Artie
Now, anyone who knows me knows I'm not usually one for time outdoors. And it's not because I have some deadly allergy to the sun (even vampires can get around that with five minutes' thought) or because I'm too fat to get up or fit through doors (I wish!)--I just tend to find the stuff we keep indoors to be immensely more engaging.
It's one of the basic rules of civilization: if something's fun, put a roof over it so it doesn't get rained on.
That said, I do get out sometimes. Not on, like, hikes or anything--but there is this little playground down by the library, and while I'm a little too fat to fit in the tunnels and a little too much of a smelly old skunk to get along with the kids that sometimes play out there, every now and then I'll ignore the posted weight limits and sit on the swings for a while.
I may not get too much out of it, but every now and then I catch a whiff of the honeysuckle growing against the east fence and it takes me back to my high school days, when I was a young and hopeless slut going for rolls in the proverbial hay...
Good times.
Today I was in the swing, leaning back and watching the clouds rush across a darkening sky, when I saw a distant speck emerge from the clouds and fast approaching.
It didn't take long before I could make out what it was--a flying turtle, but definitely not one flying under his own power.
Someone who was in control wouldn't be screaming so helplessly, for one.
And someone who was in control would have been a lot less likely to crash into the ground.
On the bright side, he was wearing a helmet of some kind, so maybe he didn't have too much damage from it. I jumped out of the swing and ran up to him as he struggled to get himself up, reaching for the giant hammer he'd been carrying.
I realized that the turtle was a lot larger in person than he was from a distance. As a matter of fact, he was both taller and fatter than me, and given that he was a turtle, the way the scales of his plastron bowed out made him look much rounder than any mammalian ball belly ever would. His shell was as blue as his eyes, and...well, he had such a sweet face that I could only look away, blushing.
You know. Sometimes you realize someone's out of your league and you just hesitate, because obviously if you look up to them, they must look down on you.
"I'm okay, thanks," he said.
Oh, right. I'd forgotten to actually do anything. "Sorry. Hi."
I stood there awkwardly, wavering between whether to even make eye contact or not. Would it look friendly, or just rude? I didn't even realize my avoidant gaze had rested on his belly until he tapped it with his hammer. "I'm up here," he said, bringing my attention back up to his face.
"Sorry, I just--" Could I even explain what I was doing? "Sorry. I'm Musky."
"You don't have to apologize for that. You can't help being a skunk."
It took me a long moment to realize what he'd meant. Inwardly I cursed the brain's tendency to shut down in the presence of something glorious. "No, I mean--it's my name."
"Oh. Artie." He switched his hammer off to his left hand and I took the handshake he offered, trying not to squeal. "So...where have I ended up, exactly?"
"Century Park."
Blank expression.
"Down...town...?" I offered.
I pulled up a map app and showed him. He zoomed out, zoomed out further, and kept going till there wasn't any more map to show.
"I think I've come a long way," he said, looking a little unsteady. "I may need to sit down..."
I helped him over to the swing--which bowed a bit under his weight but didn't do anything inconvenient--and took a seat in the playground sand at his feet.
"You're being awful friendly," he said, looking down at me. "I am a soldier in Koopa's army."
I snorted. "Well? You're awful friendly for a soldier in anyone's army." There was only one kind of invading force that would so quickly be rubbing the sides of my belly with his toes--the kind that wanted to plunder my booty, so to speak.
"Some attacks work better at close range."
I looked up in time to see him tap my head with his hammer--the motion was firm and swift, clearly not intended to cause pain, yet had an effect nonetheless: I immediately found I couldn't move.
Artie watched me for a moment, presumably to confirm his handiwork.
By quick experiment, I found I was fully immobile, even down to the smallest motion. Breathing? Nope. Blinking? Nope. Couldn't even spray, though my mind and senses remained as before.
The Koopa Troopa grabbed hold of me by the underarms and dragged me off to a little building in the corner of the yard that just happened to be the public restroom. He dumped me in front of the sinks and locked the main entry with the deadbolt after checking that we were alone in the room.
"I know you can hear me in there," he said, speaking into my ear. "I know it because I can hear what's going on in here very clearly." He tapped my head. "Even though you were no good at it, I knew you were thirsting for me. So I want you to know I'm not going to feel the least bit guilty about this."
If my dick had been able to stiffen normally, I'd've gotten rock hard just at the thought of it, and that was without even knowing what he had in mind.
He gave me a rough push onto my back and rolled me over with his foot so my snout was pressed into the floor and my ass was in the air, my legs curled up in that weird position that would've made a lot more sense if I'd been sitting upright.
Artie tore off my shorts, took a thick stub-clawed finger and shoved it into my ass, opening me up roughly while my body was helpless to resist. In my paralyzed state, too, my hole was unable to close back up as one finger after another penetrated me, leaving me gaping substantially with little effort.
Fuck, I need to be plowed, I thought, as the scent of the grimy floor filled my nostrils.
I heard Artie chuckle and he quickly removed his fingers from under my tail.
It didn't take long before I felt his burly thighs against my rump and I felt something even thicker grinding along my cheeks.
Sweet heck he was huge.
He teased my hole with it for a good few minutes till I was squirming internally with pent-up need. I could feel his precum running down my crack, some of it dripping down my balls and some of it draining into my hole.
I was so worked up that I didn't even notice when the first couple of inches pushed into me--the lubrication and the stretching had made it effortless.
The next two inches had nowhere near as much preparation behind them. I was tightly filled now, my ass impaled on the turtle's cock.
It started to hurt.
And I know he knew it was starting to hurt.
And he slammed home at least eight more inches of that fat cock all at once.
My body refused to let me cry out in pain.
Now don't get me wrong, usually I don't have trouble taking a big dick or two--I've had a bit of experience, you might say. But it's one thing to be treated like an object, and another thing altogether when someone's pounding away at you and you're not able to make even those little adjustments with your hips to keep them from really destroying your insides.
I felt the hard surface of his underbelly rubbing against my rump as he thrust into me, the big turtle using me as a sex toy with no concern for my comfort at all.
And then I started to hear my snout scraping across the ground with each slam of Artie's hips against my ass.
It was not the sound of flesh against tile.
I couldn't move my eyes to clearly look at what was happening, but after a moment I didn't need to; even with my focus stuck in the near distance, I could see the spread of a change crawling over my snout--black fur giving way to gray...stone?
My alarm heightened, even as Artie started fucking me harder. The change crept up to my eyes, I lost all sight of what was happening, and it wasn't long before I could no longer hear the sloppy sound of the koopa's cock working my hole.
Inch by inch I felt the loss of sensation travelling down my body. He knew it was coming, too; I could feel the force in how he grabbed my sides, thrusting into me deeper and faster as he tried to get off before my hole turned to stone.
That fat, fat cock tore my ass apart in its desperation. As I continued to change, he moved his hands from my petrified love handles to grab the base of my tail and I felt him pull in hard, plunging in deep, girth pulsing inside me as he deposited his load.
He pulled out quickly and I felt the last of his cum spilling over my gaping tailhole before I lost all sensation altogether.
Locked in my own head, I had no idea how much time passed before Artie's spell began to wear off, but it felt like a long time spent dreaming of the big turtle using me before I felt the pins-and-needles sensation of my body coming alive again.
And the first thing I felt was warm fluid dripping down my ass, over my balls, down my thighs.
Someone was pissing into my ass.
I still couldn't move. I still couldn't see or hear. I only felt the steady stream overflowing the hole that the turtle had left open.
The stream came to an end, and another came after it a few moments later. I don't know how much capacity I'd had as a statue, but my ass in flesh and bone certainly couldn't take it.
My hole twitched and my whole body came alive in a sudden spasm that flipped me over on my back, looking up at a startled ferret with his dick hanging out of his jeans trying to stop the piss stream that was now splashing onto my stomach before he could put it away and ran.
I sat up and soaked for a bit in the piss that spread across the tiled floor. After what had turned out to be weeks of quiet, I'd picked up a habit of stillness.
It took me a while to even notice that I was sitting up in the same posture I'd been frozen in.
And when the next guy who came in eager to piss--a cubby tiger in tight jeans--found the bathroom fixture he'd been using had come to life, I did my best to set him at ease and let him unload in my muzzle.
It's just my body, after all; not like I was using it. It felt good to go on just being an object.
I sat still, swallowed down the sharp-tasting piss, and daydreamed about burly turtles.