The door to the equipment storage shed slams shut, leaving only a few streaks of summer sun to peer in from the pair of small rectangular windows behind you. The Hololive sports festival is in full swing outside and the roaring of the crowd alongside the blaring, megaphone-enhanced commentary is brought down to a faint whisper now that you're so far off the premises. You'd been escorted here by Mio and Botan following the end of their mile long relay race. Apparently there weren't enough towels for all the members and, since you were the acting equipment manager, they had insisted that you “take responsibility”.
You look around the room for anything they could use to wipe themselves down but find only barren corners and a few musty gym mats. This area hadn't been in use since the school's big restoration project a few years back, so you're not sure what they were expecting to find. Botan watches your nervous movements with measured glee, her tail swishing across the dusty floor in wide, lazy arcs.
The implications grow more uncomfortable the longer the three of you stand in silence. You're about to suggest heading back and checking the main gymnasium when Botan steps forward, grasps your shoulder, and shoves you to your knees. It's disconcerting how easily she manipulated your body; it was like she was flicking off a light switch.
Their bodies now loom over you, still clad in the same PE uniform they've been running, jumping, and stretching in since this morning. Form-fitting t-shirts trimmed with red bands along the sleeves sitting atop a pair of bloomers tight enough to be a second skin. Both girls are soaked in sweat and still panting heavily from their recent bout of intense cardio under the cloudless summer sky. You hear occasional plips and plaps as small beads of perspiration roll off their bodies and onto the concrete floor around their grass-stained sneakers.
It's a bit much to take in since you're almost never this close to the talents. You can't help but indulge in a visual tour of your silent captors.
Botan's sculpted form, strong and solid without losing any feminine curves, strains against the thin fabric of her uniform. Her thick ass and powerful thighs look like they're ready to burst out of her bloomers at any moment, and you recall how hypnotic her backside had looked mid-race as she pumped and pounded against the track. Chiseled abs like glistening slabs of marble run up her abdomen before disappearing under her impressive bust. A perfectly proportioned layer of fat covers her toned musculature, gifting Botan a body strong enough to bend metal yet supple and soft to the touch. From behind the swell of her breasts she glares down with hungry amber eyes that were almost glowing in the low light.
Conversely, Mio boasts a plump, matronly figure. Her soft skin and plush frame spill out wherever the overstretched bloomers meet her skin, creating tantalizing indentations around her hips and upper thigh. To say nothing of her heaving wolf tits and massive, spankable ass that's so fat you can see it from the front. Merely shifting her weight from one foot to another jiggles her hefty assets. She had worked so hard to conceal her overwhelming sex appeal during the festival, either by cupping her heavy breasts close to her heart during the 100 yard sprint to mitigate their bouncing, or covering her rear during photo ops so no one would see how obscenely her ass had devoured her bloomers. Now, however, that bodacious milf body was on full display. She hasn't said a word since the three of you arrived and her gaze flits nervously between you and the ground.
Your eyes drops lower. From this perspective you're directly in line with their bloomers. What used to be a bright red is now a damp, dark crimson after collecting their salty runoff for over five hours and thick patches of pubic hair poke out from top of their waistbands. Mio's going commando as usual, allowing you to barely make out the darkened form of her bush behind the material.
“Well? Hurry up.” Botan's playful but firm voice jerks you back to reality. You look up at her as if you don't understand, holding on to that last bit of hope that you're grossly misinterpreting this situation.
She giggles and rolls her eyes, hooking her thumbs beneath her bloomer's waistband. The moment she yanks them down an intensely humid stench washes over your face and assaults your senses. Those bloomers must have been thicker than you thought to hold back that much brain-searing musk. The heady smell of Botan's well-marinated crotch almost knocks you over, but you manage to stay upright and blink away some tears. In the corner of your vision you see Mio going through the same motions, though she has a bit more difficulty getting them past her extra wide hips and has to wiggle in place for a minute before they join Botan's soggy bloomers on the floor. She shimmies up next to Botan close enough for their slick skin to rub together and then nervously thrusts out her hips, trapping you within a concave wall of sweltering thigh meat.
You're now kneeling in front of the two hairiest, smelliest bushes in Hololive. Their forests of tangled pubes are absolutely dripping with sweat, pussy juice, and whatever else they didn't have time to wipe off in the restroom stalls while rushing from one event to another. Countless narrow rivers of sweat had run down their necks, between the depths of their cleavage, under their unshaven armpits, and down their stomachs before soaking into their pubes. The midday sun glistens off their dark, oily mats and you can pick out individual pearl-sized droplets beading and dripping off their curly hairs like rain-stricken grass.
The heat wafting off them is slowly baking your face, a thin layer of perspiration forming on your brow and the tip of your nose just from being next to them. It's an oppressively wet heat and you can almost feel the temperature of the entire room climbing higher in their presence.
Worst of all, with the two of them side-by-side their scent is twice as potent and physically envelopes you in a thick cloud of choking musk. The air's so saturated in their flavor that you can feel it sticking to your tongue and the walls of your throat on every breath. The opposing smells mingle and intertwine, fighting for dominance with you in the middle. Botan's shaggy, off-white bush has a saltier tinge from all the running and lifting while Mio's deep black jungle has a thicker, more sour aroma after stewing in her air-tight, panty-less bloomers for so long.
This is easily the most intense odor you've ever inhaled. You tilt your head away and try to pass off your retching as clearing your throat. The floor's starting to wobble like a waterbed as their animalistic musk disperses through the shed and your lungs. It's getting harder and harder to remain upright so you turn towards them and suggest searching another part of the school. You lie through your teeth and “remember” that you saw some extra towels next to the bleachers.
They exchange looks and step forward, silencing your proposition and roughly sandwiching your dumbfounded face between their unwashed, pheromone-drenched cunts. The slimy heat is immediate, like plunging face-first into a warm viscous bath. You feel the tickle of their unkempt pubes smashed flat against your skin from ear to ear and any breath you try to take comes out shallow and gargled after filtering through their slick hairs.
“Are they...alright?” Mio looks over to Botan with worried eyes. She had plenty of reservations about Botan's plan beforehand, but looking at your pitiful face gasping for air beneath a slimy puddle of their combined discharges was especially distressing.
“Ah, they're fine.” Botan guides her hand to the top of your head and grabs a tight fistful of hair. “Now hold still.” Botan starts gyrating her hips to mash your face deeper into her folds. Up and down, side to side, soaking your features so thoroughly with her scent that not even a hundred washes would truly clean it off. Mio sheepishly joins in a few moments later, leaning forward on her toes and trying her best to match the lion's movements. They're not always in sync so the wet slaps of their thighs smacking against one another quickly overwhelms the rooms ambiance.
The two girls are passing your face between their pussies like a gym towel now, wiping up all the built up sweat and caked-on grime with needy thrusts. Wiry pubic hairs clog your nostrils, stale crotch sweat chokes your tongue, and the thick miasma of their neglected grooming continues to soak into your skin and lungs. Trying to jerk away just plants your face directly into another sweaty bush. So voluminous is their liquid musk that it's now slowly pooling over your lips and mouth, bubbling and splashing against their thighs as you sputter for breath. You're so thoroughly drenched that you wonder if you're even cleaning them anymore or simply smearing sweat from one bush to another.
It's hard to gauge how long you're under them. They've either forgotten about their other events or collectively decided that this was more important. One of them occasionally shifts their feet for better leverage to clean out the more difficult to reach areas, much to your increased discomfort. By far the most unpleasant of these times was when Botan grabbed the back of your skull, tilted her hips, and buried your nose deep in her sweaty taint, forcing you to huff the nauseatingly slick crevice where the dripping trails of her cream-colored bush and asshole hairs met. She scrubbed you back and forth for a hellish sixty seconds like she was trying to rub out a particularly stubborn stain, making good use of your flaring nostrils to snort down all the stale sweat she built up down there.
As the shadows grow longer and the sun dips below the horizon, Botan finally gives the signal and both girls step back. They very slowly peel off your face with gooey strands of various thickness still connecting your face to their sticky cunts. It takes a few seconds for the viscous strings to droop under their own weight and splatter to the ground. Your lips gasp at the relatively cool air, still peppered with stray pubes and still processing their cloying stench. Your skin feels so hot, so thoroughly slimy and abused but you don't dare wipe anything off lest they give you a fresh coat.
There's nothing left to do but catch your breath and wait for them to leave. Botan turns towards the door but Mio remains in front of you, wringing her hands and squirming in place.
“Eh? What's wrong, Mio?” Botan looks back with her head tilted to the side.
“Um, I kind of...n-need to...” Mio's cheeks go pink as leans in to whisper the rest into Botan's ear. Her tail springs up. You can't hear them from your position but Mio's desperate body language is filling in the details.
“Oh, that's it? They'll be fine, geez.” Botan glares down at you and bare her fangs. “Hey. Mio's been holding it in since the first event so she really has to go. Obviously, she's not walking all the way back to the gym so you're gonna take care of it.” She stoops down and lets her black-painted nails drag along your jugular. “You're not gonna turn her down, right?”
The low growl in her voice surfaces a primal fear in your blood. For all her laid-back banter and exuberant nature, Botan was still a beast more than capable of tearing through flesh and bone. And you know better than to oppose an apex predator. So you nod meekly, tipping your head back and opening your mouth.
“See? They're fine with it.”
“O-okay, that's good.” Mio seems briefly relieved as she kicks off her sneakers, takes a few steps forward, and hovers her bare crotch over your gaping maw. Your lips flinch as you once again feel the heat pouring out of her cunt, but at least she's not pressed against you anymore.
She lifts the bottom of her shirt with one hand while the other navigates through her bush and spreads her lower lips. It's an undeniably lewd display. Mio's face is glowing deep red beneath her black fluffy bangs while tiny nervous tremors jiggle her thick thighs and sway her breasts. She seems to be on the verge of tears.
For a while, nothing happens. Just the strained breathing of the wolfgirl above you as she massages her tummy and struggles to overcome the embarrassment of using you as her human toilet. A few errant drops leak out onto your tongue, giving you the faintest preview of her flavor.
Botan sighs and moves up behind Mio. She winds one arm back and delivers a firm open-hand smack across Mio's fat ass, loud enough to be heard on the other side of the track and sending a shock wave rippling through her pale cheeks.
“Mmhn?!” The shock finally loosens Mio's tenuous hold on her bladder and a powerful stream of frothy piss splashes against the back of your throat, filling your mouth almost instantly. The taste is much stronger than you had feared. A pungent, bitter cocktail that strangles your taste buds and clogs your sinuses with it's intensely acrid aroma. There's never enough time to drink everything so your tongue is perpetually drowning in a bubbling lake of Mio's stinking urine.
“Ahhh...” Mio's body fully relaxes and she lets out a heavy sigh, eyes half-lidded in bliss. She's lost in the pleasure of her release, embarrassment now the furthest thing from her mind as she selfishly relieves her overfull bladder in your mouth. “Whew...there's a lot more than I expected.” A small smile crosses her face and reveals a a tiny fang. “I guess I did try a lot of drinks today! They were all so good, though, how could I resist?” She's pissing like a racehorse now, that steamy jet of amber liquid plunging below the surface of urine already in your mouth like the basin of a waterfall.
Your eyes twitch as flecks of piss start splattering against your brow. Up above, Mio's stream is breaking up. Erratic spurts of urine spray out of her urethra like a clinched fire hose and splash against your eyes, nose, and cheeks. You screw your eyes shut and focus on gulping down her waste, enduring the warm, foul-smelling shower drenching your features and running down your ears and neck. It's so strong that some of it sprays back against Mio's inner thighs which draws a small yelp of surprise. She briefly considers pulling back or dropping lower to mitigate the damage, but ultimately decides to just push harder and drain herself as quickly as possible.
Eventually Mio feels her bladder empty out. Her gushing stream dies down to a slow trickle, giving you a chance to chug the rest of her refuse. With five heavy gulps, Mio's murky golden piss disappears down your esophagus like the drain of an unclogged bathtub. She then starts bouncing in place in an effort to dislodge any stubborn drops of piss into your mouth, her stupidly fat tits rising and slapping against her chest. “S-sorry, there's just not any toilet paper here...”
You hear the heavy thumping of Botan's approaching sneakers. It's clear what the lioness will demand of you next so you take the initiative. Lurching upward, you bury your face into Mio's bush and start lapping up every last bit of stinking urine caught in her oily mat. She gasps and takes a meek step back, but you push forward to stay firmly plastered against her crotch. You purse your mouth around large clumps of wiry pubes and strain them between your lips, wringing her acrid piss onto the flat of your tongue. There's so much surface area within the tangles of her musky jungle and it takes you dozens of passes to cover it all. Mio's locked up and panting the whole time, unsure of how to process your wet tongue pulling at her untrimmed nethers.
Just to be extra sure, you wrap your arms around Mio's hips, grab a big meaty handful of her fat cheeks for leverage and plunge your writhing tongue deep within her smelly, piss-soaked folds. Like a starved animal you noisily slurp Mio's stale ambrosia into your mouth, twirling and thrusting your tongue across her inner walls in tight frantic circles and bathing every inch of her leaking sex in shining layers of saliva. Mio's writhes in the wake of your oral worship, hands clasped tight over her mouth, her thighs shaking in equal parts embarrassment and pleasure. Small bits of drool spill out the corner of her mouth as she gives in to her wild lust and wraps her thighs around your head, suffocating you in the balmy embrace of her hairy cunt until your job is done. The cleanup process takes another couple of agonizing minutes and by the end, every drop of liquid filth that had stubbornly clung to her pubes or piss-slit was now sloshing down into your stomach.
You pull back from your messy tongue-fucking session and abruptly crumple onto the floor. Your tongue lies numb and limp in your mouth. Mio's bathroom break coupled with Botan's earlier rough handling has left you an exhausted, foul-smelling mess steaming under a fresh layer of warm piss. With the adrenaline rapidly evaporating, your limbs grow heavy and stiff, and you close your eyes.
Behind the black curtain of your eyelids you await the merciful clack of the shed door opening and closing. Instead, you hear the shuffle of approaching feet along with a poorly suppressed giggle. Your weary eyes squint open just in time to see Botan and Mio's splayed fingers presenting the insides of their bloomers just above your head. The crotch area is front and center, horribly discolored with damp gray stains and streaks of dark yellow. Mio's pair looks particularly abused due to the frequent squirts of piss that leaked out during her races. You want to protest or at least turn your head but there's simply no gas left in the tank. You try to take a deep breath, the last bit of clean air you'll have for a long time, as their smelly, dripping bloomers smother your face in humid darkness.