Shackled in a heavy stockade for his petty crimes, a mischievous cheetah is given a lesson in manners from a flatulent horse bent on vengeance.
(For those who get a little confused with the setting, this story is set in the land of Aurora, from the Fable franchise)

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“You…can’t be serious.”
“No? Shame, and here I thought I was being perfectly transparent. Perhaps you should spend less time stirring up mischief and work on your social skills my friend-“
“-Well it’s kinda hard for me to read the subtle facial cues and intricate underlying cultural contexts when the speaker in question has decided to situate his BUTT in my FACE!” Cierce complained, the indignant feline straining his spotted head as far away from the source of his discomfort as possible; which was, given the constraints of the sturdy stockade he was shackled in, not very far at all.
“Really?” the offending party, an impressive, sturdily built horse by the name of Guimaus mused in an exaggeratedly contemplative tone, “Personally, I’d say that in itself is a pretty clear message that transcends cultural boundaries.” Chuckling, the hulking equine positioned his rotund derrière a bit closer to the disgruntled cheetah, effortlessly nullifying the feline’s struggles and making Cierce wrinkle his snout in disgust at the proximity of the horse’s foul hindquarters and the smell that permeated that particular end. “I’m not familiar with Auroran culture, however,” Guimaus continued with a swish of his dark stranded tail, allowing it to drape over the stockade’s headboard in order to subjugate his victim to an unwelcomed view of his thick, globular buttocks covered only by a very worn set of trousers, “so let me know if you can come up with a better way of expressing contempt that issues public disgrace, will you?” The smug horse taunted with a crooked grin, his arms folded as he gave a teasing wiggle of his hindquarters in the face of the trickster which was, conveniently enough, set at seat level of the equine due to the sturdy stockade the unfortunate feline had been shackled in.
Cierce, however, unable to escape from the unpleasantness of Guimaus’s foul tail-end, had other opinions about the arrangement, “Yeah? How about if one were to take a VERY large chunk of flesh out of the other with the VERY sharp teeth he has? Do you think that would suffice?” The indignant cheetah winced as his acute senses where forced to endure being in direct vicinity with such a foul, shameful place; however, it was his pride that suffered most at this point. The wit-oriented, normally charismatic feline could practically feel the eyes of amused passersby as they witnessed his abject humiliation at the hands, or backside, rather, of this domineering brute.
Guimaus didn’t bother to dignify the trickster’s grumbling with a response, as both parties knew all too well that the feline wouldn’t dare. If the guards were willing to look the other way while the horse “relieved them of their post” for the sake of a few coins, they would certainly have no qualms with simply “forgetting” that they had left their prisoner with a full set of teeth and without any visible bruises. Besides, he was becoming somewhat distracted by a slight pressure that was building up in his gut…
What an excellent time to let the indignant little cheetah know exactly what Guimaus thought of him.
“Ugh! What do you plan to do? Stand there in one spot all day like a daft oaf? Get away from me you stupid horse!”
“I think the better question is if YOU intend to stay in that one spot for much longer?” taunted the towering horse with a mocking waggle of his hindquarters in the face of his victim. “I have this odd feeling that the atmosphere down there is going to get a bit…unpleasant. If you know what I mean.”
“You. Wouldn’t. Dare.”
~Just as a little public service announcement to the audience, I’d like to share a little nugget of wisdom that our friendly Cierce apparently lacks: If you ever find yourself facing someone who A: Is in control of the situation and has you completely at his or her mercy and B: Is expressing a whim or desire to subject you to something utterly unpleasant, you might want to take this time to make amends with that particular individual. Or, at the very least, refrain from tempting them further by telling them what they would or would NOT do.
Unfortunately, our feline friend was only given a few seconds to reflect on this wisdom before Guimaus let him have it.
A muggy torrent of malodorous, cheetah -punishing gas trumpeted obnoxiously out of the smug horse’s rotund derrière to flush directly against the captive feline’s face, smothering Cierce in a dense, inescapable plume of stench that left him gagging in disgust. Desperate to get out of this bizarre, painfully humiliating situation, the cheetah renewed his efforts to shake free of his bonds. He couldn’t believe this was happening! Even considering his mischievous hobbies, he’d never predicted that he’d one day find himself trussed up, helpless to escape as he was subjected to a prior victim’s shameful bodily emissions!
“Oh please, it can’t be THAT bad.” Guimaus snickered as the fumes began to dissipate somewhat.
“Oh yeah? Then why don’t you let me out so we can switch places and you can experience it yourself while I can be the one to stand around like an ass!”

“Watch that attitude, kitty, it just so happens that my cousin’s one-fifth mule. Besides, I think I’m perfectly satisfied with our current arrangement, but thanks for the suggestion.”
“Fantastic,” grumbled the disgruntled feline, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm, “why don’t you just make yourself comfortable while I’m stuck down here with your stupid tail in my face.” Cierce shook, or tried to shake, his head to dislodge the stray hairs of Guimaus’s tail that had dropped down to brush against his face.
“Yet another great suggestion from the think-tank! I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”
“Yeah yeah….wait. What?” Cierce’s eyes widen in horror as his tormentor’s round buttocks began to inch closer to his head as Guimaus’s rump totally eclipsed Cierce’s field of vision, and, even worse, subjected his poor abused nose further to the earthy scents radiating from the horses somewhat prominent backside. The feline winced and renewed his futile efforts to escape as Guimaus showed no intention of pulling away, as his trouser-clad rump kept a steady, agonizingly slow progress toward its intended destination: Cierce’s snout! The horse relished at this perfect revenge, as his victim was forced to watch and accept the inevitable.
After what felt like minutes, but was really only a few seconds, the defenseless cheetah surrendered, and resigned himself to being miserable for the next few minutes, deciding that his energy would be better used towards plotting his revenge. However, his black thoughts were interrupted when his soft, vulnerable muzzle was finally forced to bear against the seat of Guimaus’s trousers, making the trapped feline scrunch his nose up in disgust as his snout made a slight depression in the rough material, forcing him to endure the leftover fumes lingering in the fabric. It was clear he wouldn’t be able concentrate while he was being subjected to the horse’s sick sense of humor.
“Ahh, that’s more like it,” Guimaus chuckled, as he forced his victim’s snout to sink deeper into that vulgar, musky crevice of his thick derrière, bearing down with just enough pressure to keep the feline’s nose lodged between the two rotund mounds of flesh while leaving a pocket for the trickster to breathe; however, this wasn’t out of the kindness of his heart. He simply wanted to force his victim to endure the most foul, repulsive odors his impressive body could produce. “Aww, giving up already?” He taunted, with a cheeky waggle of his hindquarters in an attempt to get a rise out of the harassed cheetah.
Of course, because the feline’s snout was so far wedged in-between Guimaus’s buttocks that his head was forced to mimic the wiggling movement, Cierce could only offer a muffled grunt of indignation in reply.
“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?” The musky stallion snickered at his awful pun, before being yet again interrupted by a stirring in his gut. “Say, remember earlier, when I farted in your face and you completely over-reacted?”
The horse paused a moment to savor his victim’s terror, and snickered as he heard an audible gulp emanate from the unfortunate soul fixed against his rump.
“Let’s just say you’re about to have a real reason to complain in about three seconds.”
True to his word, the massive horse relaxed his churning bowels, and released a foul cacophony of flatulence to rumble in a vulgar ripping sound against the unfortunate feline’s face, smothering the trickster in a dense fog of offensive odors and further demeaning him in the most derogatory way possible.
“Woah, I kinda feel bad about that one,” the remorseless equine mocked, forcing Cierce to stew in the nauseating bog of muggy gas he’d just vented into the cheetah’s face before removing his musky rump a short distance from his victim’s face to allow him to breath in just a few traces of un-polluted air. After all, it wouldn’t do for the little guy to get used to the smell, would it?
Unfortunately, the air was so dense with the horse’s loathsome flatulence that there wasn’t much clean air for the feline to take in.
“So, while this next one is cooking, and believe me, there will be more, is there anything you’d like to say to me?” The domineering horse chuckled and nonchalantly braced himself against the sturdy stockade that was holding his victim in place. “Anything at all, before I wedge that tricky little muzzle of yours back where the sun doesn’t shine? Come now, it’s not like you’re going to have much of a chance to say anything for a while, unless you plan on apologizing in a much more physical way, which I wouldn’t mind one bit.” Guimaus took a moment to chuckle at the thought of his former enemy planting a fuzzy kiss on his hind-end to appease him. “Who knows? I might even go easy on ya.”
Cierce’s eyes narrowed dangerously, “If I were you, I’d release me this instant you crude oaf! Who knows? I might even make sure your death is relatively painless, but that’s unlikely.”
~Tsk. Tsk. Do I even have to do another PSA for this one? Looks like Cierce’s tongue’s got the better of him once more, especially since both parties know that his antics are not, and will never be, lethal, so there wasn’t even any possible benefits to his little threat! I swear, gentle audience, Cierce generally isn’t this thick, can you really blame him for being muddle-headed in this situation? But that’s enough for now, let’s get back to our fine hero and the new, gassy, friend he has acquired.
“Woah, death threats is it?” Guimaus asked, taking up an exaggeratedly admonishing tone, “Tsk tsk. Well, I guess you’ll have plenty of time to come up with an apology while you’re sniffing up my tail-end. I hope you don’t plan on doing an excessive amount of breathing, ‘cause it’s about to get pretty foul down there.”
In less than three seconds Cierce found himself once again subjected to an unwelcomed view of the equines thick, meaty hindquarters and the offensive musk hanging around that end. After a view moments of pause, in which Guimaus, with a smug look spread across his face, reached down to spread his rotund buttocks as little as his trousers would allow, Cierce’s muzzle was forced to bear up against the seat of his tormentor’s pants before having it squished in between the horse’s two rotund cheeks which settled back to partially envelope the feline’s nose.
“You know what I love about our little arrangement,” Guimaus tossed back at the trapped feline he had forced into such a humiliating position, “all that scheming and effort you put into messing my day, and look where it’s landed you.” The horse gave a jaunty wiggle of his rump into the face of his enemy, grinding his nose into the abrasive fabric “All trussed up, practically glued to my ass, and all I have to do to ruin your day is stand here and relax a few muscles. Speaking of which.”
Cierce could only wince, and brace himself as the inevitable happened: a slight grunt from his tormentor, followed by a nauseatingly foul plume of stench vented directly against his face by the horse who showed absolutely no shame in subjecting him to such a vulgar act. This time, however, Guimaus was offering no reprieve as he relentlessly smothered his victim in yet another repulsive, rumbling bout of flatulence that rumbled against the feline’s snout for no less than four agonizingly foul seconds.
“Heh, Whoops. That last one was meant for latter.” The massive horse snorted in amusement. Cierce, however, who was left to simmer in the dank, hearty stink so recently emitted by Guimaus’s flatulent derrière, was far from amused himself. “I hope you’re learning something from this, my friend. After all, we can’t have naughty kitties wrecking havoc can we?”
Guimaus was starting to worry that he was enjoying this particular distribution of justice just a bit TOO much. Punishing this mischievous little feline was the most fun he’d had since stepping foot in the sandy, Auroran city. After all, the little sneak DID deserve every bit of it, so, perhaps he would employ this particular punishment again, only if the culprit really deserved it, that is. Or really needed to be brought in line. Or-
Guimaus’s thoughts were interrupted by the renewed struggles and frantic, muffled yelling coming from behind him, and found that, while he was distracted, he accidentally put too much pressure on the cheetah’s snout, cutting off his air supply. And, while it wasn’t his intention to bring about any harm to the rogue, he stopped himself from relieving the struggling feline. After all, he had to be at least somewhat used to the familiar stink of Guimaus’s gas, so, perhaps he’d use this opportunity to leave a lasting impression with his final, gassy, rebuke.
Cierce, of course, was in a state of blind panic! Not necessarily of dying exactly, but the thought of suffocating to death because his face got a little too familiar with the tail end of a brutish oaf was hardly the way he ever intended to go!
“How’s that apology coming along?” Guimaus snickered, patting his thick rump with which he effortlessly tormented the naughty feline merely by leaning it against him, “Are we nice and repentant yet, or do you get to stew back there for a little while longer where you can get even more acquainted with my butt?”
“Mhhmmph!”
“That’s good enough for me.”
With a hearty chuckle, Guimaus slowly eased off of his victim’s snout, allowing for just a small pocket of air for the feline to breathe in, before abruptly dousing him in a loathsome barrage of rotten, nose-punishing, tear inducing flatulence.
Unfortunately for Cierce, who didn’t have the luxury of an abundance of oxygen to be picky about when he chose to breathe, this particular nauseating gale of stench was the only air available. So, even as his snout was being subjected to the brunt of the horse’s vulgar act, Cierce had no choice but to drink in the raunchy, repulsive stench of Guimaus’s gas in heavy gasps for the precious traces of oxygen in the putrid, tainted air. Though, come to think about it, he might have preferred unconsciousness to the humiliation of willingly snorting another man’s farts, but Cierce wasn’t thinking to clearly just then.
After the longest six seconds of the young cheetah’s life, the horse’s nauseating, obnoxiously drawn out flatulence sputtered out and went silent. Then, after the flatulent horse rubbed his rotund derrière in the cheetah’s face with an obscene flourish, it was over. For the most part at least, the raunchy, offensive smells of Guimaus’s gaseous outbursts lingered in the air, and, for all Cierce knew, in his very fur.
“I think that should be enough…for now. I’m pretty sure my message has had enough time to sink in,” the smug, impressive horse snickered, “of course, don’t be afraid to call on me for remedial lessons if you need to be further educated. Got it?”
Ashamed, humiliated, and utterly disgusted, Cierce could only flush darkly, and shake his head in response.
“That’s okay, I like to think of myself as a good teacher…and don’t think I’ve forgotten about that apology you still owe me. Trust me; I will definitely be getting it the next time we meet. Who knows? It might be sooner than you’d think, I’m just off to the canteen to refuel a bit, and maybe you’ll be free by the time I’m done…maybe not. Either way, I hate drawn-out goodbyes, and this place kinda smells now, so I’ll be seeing you.” Without a further word, Guimaus chuckled and sauntered off nonchalantly, satisfied as he left Cierce to stew in the horrid smells he made.
It would be half an hour before the guards returned to their posts, and another hour on top of that before the mischievous feline was finally set loose, thankfully enough, before the domineering horse could subject him to further humiliation. With black thoughts of revenge churning in the young feline’s mind, Cierce made his way to the canteen in hope of finding some word of a foreign horse hailing from Albion. He didn’t care if he had to travel half-way across the world, Cierce would get his claws into that smug horse and wring out his revenge.
Of course, that was the plan, anyway…

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So what do you guys think? I'd like some feedback on this one, partially because I'm so rusty and partially because I'm trying to get back into writing.
Was the pacing a bit slow? I was trying to build up to the fun parts, seeing as I didn't want to use up the novelty of the situation too early. Did I spend too much time hinting at Cierce's misdemeanor, or too little? Was it obvious that they had exchanged words before the first dialogue of the story began? (Not as in the cheetah's misdeed, I mean at the stockade before Guimaus stuck his butt in Cierce's face)
Thanks guys!
...Oh! And I added the story as the submission comment as well as giving the download for the actual file. I don't know if everyone has the Microsoft Word program. Is that okay?