Harley's Laughing Gas
by AnUnturned

Harley Quinn stared hungrily as her henchmen threw her prize roughly to the ground. His costume was torn and dirtied, and his face was bruised from the fight in which he’d been captured; but it was unmistakably the acrobatic crime-fighter known as Nightwing.

Her henchmen moved to the back of the room to stand guard at the door. With his hands tied behind his back, they were confident he would not be a threat to their leader. Harley herself was seated on a cushioned throne, positioned on a raised platform that allowed her to look down on the men gathered in her private room. She wore her infamous red and black spandex suit that hugged her body’s curves closely, and held in her hand a small grey box with the initials P.I. stencilled into it. Harley waited until Nightwing had recovered enough to stare up her, his eyes filled with defiance. She wanted him to be paying attention for what she had planned; more than anything, this was about humiliation.

“How’s it going, bird-brain?” she asked with a toothy grin. “I see ya got my invitation for a chat.”

Nightwing spat blood on the ground.

“Well, it seemed rude to refuse such a kind request. And your men were very… persuasive.”

“Aww, were my boys mean to you? I’m sorry. I told them to be gentle.”

“I’ve hurt worse than this,” he smiled defiantly. “And I’m still plenty strong enough to take you down, Harley.” Her henchmen bristled at that, but Harley only laughed.

“Glad to hear it! I was hoping there’d still be some fight in you. You’ll need to be in top shape once ya start working for me, after all.”

“Work for you? Thanks for the offer, but I think I’d prefer to die.”

“I don’t care much what you’d prefer, Night-light,” she retorted. She held up the metal box for him to see. “Know what this is?” He shrugged.

“Probably a prop for one of your crazy schemes. What does P.I. stand for, Psychotic Idiot?”

“Poison Ivy,” she corrected, and smiled as his eyes widened slightly with fear. She opened the box and picked up a tiny tube of lipstick. “A generous gift from my friend Red. She’s always had ways of getting men to do what she wants. One kiss with this, and you’ll be as loyal a sidekick to me as you’ve ever been to B-man!” Nightwing was well aware of the strength of Ivy’s hypnotic power. He tried to hide his panic as he fidgeted with the rope that bound him.

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Harley, but you’re really not my type.”

“Oh, I think ya might change your mind once we lock lips,” she replied, rising as she spoke. She began to saunter over toward him, swaying her hips saucily, and unscrewed the lid of the tube. “In fact, I think ya might start to see me in a whole new light!” still laughing she brought the tube to her mouth, preparing to apply the lipstick. Unseen, Nightwing managed to free one of his hands.

It happened in an instant. Less than a second after freeing his hand, he grabbed a shuriken from his belt and launched it at Harley, so fast she didn’t even see it coming. It hit her cleanly in the wrist and she staggered back, stunned. The henchmen at the door, barely able to process what was happening, started forward hastily – but stopped dead as Harley screamed in frustration.

“God damn you Nightwing, you son of a bitch! She only gave me one stick, and now I – I can’t believe I just – look what you made me – aggghhhhhhhh! I swallowed it!” She stomped her foot angrily on the ground and launched a barrage of expletives at her captive. The two henchmen exchanged a nervous glance and edged backwards fearfully, well experienced with their bosses’ mood swings. As they slunk away she rounded on them. “And you two as well! This wouldn’t even have happened if you’d done your jobs properly! Get your dumb asses over here and fix his binds, now!” They rushed to obey, terrified. Nightwing, on the other hand, was notably calmer.

“Bad luck, Harls. What’s that old saying about best laid plans?” he chuckled, happy to have thwarted her scheme. She span, seething, and slapped him viciously across the face.

“You think you’ve won, batmite? I promise your gonna regret that little stunt before long. This ain’t gonna be a pleasant stay for you, I’ll make sure of it!” She turned away, ignoring his cocky retort, and tried to think of some kind of plan B. “Maybe I can convince Red to give me another stick… ahh, but she’s so stingy with them…” as she thought, her stomach growled quietly, not reacting well to the chemicals she had accidentally ingested. She frowned slightly and released a tiny burst of air to relieve some pressure. It was a silent fart, and not particularly smelly; almost imperceptible. She shook her head, refocusing on reality, and heard the bound hero making another irritating quip.

“…really think I’m not gonna escape? I give it two hours before I’m – “

“Ah, shut up, ya wannabe bat-brain!” To her surprise, he did. A look of confusion was spreading across his face, but he made none of his predictable comments. She decided to move on for now, and addressed the guards. “You two might as well go on patrol or something! You’re useless here anyway,” she commanded.

“Yes boss,” they replied, and left quietly. She glanced back at Nightwing and saw him once again straining at his ties.

“Would you give that a rest already?!” she yelled at him, and again was surprised as he relaxed his efforts immediately. By the look on his face, he was equally stunned. “You’re being unusually obedient…” she wondered aloud, realising that he had not talked since she had ordered him not to. She felt her stomach churn again, another fart brewing at her backside. An idea came to her suddenly, and a smile spread slowly across her face as she realised her scheme might not have been ruined after all. “This might be even better than what I had planned…” she muttered, and fixed Nightwing with a twisted grin. He watched silently, and with fearful eyes, as she rubbed her belly ominously. Whatever she was thinking, he was not going to like it.

*

Nightwing held another pair of underwear to his face, inhaled deeply, and gagged. Like the others it stank of sweat and farts; but this one had a small brown smear running down the seat that had a hint of shit. He wanted desperately to fling the garment across the room and wash the stench off his nose; instead he breathed deeper, concentrating on the smell, savouring it and ranking it on its potency. Then he set it aside and picked up another pair.

He couldn’t believe it. Being Harley’s slave alone was embarrassing enough, but this? This was by far the greatest humiliation he had ever endured. He prayed he could somehow figure out an escape before anyone realised what he was doing; his reputation would be destroyed immediately, and irreparably.

After Harley accidentally swallowed the lipstick, both she and Nightwing had believed her plans to be ruined (he recalled feeling a certain sense of satisfaction at that). Little did he know that his torment was just beginning. To his annoyance, Harley had figured it out first; the chemicals had dissolved rapidly in her stomach and distributed their hypnotic qualities throughout her digestive tract. In other words, instead of a hypnotic kiss, she had obtained the power of hypnotic farts.

His face turned red as he remembered how she had mocked him once she realised. She had roared with laughter, cackling so hard that she could barely stand. “I can’t believe… you’re being mind-controlled… by my farts!” she managed finally, wiping a tear from her eye. “I mean, can you imagine anything more pathetic?” Unable to respond, he had only been able to glare angrily at her. Seeing his expression she once again burst into stitches, clutching at her belly; mid-laugh a small *toot* popped out of her bum. “Oh! Don’t miss that, butt-boy! Get in there and sniff!” Obediently he had pressed his face into her ass and taken a deep whiff, filling his lungs with her gas. It was only a small fart, but the smell was still awful. “Look at that! You literally made me bust a gut!”

All that had been over an hour ago now, but her mind-control was still preventing him from offering any resistance. After her discovery she had led him to her bedroom, and there taken great pleasure in showing him her collection of dirty panties.

“Never really get a chance to do laundry around here, so I wear them for a while then just throw ‘em on this pile!” she had exclaimed as she picked up a pink pair decorated with hearts, and rubbed it in his face. “I bet they smell great, huh Night-light? Why don’t you find the stinkiest pair while I go take care of some stuff.”

And so he had set to work. Her control was so strong that he was forced to perform the job to the best of his ability; painstakingly sniffing and sorting the huge array of worn underpants, assigning each pair a ‘stink value’ and placing it in one of four piles he had made based on stench intensity, which ranged from ‘unpleasant’ to ‘horrifying’. Once he had sorted each pair he would repeat the task with each item in the ‘horrifying’ pile until he identified the single rankest, most foul smelling pair of panties Harley possessed.

Half an hour later, he held up a final pair. They were white – or had once been – with a large smiley face on the seat, and were covered with brown skids and smudges. He was confident that this was the one; the “stinkiest pair”, as she had described. Despite his conviction, however, he was compelled to take one last sniff to confirm. He pressed the material to his nose and took a deep drag, gagging as he did. An aroma of pure shit attacked his senses, threatening to overwhelm him; if he had not undergone sensory training as a hero, they might have knocked him unconscious. His validation complete, he set the panties aside from the rest and stood up.

Harley had not given him any specific instructions to complete once he had finished his task, and he planned to make use of that oversight. While her control would not allow him to attempt escape – she had commanded him not to leave the room – he was able to investigate his surroundings.

The room was fairly cramped and a bit of a mess. It was mostly taken up by the king size bed, which had a black-and-white diamond chequered pattern, and on which rested two stuffed hyenas. To its left was the wardrobe by which he had been working, and on the right was a cluttered make-up station adorned with pictures of her friends – he recognized Ivy among them. The walls were a light red accentuated by deep black lines, with a small window facing east. Hanging on the opposite side was a dartboard with a picture of the Joker in the centre. There was also a TV facing the bed, next to the door. Lastly he noted a small bedside table with two drawers; he decided to search them.

Moving toward it (and almost tripping over a bean bag en route), he reached forward and began to slide one open.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell ya it’s rude to look through a girl’s things?” He froze in his tracks; Harley had returned. In one hand she held a takeout bag filled with junk food, in the other a large soda. She took a sip of it and belched, then closed the door with a hip-check. “I didn’t think I’d come back to find ya snooping around my room! I can see I’ll have to be more careful with my orders next time. So, I guess this means ya finished your little job?”

“I found them,” he responded stiffly. She frowned at his reply.

“A slave should address his master more respectfully, butt-boy. From now on you respond to me with “Yes Mistress Harley,” we clear?”

“Yes Mistress Harley,” he was forced to reply. She smiled happily and strode across the room, hopping onto her bed. She set her drink down and stuffed a few fries into her mouth.

“Just fuelling up so I can give you your medicine later,” she mocked him. She turned on the TV and flicked through some channels before returning her attention to him. “Show me what you found then, slave boy.” He held up the pair and she wrinkled her nose at them. “Ooh, they do look pretty ripe! I think that might have been taco night, hahaha!” He shuddered as she laughed. “Tell ya what, I think they need a wash. You can suck on ‘em for a while; get familiar with the flavour. Aren’t you a lucky slave?”

Several responses came to mind; refusals, comebacks, quips. Instead he replied “Yes Mistress Harley,” and got to work. As bad as the panties had smelt, they tasted far worse. A wave of bitter shit washed over his tongue, causing him to wretch; he could almost taste the digested tacos she had mentioned. Harley watched him suffer with a sadistic grin, then kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes.

“Make yourself useful and massage my feet. You ain’t here just to relax and suck panties, ya know!”

Thirty minutes later Harley had finished her food and was relaxing with her arms folded behind her head. Nightwing was still at the foot of the bed rubbing her feet, kneading her soles as her foot odour wafted toward him. Their salty, cheesy stench was disgusting, but with literal poo in his mouth, it was almost fragrant by comparison. Eventually she sat up, placing a hand on her stomach as it gurgled softly.

“Dinner’s almost ready! You can take out those panties now.” He was more than happy to obey, spitting them hastily onto the floor. “Aww, didn’t ya like the taste? Well, you’ll be cleaning a lot more in the future; I’m sure you’ll get used to it eventually.” She ordered him to put away the garment and return to the foot of the bed, while she sat massaging her belly.

“Ooh, I’m feeling pretty bloated… ready to take your meds, butt-boy?” As he answered reluctantly in the affirmative, she crawled toward him on her hands and knees, then turned to present him with her full, round booty. For a few seconds they sat in silence as he stared apprehensively into her crack. Then –

Fffffffffpppppppppppppttttttt!

A warm cloud of gas sprayed him in the face, causing his eyes to tear up. As the thick, eggy blast attacked his senses he heard Harley laughing hysterically, her ass jiggling as she shook. “Smell good? Don’t be shy, Night-light, really get in there!” She grabbed the back of his head and shoved it between her cheeks, rubbing him slowly up and down her crack. Buried so deep in her ass, he could feel her anus pulsating through the tight red-black spandex; it puckered suddenly.

Bbbbbbbllllpptt!

A shorter, meatier fart rocketed up his nose. He inhaled it deeply, and once again felt the hypnosis tighten its grip on his mind. He was beginning to panic – unless he thought of something soon, he might not be able to escape her at all.

“Ahhhh… hope you’re enjoying those,” said Harley, gazing back at her victim. She lay down, sinking into the cushions and relaxing her body. With a quick command Nightwing followed, his face resuming its place in her bum. “Ya know, I think this afternoon’s mishap has really worked out for the best. Kissing men to make them slaves, that’s really more Red’s style. Farts suit me better, don’t ya think?” He gave no reply; a soft toot punctuated the silence. “Not to mention, this is way funnier than what I had planned. I suppose I should be thanking you…” she put a finger to her lips in mock thought. “Nah! I’m just gonna keep torturing you! Hahaha!”

Meanwhile Nightwing could do nothing but suffer, face burning from shame. He could handle the embarrassment of his position, but the stink was starting to become intolerable. With his face plugging her crack, her farts had no way to escape; the more gas she released, the stinkier his prison became.

“Ooh! I got an idea you’re gonna love,” Harley suddenly exclaimed. He doubted that immensely. She pulled her cheeks apart and smiled back at him. “Wrap your lips around my butthole. I wanna drop this next one in your mouth!”

He fought with everything he had to disobey her, but to no avail. Despite his mind screaming defiance, his body moved autonomously, placing his mouth gently onto her pulsing anus as intimately as two lovers sharing a kiss. Harley shuddered with pleasure at his obedience, then began to strain. She could feel something big inside her; something genuinely nasty was brewing in her bowels, and she was about to share it with her slave. For around 10 seconds the two sat in almost complete silence; then she tensed.

Bbbbbbbbbrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmptttttttttttttt!

An enormous, bassy fart exploded out of her. He felt the hot, dry air rush into his mouth to fill it, until his cheeks puffed out almost comically, but even still he could not remove his lips from her ring. Harley had commanded him. Somewhere above he could hear her howling with laughter, and felt her ass shaking around him – but all he could focus on was the disgusting, beany wind he was forced to taste. This one was sweet and spicy too, more flavourful than the others he had endured so far.

Meanwhile Harley was still recovering from her laughing fit. It was just too funny, knowing this once respected enemy was sucking down her farts so dutifully. “Hope it’s not too spicy for ya! That one burned a little coming out!” She could barely stop giggling to talk. “Aww, I’m sorry, butt-boy! That was a little bigger than I thought it’d be, but I know my loyal slave can take it!” She watched as his face began to turn red, and giggled as she gave her next orders. “Okay, okay! You can swallow it now, but slowly! I want you to really savour the taste!”

As instructed he began to slowly gulp down the putrid gas, as one might a fine wine. Each swallow made him want to vomit, but he continued until none of the sickly fart remained. When he finished Harley patted him softly on the head, beaming at him. “Good job slavey! I think you’ve earned a reward; I got more farts for ya!” He groaned sadly as she continued. “I want you to take these next ones in the nose. Make sure to sniff ‘em deep!”

And so his torture continued. He was subjected to Harley’s gas for the next hour, enduring stink worse than he could have imagined. The more she farted the worse they seemed to smell, until each new emission brought bile to the back of his throat – which he swallowed, deciding it was better to avoid making her angry. As he suffered she lay playing with her phone, only looking up to mock him or give some new sadistic instruction.

Eventually she seemed to be running out of steam. Her farts began getting shorter and quieter (though no less smelly) and it looked like she was having to force them out. At long last she sighed and put down her phone to address him. “Fun’s over, Night-light. If I strain much harder I might just shit my pants. Though you might actually like that, huh, ya deviant?”

“No Mistress Harley.” He mumbled from her crack.

“Ahh shut up. That was rhetorical,” she replied, then yanked his head out of her ass to get up. Exhausted from the torture he collapsed forward onto the bed while she moved about the room. “Fortunately, I’m a good mistress. And a good mistress thinks ahead.” Harley reached into the takeout bag from earlier, and pulled out a super-sized chocolate milkshake, showing it to him proudly. “My favourite flavour! I don’t drink them a lot, though, because I have a real lactose intolerance problem. Good thing you don’t mind, huh, butt-boy?” She laughed as his face paled; as much as he had suffered already, it seemed worse was still to come. She took a deep swig and licked her lips, staring at him maliciously. “Things are about to get a whole lot stinkier. Ready, slave?”

“No, Mistress Harley,” was the best objection he could offer. Frowning, she gave him a lazy backhand.

“Try again, dumbass! From now on you have to respond like a good slave.” She turned, pointing her rear toward him. “Oh, and another thing! I feel like you owe me more respect. From now on you call me “Queen Harley”, got it?”

“Yes Queen Harley,” he replied. She gave him a toothy grin, and gulped down more of her milkshake before beginning to sit. Nightwing’s torture had only just begun.