(male feral pokemon. scat/piss. Mild existential dread
Is there a chance that this rescue dog might save you from your predicament? Yes, a slight one. But you shouldn't kid yourself. Provoking a guard dog would be foolish, even for a normal sized person. But for a mouse-sized man to alert a dog likely tasked with killing any mice who trespass upon his master's property would be utter insanity. And so you opt not to get his attention. Instead, you remain quiet and crawl away towards the very back of the bottle, your body likely still outside of the dog's field of vision.
The Stoutland remains silent for a few moment slonger before suddenly stepping forward. At once, the bottle is engulfed in darkness as the dog's belly fluff engulfs it. You might not have been able to smell your pee over the scent of the sports drink, but you can very much smell the scent of the Stoutland. The dog's barely cleaned underbelly smells of dirt and grime and other unpleasant aromas... but that is of small concern next to the near total darkness that has descended around the bottle, along with the thunderous rumblings of his paws.
Eventually light begins to peak back back into the bottle as the dog advances forward... just in time for you to see his impressive girth. The dog's fuzzy shaft passes just over the bottle as he advances forward...and then the canine comes to a halt. Looking around , you once more see the light of day. Stray bits of black and grey furs cling to the bottle. The Stoutland's hindpaws rest to either side of the bottle, claws the wide of greatswords poking out from each of his digits. Yet those mighty hindpaws somehow scare you less than what is above you. The dog's huge cock is big enough to pack the might of a ballista, and it carries a musky scent far more distracting than the rest of the dog's body.
You hear another growl coming from the dog. It is not one of aggression, fear, or hostility. It is one of....relief. The dog adjusts his posture and backs his body up as you formulate a theory... and confirms your theory by hiking his leg up.
You've managed to avoid getting eaten, or perhaps even being seen by the Stoutland. Unfortunately, it would appear as if the dog never had any intent of eating you in the first place. Or if he did,he certainly isn't showing it. No..your silence has earned you an exquisite chance to serve as party of the canine's potty rituals.
Before you can react, the dog unleashes a firehose force torrent of piss upon the bottle, causing it to rebound and begin rolling along the field. You help and stumble and whine as the bottle rolls about. You were clearly not prepared for this. Nor was the dog! The Stoutland slams his paw down, quickly realizing what is afoot. He charges the bottle, stray piss drops still dripping from his girth, and quickly smashes a paw down upon it in a deafening burst of sound.
As you get accustomed to the ringing in your ears, you look forward to see that the bottle has suffered a catastrophic cave-in. The center has been compressed to a flat crawlspace so tight you couldn't even make it through. You're thankful you weren't there when the dog smashed his paw down!
Unfortunately, the terror is far from over. The Stoutland quickly hikes his leg above the bottle again. This time, as he rains a solid two minutes of piss upon the bottle, his marking spot does not roll away. On the contrary, not only does it absorb the full brunt of his potty break (something accompanied by still more deafening noise!) , but the barricade you've formed is struck by his pee as well.
The very dirt you packed into the bottle is dampened into mud, and a vile mixture of dirt, leaves, and dog piss begins to flood into the bottle,seeping under the cave-in, soaking your delicate skin, and mixing with the delicious sports drink liquid completely engulfs the crawlspace, leaving your shelter smelling entirely of rank dog odors.
At last however the dog slams his hind leg down, having marked the bottle as his territory and relieved himself of quite a day's worth of liquids in one fell swoop. He steps forward, shaking his body and grunting in satisfaction.
And then he squats down.
If you thought the piss break was bad, you are in for a rude awakening. You shake your head in disbelief as the dog's fuzzy rear descends into view before the bottle. You spot a patch of brown that you at first wrongly assume to merely be a part of his anus, then quickly realize is in fact the first sighting of a turd. No! No no no! This is unthinkable. Is this actually happening? Why? WHY?! Nature has seen fit for you to be a toilet... why?!
You have only yourself to blame. Deeming yourself incapable of surviving on your own merits, you cowered within the first manmade object you could find. In so doing, you chose to take shelter in exactly the sort of object the dog would find suitable as a bathroom spot, in a field that may well be bereft of other features that would be worth 'marking.' You should have at least entertained the possibility that a dog would put it to use!
The Stoutland indeed puts the bottle to use. Heavily. An enormous turd near half the size of the bottle itself descends from his bottom, its ridges visible to you through the transparent plastic of the bottle. Half of the turd lands atop the bottle, and the rest tumbles down over its opening. The turd breaks in two, its already bad scent amplifying several times over as its inner portions are exposed.
The Stoutland is not done yet. He adjusts his bottom and lays out another, larger one. This one lands not on the bottle, but right in front of it, and quickly forms a coil. The turd is several times your height on its own. The turd forms a coil before finally breaking off from the dog's butt. A few smaller turds spill out soon after, three small fragments finishing off the Stoutland's bathroom session. The dog quickly turns and looks back at the bottle for a split second before sprinting off without paying it any further heed
=====
Winchester was quite shocked to see the relic he spotted in the field move on its own when he took a piss over it. He had sworn it smelled of a living creature, and that he may have even heard some squeaks out of it. Having something bolt out from under him during what was SUPPOSED to be a relaxing moment was QUITE annoying.
So the hound relished it ever so much when a single stomp stopped the thingy in its tracks. He had briefly considered giving it a chew, but once he set out to use it as a toilet, he certainly wasn't going to change course. His need to relieve himself could be just as compelling as hunger could be, and in this instance loosing his lumps was more important to him.
And so he finished up unloading on the human relic he turned back to confirm it hadn't somehow run off again. Seeing his stool resting decisively atop his improvised toilet, he rushes back to the barn to put this event behind him, satisfied that he made the right call
=====
You lie in the bottom of the bottle, the dog's rank, nasty piss seeping into your skin. Thank Arceus, or science, or whoever it is that governs the heavens, that the dog has run off. This was a close call, but you survived. Your dignity could barely survive being a toilet, but at least the dog didn't directly park his load onto you.
As you savor your survival, your relief quickly turns to dread. The cave-in. It's fully submerged. You put two and two together and realize that you are now at high risk of suffocation. Lying with your legs forward, you are forced to awkwardly contort yourself in the newly-cramped confines of the bottle to adjust your posture. Your ankle winds up getting cut against the newly jagged bottle in the process. The piss water does not make that any more comforting.
Despite your pain, you manage to just barely pop open a gap that's large enough for air to circulate above the accumulated urine pool within the bottle. Unfortunately, this gap is not big enough for you to pass through. But at least you can breathe. You take a deep breath, only to find it now smells even worse! Yes, you allowed air to pass through... but the dog shat directly over the opening of the bottle, and only a tiny spot of the opening has been left uncovered.
You're going to have to make it out of here. You're going to have to widen the gap to the point that your body can fit through. You struggle at the cave-in the dog's stomping paw created. Trying to widen it to the point you can fit through. But you simply lack the strength. You scream and curse in frustration, but this does you no good. You're only wasting precious air. Speaking of which, even though you do have some level of air intake, it is a tiny amount...and every breath you take is tainted. Your strength dwindles, until at last your body loses the ability to even try to make headway.
You lie in the bottom of the bottle, entering into an increasingly hazy state. You ultimately acknowledge yourself as the Stoutland's toilet, though the dog has long since moved on. You gaze out through the plastic bottle and spend your last moments looking at the forest of grass and up at the partly clouded sky. After perhaps an hour or two, you pass out. You do not wake up.
YOU DIED
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