Take It Slow And Be Careful (END)

Slow and steady was the smart way to play it. It’d let Georgia get a bit of a head start, but at least the weasel wouldn’t be charging headfirst into a trap, or creating too much noise and giving her position away. She moved slowly and stealthily up to the door, heading through to the small bridge between carriages, then paused, her hand on the knob of the next door. It was hard to hear over the rushing wind and the sound of the train, but from the inside of the carriage she could hear voices and the clang of metal. The weasel raised her gun, about to open the door, but suddenly the voices started moving away, accompanied by hasty footsteps. A second later there was the sound of a door opening and closing, then silence.

Slowly and cautiously opening the room, Texas was greeted by the sight of a large wooden room, filled with cloth mailbags, and a large metal safe bolted to the floor in the middle. Around the edges of the safe door there were the telltale scratches and dents of someone trying to break into it, but it looked like they hadn't had much luck.

Moving on passed the safe and up to the door of the next carriage, the cautious weasel paused, listening, but couldn't hear much over the sound of the train chugging on the tracks. Texas opened the door, then froze. The room was filled with tied-up passengers, the hostages she had been looking for, but what more captured her attention were the six guns pointed at her, and the five girls pointing them. On the left, sitting on an empty bench near the window were Jesse and Jane, the foul pig twins, with shotguns pointed right at the weasel. On the right was another cat, similar in look to the one Georgia had flattened in her escape, holding two pistols, and behind her was a large skunk, probably about eight foot tall, and holding a rifle. In the middle of the carriage was Georgia herself, the mare looking a lot more confident now that she had her whole gang behind her, and a pistol in her hand. Texas grit her teeth, then dropped her pistol and raised her hands. This was gonna be bad…

“I’ve really gotta thank you, Tex! I woulda been in trouble if you hadn’t given me time to rally the troops!” Georgia said, swirling a hip flask on her hand and taking a sip. “And you waltzed straight into our little ambush there! Gotta admit, you pretty much brought this on yourself.”

The behemoth of a horse was reclining on one of the train seats and using a hostage, a little mouse girl, as a footstool. In the middle of the carriage, surrounded by hostages, was Texas, bound up tight but not gagged. No, Georgia wanted to hear the sheriff’s every utterance as the cat **** her face deep into the skunk’s ass, pushing on the back of her head and forcing it so deep that only Texas’s ponytail peeked out of the purple butt crack. Speaking of the skunk, she was in heaven, biting her lip as the thrashing, screaming weasel wriggled around in her backside, **** to be released. But the only releases she would be getting were from the skunk herself.

With a moan, and pressing on her bubbling stomach, a thick, purple mist blasted out of her back door, causing Texas to scream and redouble her thrashing. The filthy fart conquered her sinuses like an invading army and marched onwards to her lungs, filling the weasel’s world with the smell and taste of hot garbage fermenting in an open sewer. As the weasel tried to pull free, the cat let her withdraw an inch, before stuffing her face even deeper, just as a second, far worse fart blew free with the sound of a broken foghorn. As the thick mist spread across the carriage, the hostages all moaned and shrieked, while even Georgia coughed and fanned her nose.

“Ugh! Smells like a nasty gas leak. Better plug that up.” She said, rising from her seat and giving the mouse girl a temporary reprieve, then walking over to the weasel. The cat quickly backed off, and as Texas went to struggle free, Georgia’s boot stomped down on the back of the weasel’s head, forcing it as far as she could go. The skunk’s eyes immediately went wide, before she melted with bliss, her tongue lolling out of her mouth. Georgia’s stomp had pushed the weasel so deep between the skunk’s cheeks that Texas’s muzzle had become the skunk’s butt-plug. She let out a squeal of joy and another loud, filthy barrage, but not a single wisp of gas made it past the shuddering, suffering weasel. Georgia grinned and sat back down on her seat.

“Don’t worry Tex, it’ll be over soon enough! After all, in an hour or two the pigs’ll be done with the safe, then they get their turn with you. And after that, I’ll get mine…” She ground her butt down on the seat, already imagining that sweet moment.

When the criminals at last left the train, they took their putrid-smelling, **** sheriff with them as part of the loot, and spent weeks on end using her as their personal fart ****. With her share of the gold from the train heist, Georgia bought an old brothel out in the middle of nowhere, and refurbished it into a bar where criminals from all over the west could pay to gas and squash the sheriff. Texas was shoved into and under asses all day, while Georgia became one of the richest criminals in the west. Finally, one fateful day years later, a particularly large and putrid elephant accidentally slipped and fell as she was renting out the sheriff. Tex’s last view of the world was a giant, unwashed wall of grey butt, before she slipped up between the elephant’s cheeks and was never seen again.

Bad End: Sheriff Buttslave