You strut right off backstage and into the locker rooms which, as you might imagine, stink like the anus of a dark god. There was filthy laundry, various bodily fluids, and the occasional passed-out furry lying around the floor and the air was greenish yellow with the pungent stench. It was actually pretty enjoyable. You took a deep breath and shuddered. If this was the best stinks the tournament had to offer, Bella Bottom was going straight to the top!
Your next match was in an hour against a masked cow named The Gasser who was supposedly a neverending fountain of methane. She could create clouds so thick with stench that they were impossible to fight in. Sounded like a fun challenge, but you had no doubts about your victory. First, however, you needed to take a nice piss. You had chugged a gallon of lemonade before the match because you were hoping to get to mark Rachel, but the damn ref stopped you before you could.
You kicked open the nearest stall and sat down to open up the floodgates and pour out a waterfall of piss. The thick, acrid stench of vulpine urine cut straight through the other stenches in the area, something you were quite proud of. Eventually, once your piss had overflowed the toilet and soaked your ass, you decided to stop. You had plenty more for the next fight anyway.
As you were pulling up your panties, there was a knock at the door. It was...
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