Mascot Mayhem


                                            Gridlocked traffic spread ahead along the highway as far as the eye could see; nothing but cars bumper to bumper and clouds of exhaust choking in the humid Florida air.

                                            Still, Anon was willing to bet that had nothing on the exhaust he was currently experiencing inside the car full of con mascots.

                                            “Come on, get a move on!” Fair Flyer slumped back in the driver’s seat with an exasperated sigh. “There’s no way we’re gonna make opening ceremonies.”

                                            “Might as well cancel the whole trip then.” Soiree grumbled from the back, where she on one side and Morning Mimosa on the other were forming a kind of Anon sandwich with the poor poor stallion squished in between them. Every little shift on the seat, or lean to the side, and he could feel his ribcage being compressed like he was stuck in a trash compactor of chub and sweaty booty cheek.

                                            “It’s alright guys.” Mimosa offered an optimistic grin, “Traffic always bottlenecks this time of day, everyone’s rushing to the con after all, b-but I’m sure it’ll clear up soon enough.” With this, she tilted her hips to the side, as effortlessly as anything, and rumbled the seats with a deep blast of gas straight from her core.

                                            “Uh, s-scuse me…”

                                            Anon had told them the stop off at Culver’s on the way was a bad idea, but none of them were willing to listen. Instead it was three helpings of frozen custard each to match the family-sized combo meals with a week’s worth of calories in every bite. All four mares were loaded up on hayburgers, dairy and a metric gallon of grease, and Anon was the one suffering.

                                            Matinee matched Mimosa’s rump trumpet with one of her own, likewise lifting a fat cheek off the seat and letting it spew into the stuffy car interior. The stench of deep fried nightmares swum around Anon like a stew. It was like getting a whiff of a dumpster out back of a fast food place on the hottest day in the year, and things weren’t going to be getting any better.

                                            “Uh, c-could you try the window again, F-Fair Flyer? Maybe?”

                                            “Sorry, buddy!” She shrugged, hammering her own round of ass funk into the driver’s seat. “It’s busted.”

                                            “Wh-What about the AC?”

                                            “Also busted, sorry!”

                                            “Shame.” Soiree huffed next to Anon, “Cuz I’m sweating like a brony in a room full of lifesizes right now.” She groaned, adjusting herself in her seat and sending a waft of fragrant stench Anon’s way. The air somehow became muggier in that moment, seasoned with the ripe sting of Soiree and Mimosa’s no doubt unwashed pits.

                                            Things were already humid enough outside, but Anon would take that over the unbreathable swamp steadily getting funkier in the car.

                                            “Even if we’re a little late, we’ll be there for most of the con!” Matinee, like Mimosa, was trying desperately to lift everyone’s spirits, even with the traffic at a complete standstill. They hadn’t even moved an inch in the last hour.

                                            “I guess, but it might be a little better without this goddamn tummyache.” Soiree gruffed, and braced herself against her door, cheeks lapping and separating to open up a dark, dank gap between herself and the seat which Anon glared down into like a bloodthirsty beast was about to leap out of it… that wasn’t far off the reality of the situation.

                                            First there was the horrific burbling of her guts; twisting and untwisting in frozen custard-induced agony. Even when wracked by this caliber of stomachache, a gentle sneer was about as much emotion as you’d get from Soiree. Anon glared into that deep crevice between her cheeks and the next moment a torrent of stench was whirling out, making a heavy rattling noise against the tortured upholstery and emptying out into his face.

                                            He relived every bite of custard Soiree had wolfed down, warped by its journey through her guts and now making him feel carsick and seasick all at once.

                                            “Uugh, that was r-right in my face!” He choked. He could taste it on every breath.

                                            “Uh, oh, right. Sorry I guess.” She settled back down. She couldn’t show any more remorse if she tried.

                                            “It’s alright, Soiree!” Mimosa lisped from the other side, “I think we’re all a little tummyache-y right now, heheh… You’re not alone!”

                                            And she demonstrated her support for her friend with another sickening fart from the right. Anon just covered his nose and bowed his head but it didn’t stop the sensation of her ass cheeks quaking or the seating beneath him growing exponentially warmer.

                                            “Ahh..” She sighed, bouncing her butt into the seat and looking out the window obliviously while her uniquely awful brand of miasma washed over Anon’s face. Between Soiree and her it was a one-two punch. He couldn’t decide which made him feel worse.

                                            Fair Flyer chortled up front. “Geez, you two are making a tonne of noise back there! The food really hit you hard, didn’t it?”

                                            After a brief silent lull Anon could hear a muffled popping sort of noise coming from under Fair Flyer, a menacing bbrp-brrp-brrrffrrrtt!! As the seat absorbed her aftershocks.

                                            “Oh, like you’re not ripping ass with the rest of us.” Soirre broke the tiniest slightest hint of a smirk.

                                            “Yeah, Fair Flyer… you’re kinda stinking up the front!” Matinee teased, wafting a hoof in front of her face and planting one of her own rumblers in quick succession. “But then… so am I, heheh…”

                                            It was getting hard for Anon to tell how much each of them was really contributing to the miserable state of the air in the vehicle. All he knew was it all smelled equally terrible and he’d soon be passing out without some respite from it.

                                            But of course, there’d be no respite to come.

                                            “Hey. Anon.” Soiree nudged him, snapping him to attention, “Rub my tummy, would you? You’re just sitting there gagging and stuff, least you could do is help me out.”

                                            Who was Anon to say no? He nervously reached over Soiree’s ham hocks of thighs and gingerly petted her gut with nervous circles. He could feel the discontent bubbling beneath his hooves, and then a few seconds later could feel the release of thunder and the hot angry gases coming up from between her hind legs.

                                            “Ugh.” She pouted. He couldn’t really tell if this was making her feel any better or not, you could never tell with Soiree what she was truly feeling.

                                            Mimosa, on the other hoof, was more than happy to lay it out plainly.

                                            “Uh, A-Anon, after you’re done with her maybe… maybe you could rub my belly a little too, hm?”

                                            “Wait. I’m not done with him yet.” Soiree took hold of Anon’s tummy-rubbing hoof and held it in place, punctuating the thought with another aggressive rumble of brass from below.

                                            “Aw, no fair! You girls get free belly rubs in the back?” Matinee leaned over, “I sure could use one, I think maybe I’m lactose intolerant or something…” As she leaned forward her ass blared out a horn solo and drenched the passenger window in steamy condensation. “I’m coming back.”

                                            “Wait, Matinee!” Mimosa balked, “I don’t think there’s, uh, that much room back here!” She released a nervously sloppy stinkbomb as she watched Matinee push her way back anyway, twisting around awkwardly between the two front seats and sitting down… right on top of Anon.

                                            He was flattened into the seat with all the weight and humidity of Matinee’s crack bearing down on him. She corkscrewed her hips to get comfy, only driving him in deeper.

                                            “Hm? Where’d he go?” She turned side to side, a few small, but no less potent farts slipping out and directly into his face.

                                            “Oh! Matinee, I think maybe you, uh…” Mimosa chuckled nervously.

                                            “You sat on him with your big fat ass.” Soiree chided her sister.

                                            “Really? Hm, well… I’m comfy now so I guess that’s his problem!” She made herself truly comfortable with a full-force gale of flatus. This was nothing like those little leaky ones a

                                            moment ago, this was sent out with a deliberate strain and the kind of force that had Anon’s mane fluttering.

                                            The deathly stink of poorly-processed dairy bloomed in his nose, making him yearn for Soiree and Mimosa’s farts by comparison. All he could do was lie there, stewing in the stink, and whimper like a kicked puppy.

                                            “Whew… m-maybe I should cut back on the fast food this weekend.” Matinee giggled politely, in stark contrast to the boorish sound she’d just let loose.

                                            “C-Couldn’t be me!” Mimosa came back with a mischievous cackle, “I-It’s gonna be Denny’s for breakfast, Wawa for lunch and room service for dinner!”

                                            Even with Matinee’s ass pressing him down, Anon could still hear Mimosa’s tailpipe sounding off. No–it was worse now. He could feel the seat beneath his head shaking, and then mere seconds later the striking stench of Mimosa fumes somehow managed to get through to him through the massive slab of fat wrapped around his head. Hers had a particular note of sickly sweet onions that almost had him losing his lunch.

                                            It made him a little glad he didn’t have his face stuffed into her backside right now, but then of course the universe read his mind and dealt another turn of bad luck.

                                            “Hey, we’re moving! Wow, check it out, girls! I think that’s the hotel over there!”

                                            The three mares all shifted about to lean over each other and get a look at the skyline, sending Anon sliding around like a ball beneath a magician’s cup. It was all a rush of sweaty ass cheeks and horrible smells until he found himself shoved over into another set of cheeks, these ones even plumper, even more sour… Mimosa.

                                            It was immediately apparent this mare hadn’t bothered with a shower this morning, maybe not even the morning before. Anon couldn’t see anything but he could feel a greasy layer of sweat soaking off onto his face. It only got worse when Mimosa started bouncing up and down with excitement.

                                            “We’re getting so close! Aaa! I can’t WAIT, you guys!”

                                            There was an ominous gurgling, then well-timed flatulence emptying out in every bounce, battering Anon’s face with a loud deafening sound like a tuba filled with oatmeal.

                                            BBRLLPT-RRRT-BRRRLLT!

                                            And there was that smell again, now completely unadulterated and frying Anon’s brain like literal nerve gas.

                                            “Wait.” Mimosa stopped her bouncing, letting loose a slow and curious quacker. “I think he’s under me, heehee…!”

                                            “Lucky you!”

                                            “Unlucky him.” Soiree added.

                                            Mimosa bore down and erupted with another burning hot fart, just as sweaty and just as unpleasant. Her careless hip movements had the stallion practically force-rimming her trembling hole as it lathered his face. He could have a hundred showers after this, a thousand, and still reek like Morning Mimosa’s burger braps.

                                            Somewhere outside the prison of orange flesh he could hear the other girls pounding the seats, still putting out fumes at an impressive (or terrifying) pace.

                                            “You almost done with him?” Soiree groaned, “Mine are only getting worse, eugh.” “Yeah… they’re making me feel a little dizzy.” Matinee complained, then ripped an ironic fart.

                                            “Aww, but I only just got my turn with him!” Mimosa sulked a little. In truth she wished she could have Anon strapped to her tush for the entire weekend, muffling every last parp.

                                            But it was time instead to part with him, lifting up just enough to open a gap then sending him into another shuffle.

                                            As he passed by Matinee’s rump he was greeted with a short but thoroughly dreadful puff of silent fury, then along and under Soirée.

                                            She wasn’t the type of mare who had time to wait around. She got down to business right away.

                                            Anon wound up with his head turned to the side, which at first seemed like it might be a blessing until she leaned ever so slightly and sent out the first volley.

                                            Nope. Still smelled just as bad. Every orifice was inundated with a fuckload of custard and double cheeseburgers fed through a gut that had no tolerance for either. Even if Soirée could hear Anon’s pathetic snivelling and coughing over the sound of fanfare it wouldn’t give her any pause. She leaned against her sister for support and squeezed. Her cheeks clenched and her hole belched out another rancid ten-seconder.

                                            “Phew…” The slightest blush blazened Soirees cheeks.

                                            “Hanging in there, sis?” Matinee tittered. “That sounded nasty!”

                                            It was. For Anon at least. Every breath was thick and chewable with Soiree stink and it wasn’t getting any better anytime soon.

                                            Especially not when the car came to a sudden and shrieking halt. It sent the mares in the back lurching forward. For a moment Soirée was pulled up off Anon and he felt a rush of relief… only for both the sisters to come heaping down, cheeks squelched together with his head perfectly fitted between them.

                                            They fired off a pair of surprised farts, one after the other, walloping Anon and serving as a reminder that things could always get worse.

                                            “Dang, sorry girls!” Fair Flyer huffed, “More traffic. A lot more…”

                                            “Hmpf! Forget opening ceremonies! At this rate we’ll miss closing ceremonies!” Mimosa’s lip quivered.

                                            “Aw, it’s fine, girls!” Matinee tried to lift everyone up, “It’s not so bad! After all we have each other, and— oh no way! Look! There’s a Taco Bell at the next exit!”

                                            “We just ate” Soirée grumbled as she unpented another dizzying fart.

                                            “I am already feeling a little peckish…” Mimosa rubbed her gut. The groaning sounds were almost certainly from gas rather than hunger but despite that the mare always seemed to have room for more.

                                            “Fine fine.” Fair Flyer giggled, drumming a lengthy solo into her seat and wafting a hoof, “A Crunchwrap supreme does sound kinda good right now… and I think we could all use a treat for missing out on opening ceremonies!”

                                            Cheers and thrums of flatulence reverberated around the car (but mostly into Anon’s face) as they inched along the line of traffic and started to indicate to take the next exit.

                                            This weekend, con crud would be the least of Anon’s worries…