In the halls of the BCPU station, punishments were never about mercy. They were about making sure every criminal left with a lasting reminder of their misdeeds. For minor offenses like petty theft or minor fraud, death was overkill, and imprisonment was a waste of resources. Instead, the BCPU opted for tailored, sadistic corrections that broke the spirit without crossing into permanent damage. Take, for instance, the case of the bald male criminal known only as Gregor.

He was caught red-handed shoplifting. The BCPU believed fines would be ineffective for scum like him and quietly condemned him to a more… memorable punishment. For this, they had assigned Agent Elly.

Gregor sat naked in one of the BCPU station's punishment rooms, strapped tightly to a cold chair. A thick, padded blindfold robbed him of sight. Noise-canceling earmuffs left him in a world of silence, broken only by the frantic beating of his own heart. The most cruel touch was the wide strip of silver duct tape sealed firmly over his mouth, forcing every breath through his nose, leaving his sense of smell his only, terrifying connection to the outside world.

He had been left like this for what felt like an eternity. In reality, it had only been since the evening before. Now, in the morning, the door opened with a sound he couldn't hear. A slight change in air pressure was his only clue. Then, a scent cut through the sterile air of the room: a faint, musky aroma, like damp fur and earth. It was Elly.

The tension was broken when something soft and warm brushed against the back of his neck. It was Elly's tail. The bushy, black-and-white fur was like a plush scarf, a sudden, almost comforting warmth in Gregor's chilling isolation. For a fleeting second, it was a kindness. Then, the tail gently but firmly tightened around his neck, pulling his head forward slightly.

He couldn't see that Elly, clad in her BCPU bodysuit, had unzipped a panel at the back of her suit. He couldn't see that she had climbed onto the desk in front of him, positioning her bare backside inches from his face. And he couldn't see the large gas mask strapped to her face, ensuring she was safe from what was to come.

The first signal was the tail tightening its grip ever so slightly. Then it began. It was a silent explosion. The first fart was a concentrated blast of pure, unadulterated foulness that felt like it hit him in the face. The smell was a vile cocktail of sulfur, decay, and a uniquely skunky rancidity that felt like it was burning itself into his sinuses. With his mouth taped shut, the fumes had nowhere to go but deep into his lungs. He gagged violently, his body straining against the restraints, but the convulsions only made him inhale deeper.

Elly held the position, not moving. She released another, longer, wet-sounding fart that seemed to coat the inside of his nose with a greasy, invisible film. Tears of pure agony streamed from under his blindfold. The warm, soft tail around his neck held him in place for the torture.

After what felt like an hour, but was only a few minutes, the pressure of the tail released. Elly turned on the room's ventilation, scrubbing the air clean so Gregor would not get used to the smell. Quickly, the worst of the stench began to fade, reminding him what "normal" air was like, and he was left again in the silent, scentless dark.

This became his day. There was no schedule, no predictability. He would sit for an immeasurable time in the void, his anxiety mounting. Then, the musky scent would return, the warm tail would encircle his neck, and the gaseous assault would begin anew. Each time, Elly "saved up" enough to make the stench more complex, more overwhelming than the last. It was a cycle of dread, torture, and fleeting relief.

Finally, after countless cycles, she returned. The familiar scent, the warm tail. But this time, there was a different energy. “Your time is almost up, Gregor," Elly said, aware he couldn't hear her. "But we can't have you leaving without a proper... souvenir."

He felt her tail tighten around his neck again. Then, a sensation of warm oily wetness, followed by an odor so potent it made the previous farts smell like perfume. It was her spray. A fine mist hit his face, soaking his skin, his blindfold, flooding his nostrils. It was a chemical fire, a pain that went beyond smell into pure agony. He choked and retched against the tape, his body seizing.

Elly didn't hold back. She sprayed him again, and again, watching through her mask as his body convulsed, as the struggle weakened. She continued spraying until the light in his hidden eyes was finally extinguished by the unbearable fumes. His head bobbed forward, held up only by Elly's soft, fluffy tail.

Satisfied, Elly hopped off the desk, re-zipped her suit, and left the room. She was going to make a call on her comms to arrange Gregor's release, but that could wait until tomorrow.

—

As long as supplies last, I plan on posting on Tuesdays as well as Fridays.
With Tuesdays more reserved for my “unusual” work.

Feedback and art tips are always welcome.