By: causticblast
“We’ve found him, Mother. The man-thing who dared to deceive you.”
Elliot felt his captors throw him towards the floor, a sharp pain in his shoulder as he hit the ground. The three young maidens were remarkably strong despite their dainty appearances. He rolled onto the rug in the center of the room, helpless and afraid of what was to come, as the three young maidens looked expectantly at their mother.
Towering above him was Lady Alcina Dimitrescu, the nine-and-a-half-feet-tall matron of the estate. He was at her mercy now, if “mercy” was even the right word for it. Everything he now knew about this unholy woman suggested that “mercy” was not a word that ought to be commonly attributed to her.
“Well done, daughters. Have you found the other one?”
“No, Mother. I’m sorry to report that he may have escaped the premises.”
“Pah. He won’t get far.”
Lady Dimitrescu turned to pick up a large bowl on a side table. Its size and weight would have been enough to be a burden for someone of a normal stature to carry in both arms, but for the Lady, she readily held it with one hand. As a matter of fact, it actually looked more natural alongside her oversized figure.
Elliot immediately recognized the bowl — and its sloshing contents. Flashes of memory careened through his mind. The slip of paper he’d been given, and his heart falling upon reading the instruction written upon it. Hushed tones as he and Thomas hatched a plan, silently breaking into the nearby pigpen. Thomas giving him one final look as he fled through the woods, leaving Elliot behind to fulfill the final step of their plan. And of course, Elliot leaving the bowl on the doorstep of the castle, thinking he was in the clear.
Now, as she stared frosty daggers into him from above, Elliot felt it all crumble at once.
“All I asked was for you to slaughter your colleague and bring me his blood, Elliot. A simple request, really.” The Countess, as regal as ever, moved her leg above him and pressed her foot down onto his chest. The point of her stiletto heel drove into him like a nail, hitting him just beneath the ribcage into the soft flesh of his abdomen, making it difficult to breathe.
“Disobedience might have been forgiven,” she went on. “But deception and treachery? And such a laughable attempt, no less?”
A chittering cluster of muted laughter came from the girls behind him. The Lady patiently waited for it to die down before continuing.
“While you and your ilk might have no perception of the difference, we could tell from just a whiff that this is definitively not human blood. Far from it. Obviously, this is…” she dipped a white-gloved finger into the bowl and licked it before grimacing at the taste. “Ugh. Pig’s blood.”
Elliot took shallow breaths under her heel. His face burned with both anger and shame; how was he supposed to put up a fight against this wretched witch? Evidently, the answer was that he never stood a chance. He should have known this was doomed from the start. He should have fled when he had the chance, instead of trying to play hero. But “should” doesn’t get a man very far.
“Even if it wasn’t clearly animal blood, you seem to have no idea how much can typically be exsanguinated out of one adult person,” she went on, bowl still in hand. “This is much too large a volume. A whole lot of nothing particularly valuable to me.”
One of the younger Dimitrescus interjected with eager mischief in her voice. “Although she’ll make sure all of it goes to good use! Won’t you, Mother?”
“Daniela.”
“Sorry, Mother.”
With a pointed countenance and an icy tone, Alcina barely even turned her head to keep her children in line. A shudder ran down Elliot’s spine, causing him to jerk a little under her foot.
“One other thing that you might have missed.” The massive woman dipped a delicate finger into the bowl again, swirling it around. “Do you know what blood normally does when pooled like this after some time has passed?” She picked her finger up, showing him the streaks of red dripping down along her hand. “It congeals, Elliot. Blood is supposed to congeal. And this bowl has been sitting here for hours. Look at it.”
Alcina leaned forward, slowly, careful to not spill the bowl over.
“How foolish did you think I was?”
Elliot didn’t get a chance to respond; if he did, he might have spat some flippant remark at her, knowing his fate was sealed regardless. Instead, she drove her heel into him even harder, causing him to wince.
“I don’t know what other concoction you mixed into this poor excuse for a trap, but I can tell you right now that it won’t harm me or my daughters. What you’ve given me is essentially a worthless offering of absolutely nothing I want to consume.”
Elliot suddenly felt the Lady’s foot lift off of him, letting him breathe semi-normally again. He wheezed a bit, feeling as though she might have damaged his diaphragm. But that was the least of his problems.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I haven’t thrown it out yet.” Alcina flashed a toothy smile down at him, then put her free hand on her stomach. “Do you know what happens to me and my daughters when we consume blood that isn’t from humans?”
Elliot didn’t respond, his breathing still troubled by the sharp pain right below his lungs. Nonetheless, a slight suspicion creeped into his mind as he watched her continue to rub her stomach and set the large bowl of tainted blood aside. She then turned slowly until her back was facing him, and he was looking up at a pair of captivating buns that bulged out from beneath the dress. Far from the mood to be titillated by the sight of her massive ass, however, his suspicion only grew stronger as he heard a disturbingly long and deep gurgle from the Lady’s midsection.
Elliot sat up slightly, lifting just his torso. He saw the three daughters immediately take a step back away from Alcina, apprehensive of what was to come next.
“Allow me to demonstrate.”
A low rumbling sound began after she spoke, signaling the beginning of her gaseous release. The sound grumbled along for several seconds before escalating into a full-blown roar, as if the power of her gas had pulled apart her buttocks and was now rushing past them with fearsome force. For a terrifying length of time, Lady Dimitrescu continued to push out this unbelievably colossal fart from her rotund backside. The sound of violent shredding dominated the room, and it may very well have shaken the walls with its force.
Everything about this would have been impressive enough — the quaking vibrations it sent through the floor, the deafening thunderclap, the way it just was going on with seemingly no end — but then, mid-release, Alcina picked up the hems of her dress off the floor by a few inches. And in seconds, Elliot’s sense of smell was assaulted by the gas escaping the steamy confines of her dress.
The stench was downright supernatural. It barely even smelled like a fart at all, lacking the usual organic odors that one might expect to be blowing out of a woman’s ass. It instead stunk of decay and rotting flesh, filling Elliot’s head with an unnaturally putrid stench that made his eyes water and his insides curl. It quite literally smelled like something had crawled up her ass and died. He groaned and coughed, but no amount of remediation would let him escape the ungodly stink that just kept billowing out of her dress. The rumbling thunder just went on and on, the seconds passing as slow as syrup while her ass felt like it was trying to burn a hole through the fabric.
But the most terrifying part was that the Lady responsible for such a devastating fart was hardly even exerting herself. Partway through it, she began idly inspecting her nails, extending and retracting her long claws a few times before growing bored with that as well. Still farting, she turned her head to see that Elliot was lost in a fit of coughing and heaving, inattentive and unaware of her vicious claws. She then took notice of her daughters in the back of the room, two of whom were covering their noses. Cassandra, however, had a gleeful expression smeared across her face as she indulged in Elliot’s pain.
An inordinate amount of time later, Lady Dimitrescu’s vile expulsion sputtered to a halt. The temperature in the room was noticeably warmer by a few degrees, choked out by a heavy, muggy stench that now clung to every surface. Dropping her dress back down, she turned back around to face Elliot, who lay on the floor with a hand over his nose and mouth, struggling to take regular breaths.
“I should confess, I have a naturally flatulent disposition,” Alcina said, not even sparing a groan or sigh after her monumentally gigantic fart that practically rocked the entire castle. “It’s a closely guarded secret, as you might imagine that sort of thing tends to tarnish a lady’s reputation.”
“But behind closed doors, Mother is quite the prolific gasbag,” Bela cut in with a snicker.
“Bela.”
“Sorry, Mother.”
Elliot was barely listening, his nasal passageways still reckoning with the most foul kind of smell he had ever encountered. Alcina went on, saying something about her stature and how it empowered her with immense volumes of gas, as if she was almost proud of her ability to heat up an entire room with a single fart. His coughing and groaning, however, seemed to irk her, causing her to suddenly snap her fingers at her daughters.
“Hold his arms down.”
Elliot heard a series of giggles from the young daughters, ever eager to please, as their firm hands gripped his arms on either side, spreading them apart. He feebly tried to resist, but he quickly gave that up, reminded of how deceptively strong they were when they first confronted him in his hiding place just a few minutes ago. Despite their frail-looking forms, their grip strength was superhuman.
With the unspeakably rotten stink still swirling around his nostrils, he lay powerless as Alcina’s feet came into view. She stepped around him until she stood directly atop his head, her feet right next to his ears, leaving him with only a view up into the darkness of her long dress. Her powerful pale legs were like marble columns that faded into the shadows above. With Alcina’s floor-length dress draped around his entire field of vision, he dared to take his first breath in the stinking dark, and he immediately retched.
A wave of the deathly odor permeated his nose and mouth, smelling twice as worse than whatever he’d been exposed to before. Without the benefit of the mixture of ambient air, the lingering remnants of her dreadful flatulence felt unbearably dense – almost as if the cloud of eye-watering stink was slowly flowing downward with gravity, pooling around his head and threatening to drown him in it. The disgusting gas felt denser than air as it sank into his lungs against his will, and even his retching soon became difficult. The smell was unspeakably horrid, stinging his chest from inside with its insidious toxic barbs.
It never left Elliot’s mind that this was all due to one singular fart. A jaw-droppingly massive fart, but nonetheless, no more than one. All she did was relax her bowels once to loosen her voluminous terror in his direction, and then stand over him wearing her dress…and that was all it took to render him unable to speak. In this position, the dress formed a makeshift near-airtight seal around his head, and he knew that any more gas coming out of her foul ass would be pipelined straight downward into his face.
The residual stench of her one colossal fart still weighed on his lungs like a heavy stone on his chest, and Elliot could already feel sweat beginning to collect on his forehead. Never in his life did he imagine he would ever be this terrified of someone’s farts, but such was the brutal power of Lady Alcina Dimitrescu’s monstrously gassy backside.
From under the dress, Elliot could hear little of what was going on outside. But it didn’t matter, because the moment he saw the slight movement of his captor’s calves flexing and weight shifting, he knew his fate was sealed. He sputtered in vain as Alcina unleashed her second bout of flatulence. A deluge of damp heat and deathly stench began to fill the space anew, starting from the top and quickly working its way down along the Lady’s milky legs.
Elliot could swear his face was peeling off from the stench. It was like he had been thrown headfirst into an outhouse full of rotting meat. The odor was downright ungodly, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to escape its ever-growing concentration within the dress. He did not expect that it was possible for the air quality in the confines of Alcina’s gassing chamber to get this much worse, but with every passing second, as more and more of her intestinal bioweapon clouded his lungs, he was proven wrong. Tears welled up in his burning eyes and slid down his face to mix with his sweat. His legs kicked and squirmed, desperate to escape this foul fart-drenched prison with every fiber of his being; but it only drew laughter from the daughters, who delighted in such an illustration of his respiratory torture.
“I think you ought to know that what you’re smelling is the aftermath of only a few sips of this foul pig blood nonsense,” he could hear her say from the other side of the dress. “I couldn’t bear to drink more than that at one time. But it was enough to ruin my insides, and it has already given me plenty of impossibly thick and dense wind. Well, denser than my usual, I ought to say.”
Alcina unleashed another tidal wave of gas from above, its heat splashing down on him as he convulsed and gaped like a fish out of water. In retrospect, it was an obvious statement – he had literally seen the bowl of blood just a few minutes ago, and it looked practically full, the same as it had looked when he attempted to poison it. But now that she had explicitly told him, the thought aggravated his terror and dread even further. This was the result of consuming a tiny fraction of the tainted blood. Elliot could not even dare to imagine what sort of traumatizing experience it would be to suffer under Alcina after she’d had the whole bowl; if he could shudder in his current gassed-out state, he would have.
“Since you were the fool who thought to present me with this in the first place, I thought it only fair for you to reap the rewards of your efforts. So consider yourself lucky, wretch, to be witnessing the finest flatulence that House Dimitrescu is capable of,” Alcina said, before beginning to blow out even more of her gas.
It genuinely sounded like a full-grown oak was being torn in half, a mere two feet above him. But instead of showering him with wooden shrapnel – which would have frankly been more preferable – he was getting showered with impossibly thick flatus, escalating the pain in his throat and chest to even greater heights. Droplets of the Lady’s own sweat were also dripping down onto his face, which was really only a natural reaction to just how unbearably hot her dress was getting. The seemingly endless steaming from her colossal ass created its own sauna down here. It no longer mattered whether she was actively farting or not; the air was thoroughly saturated, and Elliot’s lungs had similarly equalized with it, feeling constantly damp. He could hardly bear to keep his eyes open in this swampy environment, as the stinging sensation that permeated every inch of the inside of his nostrils was likewise assaulting his eyes.
Powerless and barely capable of coherent thought after the excruciating gassing, Elliot lay there in hopeless silence until he felt Alcina stir above him.
“Cassandra, if you could please lend me a hand and unbutton the back of my dress.”
“Yes, Mother.” The remaining daughter not holding his arms down, obedient as ever, moved to open Alcina’s personal torture chamber for Elliot. With a small metallic pop, light suddenly streamed into Elliot’s face, the fabric curtain now dividing up near where Alcina’s terrifying buttocks were.
“Ugh!” At the same instant, Elliot heard Cassandra stumble backwards, evidently having been slapped in the face by the nasty wet air that escaped. After the initial shock, however, Cassandra giggled maniacally. “Oh, that is so much worse than I thought, Mother. I’m sure the foolish man has been thoroughly suffering down there.”
A hollow laugh rang out from approximately nine feet above him. “If he thinks that this constitutes suffering, he is in for quite a rude awakening.”
She took a few steps around Elliot, who lay there still struggling to breathe despite being freed from the Lady’s stinking dress. The rush of room air across his face felt frigid cold compared to the overheated and sweaty conditions beneath her. His eyes were glazed over as he stared towards the high ceiling, barely able to make out the sight of Alcina Dimitrescu’s barenaked figure. In his oxygen-deprived state, he was unable to appreciate such a view, but under different circumstances, he would certainly have found it captivating. Her ample bust showed their heaving weight with every little movement she made, and below the waist, her luscious rear curves bulged out where they met her thick, muscular thighs. The sight of her large, jiggling buttocks elicited equal parts arousal and dread. Now that Elliot knew the terrifying effects of Alcina’s rotten farts on the human body, he felt terror in waiting for her to make her next move…and yet, strictly in terms of appearance, the Lady carried an impressive air that was both regal and seductive.
But any titillating thoughts instantly vanished from his mind the moment she lowered herself to the floor, bending at the knees until her milky white ass was hovering right over his face. From this distance, all he could possibly think about was the gag-inducing stench and the noxious hole between her cheeks that was the epicenter of it all. It became clear to him what was to come next, and he was powerless to do anything to reduce the oncoming suffering.
A powerful, clawed hand gripped him by the scalp and locked his head in place, unable to move or turn even an inch. Then, one cheek at a time, Alcina lowered her heavy buttocks onto his face, completely cutting off his air supply. And if being utterly snuffed out by her firm, oversized rear wasn’t enough, the sheer weight of her body was crushing him into the floor.
And throughout it all, the horrendous stench of decay was literally being pressed into his pores. His body lurched as it unconsciously engaged his gag reflex in response to the foul smell that had suddenly grown tenfold. Even though he could hardly breathe under a faceful of ass, Alcina’s deathly ass stink seeped into his very essence and battered his lungs from within. And he knew that when she started farting, the power of her gaseous discharges would be more than enough to pump that stink directly into him no matter what he did to resist.
His neck hung loose as he felt his whole body lifted by her hand, face still several inches deep in her ass. When he came back down onto the ground, he could feel a familiar fabric texture between him and the floor, as if something had been tucked under him.
“Cassandra?”
“Yes, Mother?”
“Come and button my dress back up.”
Cassandra cackled. “Oh, gladly, Mother.”
It took his fart-poisoned brain a few moments to figure out what was going on. When he saw Alcina strip off her dress and bear her heavy ass down onto him in full nude, he had assumed that this was the pinnacle of his torture. He had assumed that having zero barriers and zero inches between the source of all her unholy farts and his nostrils would be the worst of it. As he felt a tension at his back that pushed him further into her stinking buttocks, he realized he was wrong.
Cassandra was sealing her mother’s dress around her rear and his head, meaning Elliot was now completely sealed into his role as a fart sucking drone. He couldn’t even push away if he had the strength, now that he was practically strapped into her ass.
Was her dress always this tight around her hips? Elliot could feel his whole head sinking into her sweaty cheeks deeper and deeper, slipping into her tight crevasse until he could feel something puckering around the tip of his nose. He screamed – or at least, he tried to, but could not quite get his jaw open as it currently had the bottom half of Lady Dimitrescu’s gargantuan buttocks wrenching it shut. What came out was a high-pitched, frantic mumbling that quickly broke down into muffled babbling. The Countess only had one word in response.
“Silence.”
Rather than expecting him to obey, she then followed up with another bout of her furious thunder. He tried to scream again, louder and more desperate this time, but it was no different than the last. He immediately regretted expending what little oxygen he had in his lungs for such a futile gesture, as it was replaced by pure, unadulterated Dimitrescu gas. At this range, it felt like he was snorting acid, sending an awful scorching sensation along his tongue and throat. Combined with the slick sweat from her swampy rump, Elliot could hardly tell whether the foul substance permeating his body was gaseous or liquid.
Meanwhile, satisfied with herself, the Lady signaled for one of her daughters to retrieve the bowl again. “Perhaps I will mix this dreadful stuff in with my usual wines from now on. That should continue to fuel me with this excellent, potent wind, and I can keep you on the verge of consciousness for as long as I wish.”
In this position, with Alcina’s huge round buttocks engulfing his entire head, her words were like hushed whispers that barely made it through all her thickness and into his ears. In contrast, the farts exploded into him with the force of a steam locomotive, surrounding his senses from every perceptible side.
“You’ll be bathed in the very worst of my gas, helpless to my whims. Every hour of the day, you’ll find yourself completely saturated. Your very bones will be irreversibly stained with the reeking stench of my flatulence.”
Alcina was gloating now, thoroughly enjoying the way he was plunging deep into her sweaty, filthy, and overwhelmingly gassy hole. The vibrations of his desperate, choked screams sent sadistic pleasure up her arched back, to which she responded with vibrations of her own that were a thousand times more violent than anything he could muster.
“Yes, that sounds exquisite. I rather think it befits you, a worthless man of low birth. The best you deserve is the worst I can offer you.” Lady Dimitrescu threw her head back in raucous laughter as she unleashed yet another fart, this time with even greater force as she deliberately pushed against his trapped body, enough to blow him out of position if he hadn’t been already restrained by the dress.
At this point, Elliot’s entire brain felt like it had been brined and pickled in Alcina’s unearthly and unending flatulence. He had no conception of time or space any longer; his entire reality was this dark, foul void, filling him with her devastating farts at every possible instant. The hellish stench defied even the limits of his imagination, and his nose refused to even try to label it. It no longer smelled like rotting meat, or a sewer, or compost, or anything remotely recognizable as an existing odor with a real-world comparison. It just felt like death itself was slamming into his lungs, and it was only by some miracle that he hadn’t asphyxiated already, suffering the full brunt of the tall woman’s titanic gas.
While his nose was beyond saturated with a biohazardous miasma, Elliot’s face itself felt like it was being shredded by the sheer force of her gargantuan farts erupting into him, squeezed between her powerful cheeks. Here, the gas didn’t feel like gas, but instead felt like a solid kick to the face. But instead of delivering a single blow, it just went on and on, battering him with hurricane-like winds that defied reason. No ass, no matter how large, should be capable of these forces.
Beyond the massive rectal shockwaves that rattled Elliot to his core, he was painfully aware that she was force-feeding him these farts, pumping as much of their voluminous pressure down into his nostrils as she could. While inside his system, her tremendous flatulence wreaked a different kind of havoc. What had previously felt like stinging was now a blazing fire in his chest. It was as if his lungs were being turned into ash, losing their ability to serve their natural biological purpose and instead crumbling at the never-ending biochemical assault. His entire body was threatening to collapse on him from the weapons-grade stench alone, slowly becoming atomized from within.
“Perhaps I’ll even allow my daughters to imbibe some of this wretched gutwrecking fluid. Then, we shall see if your worthless form is resilient enough to withstand the combined might of House Dimitrescu and all our winds at once. What do you think, daughters?”
Elliot never heard their response, as it was immediately drowned out by Alcina’s hind cannon blasting him with yet another unbearably heavy fart at point-blank range. He now barely even retained enough sense to distinguish whether she was releasing a fart into him or not. His face and neck had gone numb from the weight of Alcina pressing down on him. His entire nose felt like it had been crumpled up and thrown into a vat of acid. His throat felt like it was coated with putrid slime, like the inner surface of a sewer pipe. His lungs only kept telling him that he was drowning, struggling under the waves of a foul gas so thick and unbreathable, it was practically liquid.
Apathetic to his suffering, Alcina Dimitrescu took another sip from the bowl…