Tex's Strength Fails Her (End)

Texas managed to lift Georgia’s foot almost entirely to arms reach, before her second wind died down to a pathetic breeze. Her arms gave up right when the sheriff didn’t need them too, and Georgia’s foot came slamming back down. “No!” Texas screamed, a brief cry for mercy before the behemoth’s boot slammed down onto her. Georgia’s weight, assisted by the strength of her powerful legs, **** that shoe down with a tonne’s worth of ****, slamming into Texas’ face, and forcing the weasel down.

With a loud squelch, Texas vanished beneath Georgia’s foot, her body compressing down on itself as she was pressed to the ground like a used soda can. Gunky goo bubbled from the sides of Georgia’s footwear, suspiciously weasel coloured by nature. Its appearance brought a smug smile to the old deputy’s face, or should that be the new sheriff?

The grunting laughter of the pigs started up once more, Jesse having to prop herself against the wall to prevent from falling over, whilst Jane just allowed herself to drop, rolling on the floor as tears of joy ran from her eyes like a river. The pair started to blow raspberries at one another, trying to replicate the sound that Texas had made when she went splat.

“Will the two ah ya shut up?” Georgia hollered. “Ah’m tryin’ ta enjoy this!” She turned her attention back to her boot, slowly and intentionally twisting it from side to side, smiling at the gooey squelching sound it made as she smeared Texas over the ground. After enjoying this for a few seconds, the horse lifted her foot, revealing what remained of Texas.

The weasel looked like some sort of plaster casting, her body little more than a gum-like mound with a deep set impression in it, one that was almost paper thin. The impression in question was easily identifiable as that of a massive, hard wearing boot, and at the base of it was a sad looking face that even in this form was recognisable as the face of sheriff Texas Stanton. Lips pulled into a big frown, nose so squashed it would make a pug blush, and eyes staring up fearfully at the massive more that loomed overhead.

“Well, ah certainly did a number on you, didn’t ah?” Georgia mocked as she leaned down to slowly peel the gummed up remains of Texas from the floor. “Look ladies, ah found a clue. Looks like whoever offed Texas was wearin’ size thirty two sheriff stompers.” The pigs burst into laughter at the joke, though Georgia was too busy savouring her victory to care about their enjoyment. “Ah guess ah better submit this tah evidence.”

Exactly what Georgia meant by ‘evidence’ would soon become obvious, the horse reaching back to tug at the pants that struggled to contain her rear, creating a small opening, just large enough for a crushed weasel to slide into. And that is exactly what would happen, Georgia dropping the old sheriff into the gap before letting her pants snap back into place, trapping Texas in the dark and musky confines of her ass.

The smell was awful; Texas had been subjected to Georgia’s gas in the past, but being trapped next to their point of origin was something else. The weasel’s eyes started to water as the hot, musky stench of old farts and stale booty sweat mingled into a cocktail her nose would not soon forget. And this was just the beginning, with things promising to get worse as Georgia’s stomach started to gurgle. “Looks like ah shouldn’t have had Annabelle’s chilli.” The horse laughed, making sure to shout loud enough for Texas to hear.

There was no countdown, no warning, simply a second of silence, the calm before the storm, before a deafening low note shook the bank.

Pppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrbbbbbbbbbbbbbtttttttttt!

A blast of chilli induced gas slammed into Texas, stinging her eyes, and filling her mouth and nose. The weasel let out a horrified scream, though Georgia’s fat cheeks and the volume of the fart would ensure hardly anyone heard it. The smell intensified rapidly, Texas’ fur welting as the greenish-yellow fumes blasted her like TNT. Those with the keenest of hearing would hear the weasel **** on the fumes, her spluttering screams lost to the void of Georgia’s ass.

And it was only the first of many. With Texas dealt with, Georgia would be promoted to the rank of sheriff, though she wouldn’t let her new rank go to her head. She’d never forget the weasel that trained her; in fact, she’d be sure to take the weasel everywhere she went with her. During patrols, Texas would serve as a saddle cushion, having to endure as Georgia bounced on her flattened body for hours at a time. In the shower, Texas would be turned into a sweat rag to help wipe Georgia down before she cleaned off properly. During the night, the weasel would be stretched and shaped into a thong for Georgia to wear. On the toilet… Well, let’s just say these were the worst times for Texas and leave it at that.

And throughout all this torment, Georgia would not clean Texas. Not once. Months’ worth of putrid farts and musky ass sweat would stick to the weasel, ensure that even if she did manage to recover, she’d need a whole water tower’s worth of fresh water to clean herself off. But she didn’t need to worry about that, because she was never going to escape.