The memory of my commute is always a little hazy. Day after day in the same routine, it’s easy to just check out and forget all the useless little details.

The sun was just barely visible over the plains as I arrived at Rockwell’s condo.

“I’m home!”

The hulk of a rat was there to meet me, as always, lifting me up in arms sturdy enough to lift three hundred fifty pounds of skunk and welcoming me with a kiss.

The stress of the workplace drained out of me as he held that kiss; the embrace relaxed all the tension built up against the abuses of the night’s labor. The press of his tongue dominating mine dissolved all other thoughts beyond my desire to serve him.

I belonged to Rockwell.

I always belonged to Rockwell.

He led me back to the restroom — somehow immaculate, despite the abuse the pair of us regularly subjected it to — and I took my place in the shower stall, kneeling at the feet of the rat who was to use me.

Even standing up, I was more than a foot shorter than he was; in this position, I could barely see his smirk over the curve of his belly.

He focused on each button as he unbuttoned his shirt and hung it on a towel hook, then started to undo his pants.

It hadn’t even been a day since the last time and I still I couldn’t help but salivate at the thought of seeing the glory of his manhood again.

Unhurriedly, Rockwell pulled down his zipper to show off dark red briefs outlining the bulge of a nine-inch cock nestled over rat-sized balls.

The musk rolling off the rat’s crotch strengthened as the layer of cloth was removed, his pants dropping to the floor and being kicked aside. As my snout breathed in that masculinity of that scent, my own arousal couldn’t be held back; my dick throbbed, but I knew he wouldn’t want me reaching for it just yet.

I sat patiently, looking up at my owner and lover and master, my mouth open and drooling and eager as he reached into those briefs, the bulges shifting around as he took hold of his meat, pulling cock and balls out to flop over the waistband.

The smell was everything a man should be — the sweat that brewed in the depth of fold between groin and thigh, the salt of his last piss, the whiff of cum new enough to still smell fresh — and it was all mine, inches from my snout and coming closer. The rat’s cock was bigger soft than I’d ever been hard and it plapped heavily onto my tongue.

Rockwell knew full well there was nothing I wanted in the world more than to just wrap my muzzle around that mushroom head and have him pound my throat till I couldn’t talk anymore, but he’d trained me well enough that there was no way I would distract him from using me.

It only took a few seconds before that first blast of piss hit the back of my throat.

The flow filled my muzzle faster even than usual, hot and acrid; I tried to swallow it down, but my body failed to respond. I tried to pull back for a breath, but my body failed to respond. I tried to move my paw to wipe away the spillover gushing from my muzzle and dripping down my chest, but my body failed to respond.

Only my eyes would move, turning up in panic to see the widening of Rockwell’s smirk over his belly.

My throat opened up against my will, and piss drained into me like I was just another plumbing fixture. My panic deepened, as I tried to make out whether Rockwell was filling my belly or my lungs — neither was out of the question, given how he liked to play with his toys.

My eyes widened as the piss kept flowing and Rockwell stepped forward to press the hose of his cock directly into my throat, his fatpad enveloping my snout, cutting off all chance of breathing.

My dick pulsed from the terror of knowing this was how it would end for me, the stress pumping through me as it tried to make my body struggle free of the rat’s control, my mind unable to think of anything else but how I could draw my next breath —

And then with a rush of relief that hit me like an orgasm, I knew it would be okay.

Rockwell was taking care of me.

Rockwell loved me.

Don’t get me wrong — I still couldn’t breathe. I still couldn’t move. I was still being used as the rat’s urinal with no chance of mercy. I was already getting light-headed from lack of oxygen.

But the rat liked to play with his toys’ minds. Clearly he just wanted to feel me struggle.

With a sigh of contentment, Rockwell pulled out, and I fell back on my ass, gasping and coughing for breath.

And as he stood over me chuckling, I noticed the streaks of white where I’d blown my load coating the fur of his footpaws.

I was still a little woozy as I watched the rat turn around, his rump filling my vision as he let his briefs slide down, tossing them aside with a swing of that massive tail.

The command came, the first word he’d spoken to me since I came home: “Open.”

There was no mental force behind it, no control; this was how I knew I was more than just a toy to Rockwell, and this was how Rockwell knew I loved him.

I did more than just “open.” I pounced his ass, parted his cheeks with my snout, and slid my tongue in deep. From the way the rat shivered I knew I was doing a good job, but the pressure of his ass against my face and the movements of his muscles told me he wasn’t going to just sit back and enjoy it.

His load was coming.

The rat’s power slipped over my mind again, immobilizing me for his convenience as he pushed back against my snout with a steady force until it slipped into his hole with a pop, the stink of his insides pouring into my nostrils.

It was only a moment before hot sludge was forced in against my muzzle, oozing into my nose with each breath and plastering itself across my teeth. With effort I pulled my mouth open as much as his ring would allow, letting Rockwell’s scat flow dank across my tongue, bunching at the back of my throat before the pressure started forcing it down further.

My belly churned with animal revulsion at what I was being fed, but my cock throbbed with every second of it — “uncomfortably full” is my primary pleasure mode, after all.

I rubbed my filling gut as Rockwell used me at his leisure, the giant rat forcing what must have been a whole day’s worth of full bowel into me. Imagine how uncomfortable it must be for him to hold it in all day just for me.

Fuck, I love this rat.

My hunger continued unabated even after the flow of shit stopped; my fat tongue slipped out and scoured clean his inner walls as he leaned back on me, resting his weight on my face like my snout was his favorite dildo, and started to stroke himself.

In the darkness between his rumpcheeks I heard his ragged breathing, the heavy panting of his enjoyment. His hole twitched around my snout with each motion of his dick. Even the scent of his arousal somehow managed to find its way into my nostrils, overpowering the stink of shit and intestine.

I tried to imagine what that musk might smell like in the open air — what I could do to earn the privilege of drinking in that glorious aroma at its peak, to taste his cum straight from the source, to see the rat’s face as he luxuriated in climax — but it was impossible.

Rockwell never let anyone see him cum.

Still, I felt it as it happened, the rat’s powerful grip on my snout tightening and pulling me a couple of inches deeper into his hole as his load splattered across my belly.

For the space of a few moments I felt the intense pain of his full weight on me, the suffocating compression of my face in his ass, and overwhelming nausea at the shit coating me inside and out. I started struggling to pull free, to breathe, but it was impossible —

And then, just as before, even though nothing changed, everything was okay again.

Rockwell pulled himself off me slowly, smirking at my shit-covered snout. “Such a pig, skunk.”

I couldn’t hold back my blush.

He turned on the shower and I rinsed my face off in the spray, snorting out as much of the shit caked in my nostrils as I could and helping it down the drain. When I was presentable again, I returned my face to Rockwell’s ass, licking him clean of all the leftover mess.

After we cleaned up, I followed him back to the room that served as his office and took my place under his desk. The rat’s big feetpaws kneaded into my belly as I settled in for another day of service.

The memory of my commute is always a little hazy. Day after day in the same routine, it’s easy to just check out and forget all the useless little details.

The sun was just barely visible over the mountains as I arrived at Darkwater’s house.

“I’m home!”

The otter rolled off the couch and greeted me with a hug, nuzzling into my chest. “Hey big guy. How was work?”

I struggled to remember if anything interesting happened at the office, but honestly the workday’s just as forgettable as the commute.

“Same old, same old,” I said, shrugging, and settled in on the couch next to him. “What’s on tonight?”

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I write kinky erotica involving fat gay furries. I might have some opinions too. Writing Twitter: https://twitter.com/muskwriter