Lights Out, Tex...

Beneath the massive mare's rotten rump, Texas could only scream muffledly as she was, ground, slammed, squelched and splattered completely flat. It didn't take Butterscotch long at all to have smushed Texas into a comfortable seat, but this was where the real test of endurance for the weasel started. Nearby, Roxxie had been kind enough to leave a huge trough of feed, and Butterscotch took great pleasure in chowing down on it. Almost immediately the horse's stomach started rumbling, but Butterscotch, well trained in how to **** Tex, simply lifted her tail and started to vent all of her gas straight onto the crushed weasel in a never-ending stream of nuclear horse flatulence. Though the weasel wanted nothing more than to scream and protest and cry for help, with the gag in her mouth and the horse pressing down on her, all she could do was whimper muffledly and be subjected to some of the worst farts imaginable, manure bombs brewed up in the chemical factor of Butterscotch's stomach to be delivered straight to Texas's face. Try as she might to stay awake, the smell was simply too much for her, particularly after the ordeal with Roxxie before, and soon enough, the weasel was out cold.

A half-hour later, Roxxie came walking back to the stables, whistling happily to herself, and gave Butterscotch a pat on the nose. The horse whinnied and stood up immediately, revealing the paper-thin, foul-smelling and, worst of all, passed out sheriff. Roxxie tutted unhappily, then grabbed a bucket of water from nearby and dumped it on top of her, waking her up, though she was still restrained and gagged.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk... I thought you were meant to be tough, Tex? Frankly I'm disappointed... Ah heck, no I'm not! Cause now I get to see..."