Race “Tract” by Krombomich

A literotic sexstories: Race “Tract” by Krombomich ,

All characters are 18+ (except the ferrets because they don’t live that long and I wanted to keep every detail of this story 100% realistic). It contains cartoonishly extreme all-the-way-through bestiality but presented casually. The first half is NON-CONSENSUAL, but the second half is concensual (because you can’t help but fall in love with this wonderful sport).

I used to visit the local pet shop every day. It was the closest I could get to having a pet of my own since both my parents were allergic to anything with fur. One day, the manager took pity on me and let me in the back area of the display, then opened all the puppy cages. Cute little things all over me, climbing, licking, snuggling; it was the best day of my life. So when I saw an ad on the campus bulletin board asking for volunteers to be a human ferret racing track, I thought it was going to be the second-best day of my life.

It was the worst.

A hundred eyes turned my way as I walked down the stairs to this frat house’s basement. ‘I didn’t dress like this for you,’ I would have announced if I wasn’t so shy. My short skirt, my crop top, my lack of bra despite breasts on the larger side, it was all for the ferrets. What’s the point of furry creatures running all over you, poking their heads out of your cleavage, if you can’t feel their fur on your skin.

“Wow, they’re not usually that hot,” one of them told Derek, the guy who answered the door and seemed to be the ferret race organizer. He anticipated my concerns and had assured me I would keep my clothes on and that this wasn’t some weird fetish thing—just racing and gambling.

“Can we have a little respect, please? Her name is Amy, and she’s not here to get ogled.” I liked Derek. Big, tall, handsome guys like him didn’t usually go all white knight for a nerdy girl me.

The basement was well-lit but unfinished. The strong, musky odor of weasels might have been a downside for some, but for me, it was charming. I was happy to see the habitat was huge and full of winding, transparent tunnels that let you watch the little rascals racing around and playfighting. If my dorm allowed pets, I would be begging to take one home.

“Do you guys do a lot of ferret races?” I asked Derek with 99% of my attention on the adorable sausage hamsters.

“Fuck yeah, it’s great. Like, who wants to watch horses go around in a circle, you know? And the ferrets love it. It’s just hard to find volunteers who are that much into animals.”

“I mean, I love ferrets, all animals, really. But if it was kittens instead, you’d probably have girls paying you for a chance to do it.”

“Kittens? Wow, we can try it next time if you’re game. Sounds pretty crazy.”

I had been staring at the frolicking rascals for ten minutes when Derek yelled out: “Last call for bets!” It made me jump, and I caught a nearby conversation through all the noise:

“That’s a newbie mistake; you get a bigger payout the higher your ferret’s number is.”

“If they’re going in order, doesn’t #1 win every time? A small guaranteed payout is better than a one-in-a-million chance.”

“Nah, bro, you underestimate how unpredictable these little fuckers are. Sometimes one stops to let others pass. Or they manage to get themselves turned around. And when they get to the stomach, they might decide to chill there forever. Or sometimes they U-turn at the finish line and do the whole course again in reverse.”

I still didn’t understand how ferret-racing worked, but I liked what they said about ferrets spending lots of time on my stomach.

“Are you ready?” Derek asked me. “I have to lift you up, but I’ll be careful not to touch you anywhere inappropriate, OK?”

“Like… just for a few seconds?” The gate of the habitat was pretty high up.

“Yes, for about five seconds, ten at most.”

That didn’t sound too bad, right? I think most girls in my situation would have accepted the offer. In hindsight, that was just another red flag warning me I was about to get fucked.

I was on his shoulders, my butt facing the habitat and my head facing the cheering crowd holding their bet tickets. Everyone would have had a good look at my panties if I was the other way around, so I was relieved about that. Then I had a thought (I have those sometimes but always too late): the paper said they needed a “tract.” I assumed it was a typo and that they meant to say track, but what if…

“Wait!” I was ready to say, but instead, all the air in my lungs came out in a puff as something cold and wriggled into my underwear. A second later, a ferret’s nose was poking my butthole, and in that same second, his entire body, as long and thick as my arm, squirmed in with help from its tiny claws. My body, from curled toes to gaping mouth, was frozen during the stretched seconds it took for my butt to suck up three creatures in a row. I had to deal with the sensation of a business of ferrets rushing through my bowels while more fought over the stretching rights to my rectum.

“Uh oh, there’s a traffic jam at the entrance,” said Derek, the only person to have a good angle to the ferret-stuffed panties. He had six more seconds before breaking his promise. “Aaaaand yup, number 6 and 7 are looking for another entrance.”

Some of the boys cheered, some booed, presumably, those who had bet on #6 or #7 while I lost my virginity to an albino. Maybe I’ll omit the part about him being a ferret if I ever tell my friends about my first sexual experience.

It happened so fast and with slick fur as the only lubrication. My legs were held tight by strong arms, and squeezing my thighs together didn’t stop that fat-bellied intruder from parting my vulva and digging down my birth canal. All I could do was dig my nails into Derek’s back and wait for the two lines of ferrets to finish their double penetration.

When the jock gently put me back on my feet, I had seven ferrets sprinting deeper into my guts and a crowd of three fighting for space inside my pussy. I collapsed immediately, then took my first breath in a long time, raspy and spit-laced, as I writhed on the floor to humiliating cheers.

When I started getting my bearings back, my first instinct was to run away. But where? And from what? The way to the stairs was clear. I wasn’t a prisoner; I was the prison. Even if I got this playpen of a body to crawl, I would take my problems with me.

So instead, no longer concerned about underboob showing, I used a hand to try to push back against the traveling lumps on my abdomen and the other to try to fish out ferrets from my pussy. With a hand down my panties and my breasts popping out, I must have looked like a drug-fueled nymphomaniac making a show of getting herself off. The audience was just blurs and noise. The ferrets were everything, and if I could just grab one by the tail, I could maybe pull it out and feel one-tenth better.

I made them panic, I think. The tail I managed to pinch between my index and middle finger slipped away, and its owner wiggled itself between its two friends. His whiskers brushed against the mouth of my cervix, and I exploded in a shameful orgasm. Wet with my juices, the ferrets took turns penetrating my womb. The only thing worse than the feeling of something crawling up your uterus is the reasonable concern that it might never come out.

That was the easy part, it turned out; the opening ceremony. Announcer Derek explained to the crowd why my convulsions had just doubled in intensity: “It looks like one of them, probably #1, has reached the small intestines. Now it gets really tight. And just in case anyone’s had any hopes for #6, #7 and #10, all three are in the womb now. They’re probably not coming out any time soon.” He could tell a lot from a girl’s tummy and navel bulges.

My first words since the ferret invasion weren’t ‘help me’ or ‘fuck you for tricking me.’ They were “They’re fighting… in my womb.” And apparently, I was wrong.

“Hmm, no, I don’t think they’re fighting,” Derek said, looking closely at the skin waves. #10 is female; they’re having an orgy in there. They do that sometimes when they find a nice warm place. It’s like a housewarming party. Don’t worry, you’re going to be squirting ferret cum for a few days, but it’s not like you can get pregnant or anything.”

“I don’t want ferrets to have sex in my womb.” Imagine how crowded three ferrets would be in a deflated balloon. Now imagine that balloon is one of your most sensitive organs.

“Hey, it could be worse; you could have put money on one of these three.”

So it’s with an orgy in my womb that I had to endure the intestinal trauma of ferret racing. Whenever I thought I’d rise to my knees, a new wave of orgasmic pain returned me to the floor. Derek put number stickers on a ferret poster on the wall, associating the ten pictures with the order in which they came out of the habitat. I had him pegged for a dumb jock, but he had a good memory.

“Fuuck ah!”

“Oh, judging by Amy’s reaction, there are two ferrets passing each other in the small intestine. It looks like it could be #3 is passing #2!”

Roars from the crowd drowned out my squeals.

Ferrets passed each other several times in my small intestines. Derek eventually lost track of who was in the lead. I never thought I’d say this, but I was thrilled when I birthed the first ferret into my stomach. A small relief, but the first since the whole ordeal started.

“One of them is in the stomach,” Derek read from my facial expression and hand positions. “But which one is it?”

More ferrets accumulated in my stomach in the next hour. Some turned back to do the course in reverse. Some fought… or had sex; I wasn’t sure. But then I finally felt it, little claws getting a grip on the walls of my gullet. I forced myself on all fours and kept my mouth open wide while trying to vomit the ferret out. My tits were loose, my panties exposed, yet every boy in the room was staring at my tonsils.

“It’s… It’s… #9! #9’s head is poking out, but it doesn’t count yet. Are we going got have a huge upset?”

Everyone held their breath, especially me, because I was gagging hard on the ferret body in my throat. My chest contractions must have spooked the little guy… he scurried back down my esophagus.

“Awww, so close…”

It took another hour for a ferret to finally cross the finish line made of teeth. #9 again. Some people were overjoyed; most weren’t.

“Hey, thanks again for doing this. It was a great race. Here, take this home with you.” Derek placed a small portable cage next to me. I was still shaking and dry heaving on my knees, but the confusion in my eyes asked for an explanation.

“We don’t care about the runner-ups. So in the next few days, whenever a ferret comes out, please put it in the cage and bring it back here. I’ll buy some kittens in the meantime like you suggested for whenever you want to do this again.”

It’s been two weeks now. The cage is still empty. The ferrets are as lively as ever, running, fighting, mating. They must drink my water and eat what I eat. You do sort of get used to it. Sleeping is near impossible, but I have been attending my classes. The hardest part is holding back moans in public places.

At this point, I’m thinking of just going ahead with the kitten race. Maybe they’ll chase the ferrets out.

3 months later

Meow.

“I am not going to let you kids gaslight me. There is a cat in here somewhere.”

Everyone but the teacher was amused at the idea of someone bringing a pet into the classroom. Nobody wanted to participate in the witch hunt.

Meow!

“That’s it! I’m looking through every single bag!”

Nothing was found during the thorough search despite there being technically ten cats in the classroom. The meows were coming from one of the furballs in my throat. Mr. Whiskers popped his head out of my mouth a few times to express his usual grumpiness but by the time the teacher was pacing the aisles, he had returned to my stomach to play-fight with his friends. The lumps were dancing safely behind my baggy sweater. A cat’s natural curiosity makes it a unique experience. One day I hope they organize a race with ten different species.

A kitten in my womb was playing what’s-making-that-paw-shaped-bumb-in-the-wall with another kitten in my transverse colon. The physical discomfort is almost unbearable at times, but the mental discomfort of being alone in my body would be constant without them. I know, I would have never believed it’s possible to get addicted to being a Habitrail for a new set of critters every week. And I wish I could say it’s not a sex thing… but as a living playground, I’m horny all the time; it’s a kind of deep, filling penetration a man could never offer. No offense to the men of the world… it’s not really your fault.

I don’t mean to brag, but the races have gotten a lot more popular with me as a tract. There isn’t enough room in the basement of Derek’s frat house anymore, so we do it outside in the yard. At the risk of sounding corny, I feel more connected to nature with my hands and knees against the grass.

It’s easier for the audience to keep track of the race if I show more skin, but I might have agreed to a few too many compromises for the current uniform to be a tiny bikini top on my very not-tiny breasts and… no bottoms at all, because, like the starting line of the race, everyone wants to watch my bulging waxed pubis. I dress extra conservatively outside of events and, so far, guys seem to understand that they can get an eyeful on Friday nights as long as they don’t harass me the rest of the week. They wish me luck and ask for betting tips. I’m more of a sports star than a ring girl to them, which suits me just fine.

I changed into my race tract uniform as soon as Derek opened the back gate. That just meant taking off my pants, my panties, and my sweater; I was already wearing the dental floss top underneath. I don’t mind being half-naked (more like 99% naked if you go by surface area) in front of Derek outside of races because we’ve always had a purely professional relationship. I know that when he’s feeling me up, it’s strictly business. His hands were all over me, analyzing the moving lumps. Just like getting them in, evicting creatures before a race is a team effort. The only thing I would change about Derek is the size of his forearms. This big fitness buff seems to be cultivating more mass every week and my holes certainly feel his gains.

“I can get this one here but I’ll have to go really deep,” he said, lifting my right breast to point out a high kitten lump underneath. I knew that was Mr. Whiskers because he has bigger paws than his brothers and sisters.

I nodded my consent, got down on all fours, and braced myself. The ultrasonic cat repellent had worked on a few kittens that were now frolicking in the grass, but the rest had simply scampered deeper between my organs. Derek’s muscular arm was up past the elbow inside my ass and, with his other hand, he respectfully probed my pussy with fingers coated in catnip in an attempt to lure Tigger and Rascal out of my womb.

“There he is,” Derek finally said, pulling a wet and ever-grumpy Mr. Whiskers out of my rectum by the scruff of his neck. That little guy had meowed out of my mouth four hours ago; he went on quite an adventure to come out the other end.

A few hours later, Colonel Ketchup fled from Derek’s under-stomach punches by disgorging from my mouth. Only Miss Pepperpot remained unaccounted for. With an arm in each hole, Derek lifted me off the ground by the tightness of my sphincters to hopefully shake her out.

I don’t like being aroused when Derek’s arms are inside me but with Pepperpot’s little squishy cushioned toes playing my intestine like a piano, I was at the edge of a very shameful orgasm. When Derek started talking about tract racing, I failed to change the subject to something less titillating. I was terrified that he could feel my pussy getting wet around his arm just from hearing about the fresh new horrors awaiting me.

“I’ve been feeding the Ferrets twice as often to make them fatter for next week’s race,” Derek said from high above my head and dangling tits, which had already slipped out of the bikini. That thing refuses to stay on properly.

“I thought ferrets were this week.”

“Right, I forgot to tell you. Change of plans. Tonight we’re doing a special event: Mangoose VS Cobra!” You could tell Derek tried to accentuate the headline with hand gestures even though they were trapped inside me.

This sounded like a nightmare. A wet nightmare. How embarrassing would it be if I slipped off Derek’s arms from the extra lubrication?

“What’s a mongoose?” Before you call me an idiot, remember that I was upside down, blood pooling in my head, and at the edge of an orgasm.

“I guess it’s kind of like a ferret but I’m not sure you’d be able to open your mouth wide enough to let them in, so we’ll have the mongooses… or is it mongeese? No, mongooses enter from behind and the cobras from the front.”

“Isn’t a cobra… like… really bad?” See? I can be smart.

“Yeah, for sure, but I ordered some anti-venom just in case. I’ve been tracking the package and it should arrive just in time. And that’s if we need it at all.”

“I don’t know how I feel about animals killing each other inside me.”

“If it makes you feel better, team Mongoose is heavily favored.”

It did make me feel a little better. I don’t care as much for snakes as I do for cute furry creatures… It was too late to back out anyway. I had been chasing the intense adrenaline high of my first time for months. I was trembling in fear like a ferret tract virgin. Even if my love juice production went unnoticed, Derek could probably feel my intensifying heart rate. “How many of them?”

“Five king cobras orally vs five banded mongooses rectally with a bonus one-on-one fight in your uterus… Got her!” Derek extracted his arm as slowly and gently as he could. I tried not to groan but I groaned a lot. Mrs. Pepperpot resisted so much to being shaken out that she had climbed right into Derek’s hand. Good thing she’s declawed. I had a feeling the mongooses wouldn’t be. Oh well, why worry about claws when a cobra can sink its fangs right into your heart if the rhythm is threatening? Why is this so arousing? If I discovered motorbikes instead of ferret races, I’d probably be jumping over school buses naked while creaming the seat.

Hissss. Hisssss.
Hisssssssssssss!

Evolution cursed me with an intense fear of opening my mouth at the entrance of a busy snake cage. But in front of a hundred people gathered around my almost-naked body in the yard, I had to fight that flight instinct. “Won’t that make me look like I’m trying to eat them?” I had asked Derek, but he told me it was probably fine as long as I didn’t make any sudden movement. And that the anti-venom should arrive any minute now because the app said it was ‘in transit’.

Do nervous twitches count as sudden movements? If it was one hiss for yes, two hisses for no, the snakes were saying yes yes yes yes yes… They were also showing me much bigger teeth than I was showing them. I squeezed my eyes shut, anticipating red hot punctures on my bottom lip. Instead, my first physical encounter with a king cobra was a little tongue flicking against mine. It tickled and also made me reel in revulsed terror. The crowd gasped at this mother of all sudden movements. When a snake lunged at my mouth, I was sure it was to drive its fangs into my tongue but… no, the most courageous cobra slithered past it, compressing his neck flaps against the tightness of my throat. You don’t realize how long a fully uncoiled snake is until it travels down your esophagus. Four more, each twice as long as I am tall, followed the trailblazer into the new stomach nest.

If the snakes won, would that mean fresh snake eggs for breakfast every morning? I asked myself a lot of weird questions while my jaw strained against oval bodies with the girth of Derek’s forearms.

My breasts were pressed against the outdoor arena with only nipple-size triangles of yellow cloth between them and the cold grass. With 60 pounds of cobra inside my stretched stomach, it wasn’t easy to flip myself on my back. The whole point of being almost naked is for the crowd to see the action unfold like a skin tapestry. Did I say almost naked? Because my bikini top had unraveled on the grass where I began my roll. The show must go on. Fully naked, I spread my limbs like a starfish. The audience had a much better view of my pussy than me as I couldn’t see much past my squirming snake belly.

“OK, one last cobra.” Derek was carrying a super-pissed Cobra with a thick chainmail glove. The bonus fight idea was not well through-out; forcefully shoving an angry cobra’s head up my pussy would only have been a good idea if the goal was to collect snake venom in my punctured bladder. I must have used a lifetime’s worth of luck on that one. I swear I felt a fang brush against my clit as the cobra tried biting one last time through the chainmail, but the lack of excruciating pain meant my most sensitive spot had been spared.

Fleeing the impenetrable five-headed monster, the cobra dove into my pussy. I heard distant cheers from the crowd. They never miss it, do they? I came. People have side-bets on my orgasms like what will trigger the first one, and how long it will last. This was a huge one. A thick, 11-foot scaly mass rubbing its entire length on every square inch of my convulsing birth canal, it doesn’t get more intense than that.

Oh, but it does. My legs still wide open like I was on a gynecologist’s table, I hear the sound of a cage opening and a lot of screeches. I’ve never had animals that eager to penetrate my holes before. They knew that deep in those moist holes were preys.

And yeah, mongooses are much more than just bigger ferrets or longer kittens. I’ve never had anything travel so fast and so forcefully inside me. With a cobra so close, Derek was unable to properly direct traffic into my anus. Three of them went after the snake in my womb where his big glove wasn’t able to follow.

The fight was lopsided on both sides. Three Mongooses can easily kill one womb cobra, but five stomach cobras can kill three mongooses.

The gamblers were understandably angry. This wasn’t like betting on a ferret that turned out to be an idiot; this was like changing the rules of the game after taking your money. Derek had to promise a repeat of the event next week. Most people went home at that point but some of them always stay to watch me cum. Even if things have calmed down inside, I can ride the excitement for hours before passing out in the yard.

“So do you think you’re OK with dangerous snakes in your stomach and feral rodents in your womb for a week?” Derek asked me in the morning, handing me back my itsy bitsy bikini top.

It made me remember that I was naked and I covered my large breasts with one arm while reaching for the bundle of strings. “I think so. Did the anti-venom arrive?”

“It says it was delivered but it must have been to the wrong address. I’ll call Amazon and try to get it sorted out before next week. Try not to walk too quickly until then.”

“No sudden movements, yeah…” I put one hand on my tummy, feeling inquisitive tongues and rubbing scales, and one on my navel, feeling gripping claws and nibbles. Both sides were still feasting on the spoils of war.

Derek helped me up slowly. “I have a box of mice you can take with you. Starting tomorrow, swallow two of them alive each day. If you birth the mongooses, that’s fine, but cobras are expensive and I had to give a lot of refunds today.”

“That makes sense,” I said, suppressing a gag at the thought of lowering a mouse by the tail into my gullet. One of the cobras tried to poke out but I swallowed it back down. “If they get hungry they might realize that they are surrounded by delicious meat.”

Derek’s eyes found my breasts when I said ‘delicious meat’ but he quickly looked away. I was horny enough to kiss him, but then I remembered I had venomous snakes in my throat. A workplace romance is never a good idea.

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