give you that.” She stood up and faced him. She saw the sorry state he was in. “Oh my~ I suppose I should apologize for leaving such a mess on your face, although you were going at me rather ravenously. I’m sure you don’t mind.” He most certainly didn’t. Even with his balls still grinding together like a mortar and pestle, he was willing to do whatever it took to please her. The luxury of her cum had him drunk, and he would stay that way for as long as it remained plastered across his face.

She leaned back against the table and reached her foot out to his balls. She pressed her big toe down on them, sobering him instantly and making him cringe. “Now that the fun’s over, let me remind you. Never come to these woods again. You can tell your village folk that I’m real, you can tell them that I’m not. You can tell them what happened here, or you can tell them nothing. I don’t care.” Her toes sank deeper into his knotted testes. She squished and twisted them around. “But you will tell them to leave me alone. You won’t come back here ever again, or I swear you’ll suffer far worse and experience none of the pleasure.” She leered her face towards his, close enough to smell her own cum as it dried on his snout. “Is that clear?”

Still cringing from the pain of having her toes play patty cake with his balls, he nodded. “Yes ma’am…”

She smiled and relinquished the stomp on his nuts. “Good boy.” She snapped her fingers. Bruce felt the buckle on his scrotum unlatch, and like a fighter knocked out by a chokehold it loosened. He let loose a tremendous sigh. It was nearly as good as the orgasm from earlier. The pain still lingered deeply, but he could feel it ebbing away as the blood came rushing back in. It was a freedom he would never take for granted again. “I hope that feels better,” the witch said. “For what it’s worth, I had fun. Something tells me that you did too. Goodbye, Bruce~” She snapped her finger, triggering a weight to come across his eyelids. The burrow turned blurry, his head began to nod. He yawned once, then fell backwards. He was asleep before he hit the floor.

*	*	*

Bruce woke up in a camp, one that looked exactly like he had set it up. He was in his sleeping bag, wrapped up tightly as if someone had tucked him in. A firepit sizzled nearby. His pack was leaning against a tree. He stood up quickly, looking around to see if anyone was there. He was alone. He checked to see if anything was missing. Nothing was. It was as if he’d set up camp one night and simply fallen asleep. Did any of that really happen?

The answer became clear once he felt a jolt of pain rip through his nuts as he rolled up his sleeping bag. He noticed the faint taste of womanhood on the back of his throat. Yes, it had happened alright. He set out to figure out where he was, and was surprised to find his camp just a day’s walk from his village. The message was clear: And stay out. He was welcomed warmly by his community, who seemed surprised to see him return in one piece. They pointed out that his clothes were in neat order. He looked down at himself and noticed that all of the stains and tears were gone. Complementary to his stay at the burrow, he supposed. Some people jokingly suggested that he set up camp in one place and just stayed there for a week. He didn’t argue with them. He wasn’t about to tell the real story.

What he did tell everyone was that the Gorith forest was no place for a man to go. No, there weren’t any vile skunk witches, but there was a landscape terrible for navigating as well as almost nothing to forage for. These were both lies. Dense and random as the forest was, it gave him no trouble, and there was plenty to eat. He said whatever he could short of “I got my balls whipped by a skunk witch” to keep them out of there. Thanks to his immaculate clothes and seemingly unhurt condition, the people didn’t believe him. However, they did see him go into the witch’s forest and come back, seemingly without a curse. The following week’s lack of bad luck for him made everyone conclude that maybe there wasn’t an evil, smelly witch out there to ruin their lives. Of course, they didn’t tell the kids that.

Bruce vowed to never go back, but he would remember that day in the burrow very well. There was hardly a time where he heard the crack of a whip and didn’t clench his thighs together! The witch had left an indelible mark on him. Every woman he laid with from then on had him debating whether he should ask her to stomp on his manhood or not. He never did, but the temptation was still there. His mind would inevitably go back to the witch, making him wonder if he would ever experience anything like that again. Sometimes, only sometimes, he would wonder if it was worth going back.

THE END