Warning: This story references face farting and humiliation.

After a few weeks using my "assistant", I quickly discovered the joy's of early Monday mornings. I have enough time driving to work to build up a good set of morning farts to distribute up my slave's nose, and I think a weekend away from my ass only builds his fear of it more than usual. This is made clear by his reactions to them.

This morning I will be very unpleasant to serve. I have in my hand a large, double egg sandwich. You could smell the potency of the egg as I walk through the corridors, its harsh scent permeating the air. Trust me, it's going to smell a LOT worse when I turn it into gas. But I don't have to worry, my slave is going to know that ALL morning, if not for the rest of the day. I itch my ass, clad in loose houndtooth leggings, feeling shaky with excitement at the prospect of my slave reacting to one of my famous egg sandwich farts. Today is gonna' be so good.

I enter the door and see my slave kneeling on the floor, as I request of him each day. He looks down and fails to meet my eye until the smell of the egg reaches his nose and his head shoots up, a look of utter terror on his face as he stares at the egg sandwich, wrapped in paper. I place it on the desk and smirk as his eyes follow.

'Yes, Slave', I cross my arms and smirk at him, 'that's an egg sandwich. I already told you how that will affect the potency of the farts you are to be sniffing all day, so you know you have to REALLY sniff deep today to make sure your nose sucks in all the nasty egg farts from my butt. A girl like me shouldn't have to really smell my own farts, so you better sniff deeply WITHOUT throwing up like a pussy. Trust me, the urge will be difficult to fight.'

He begins to shake. I smile and continue.

'Now, as usual I am going to gag you to make sure you have no choice but to smell my farts. I went to the gym earlier and was sweating so hard. Anyway, my gym sock is going to stew in your mouth. It's very wet so make sure you deal with that. Also, I didn't shower, so, y'know, expect my butt to smell. It's pretty ripe down there,' I tapped my ass and smiled.

He screws up his eyes and begins to cry, 'o-o-okay, miss.'

'Hey, at least you haven't got my underwear in your mouth. Well, I'm still wearing them, so that's why I have to use my gym sock, but in the future I'll think of wearing an extra pair to the gym, just for your mouth.'

He shudders at the thought.

'But before we do that, I want to eat this above you. I know you hate the smell of eggs and I think it's necessary for you to understand the main drive of my farts for the rest of the day. Also, if I need to belch I have a suitable burp bin in the form of your mouth. Do you understand, fart pig?'

'Y-Yes'

Smiling, I press a strand of amber hair behind my ear, 'good.'

I unwrap the sandwich, his nose wrinkling at the potent smell of the egg. Kneeling above his face, I slowly pinch my jaws around the rim of the sandwich, and take a big bite. My slave is acting as a tray for the various juices which dribble off the wrapper and onto his skin. He doesn't seem to enjoy the strong, sulfer smell of the egg, and seems to wince every time it wafts towards his nose. Perhaps it reminds him of my farts. Well, if it doesn't, it will soon. I'll make sure of that.

Towards the end of the sandwich I feel the need to belch. It's like a air bubble escaping my throat, a smooth, expanding air which itches at the end of my tongue as it begs for release.

'Open up', I say, spitting pieces of chewed up egg down at his face, 'I'm gonna' burp.'

Reluctantly, he opens his mouth. Whilst a big chunk of egg rests in my mouth I lower it to his own, opening wide as my mouth begins to form to the mould his open lips have created. I don't even give him the courtesy of swallowing my food.

His eyes screw up as I belch loudly, chunks of spital coated egg spattering the inside of his mouth as his head vibrated against the force of it. An harsh, acidic taste forms on my tongue as I raise myself above his wretched, disgusted gasps. He dares not anger me and forces himself to swallow the pieces of egg my burp had forced into him, letting out a dry choke as his face vibrates in reaction to it. What a pathetic human being.

Finishing my sandwich off with a bite, I discard the paper into the bin, and stand up once more. Looking down into his eyes, I bring myself close to him and press my arm against my hip, bending forward.

'Lay on the floor. We need to talk and I need a place to rest my arse on.'

Slowly, he lowers himself onto the ground. He looks at me as he straightens himself, fear present in his eyes. My expression is serious. He knows whatever I have in store for him, he's not going to like it. I feel his coursing terror and I begin to feel a little tingling sensation down below. His suffering turns me on, and I like psychologically torturing him before I begin my day of brutal humiliation. It clears my mind, and it allows him to understand the hopelessness of his situation, the permanent nature of my rule over him, his lack of power, and my lack of mercy.

I turn and begin to sit down, bringing my ass towards him before my cheeks plant firmly on his chest, close to his face, close enough that he should smell the stale funk of my butt. I then bring my other leg around him, so that he's facing me directly, my weight causing him to heave in. The way I have total control over weather or not he can breath comfortably makes this all the more exciting. Maybe he's hoping I reveal something to relieve him, such as my intention to release him. If so, I guess it's time to really disappoint him.

'So, I think you should, by now, have been properly introduced to your new role. I'm glad to know that it was, from how you have been dealing with it, a lot worse than you thought. It must be exhausting, sniffing my farts all day, and you're clearly not enjoying your new role. They smell pretty bad, don't they?'

He nods, tears welling in his eyes.

I smile, 'good. I've always had pretty nasty farts, and I really enjoy ripping them on your face, it's actually very entertaining. I don't know if you hold up any hope for your future, but you shouldn't. Your role as my seat has been firmly set in stone. It doesn't matter how much you cry yourself to sleep, beg me, plead with me, at the start of every weekday your face will be under my ass and you will partake in the task of sniffing my farts. Now, I want to make a few things clear, because I don't think I've made you fully aware of the extent of your new role, and I've made some changes to things, all agreed with my manager, of course.'

I shuffle about atop of him, letting out a small, airy fart. Whilst the eggs haven't fully kicked it, the smell is still very clearly present and my Slave's eyes screw up as he stifles a cry, instead coughing in reaction to the enlarged cloud of bitter fart now permanently residing in the area of his breathing space. I use one hand to waft the air closer to his open nostrils.

'First of all, your name. As someone with a position as lowly and degrading as you, I've decided to change your name for you. From now one, you will be known, formally, as 'Rachael's Fart Pig'.' I feel it's an apt title, considering the lack of value you provide to society, and the new meaning of your life. I may call you 'Pig' or 'Sniffer', or even 'Slave' for a nickname. Pig's a good one, because it's what you are, you snort up my stinky farts with your piggy nose. Do you understand, Pig?'

'Y-Yes, miss.'

'Well then', I say angrily, 'What is your name?'

'My name is fa- Rachael's Fart Pig.'

I smirk, 'That's right. Now, regarding your pay. When you signed that document, you gave me certain controls over your wage and I have decided that I want to take away a large chunk of your salary every month. Since we cannot legally pay you less, part of your wage is going to be transferred into my account at the end of every month. I call this the 'pig tax'. It's because your value in life is nothing. I mean, you snort your manager's farts for a living and will do for the rest of your working life, how pathetic is that? Do you understand?'

He had begun to cry, 'Y-Yes, I understand, Miss.'

Grinning, I lean back a little, 'That's good, pig. You need to accept your worthlessness. I see you as literally sub-human, and you need to realize that you are mine. God, your job is so shitty. I guess you could say it stinks', I laugh, 'I can't imagine being somebody's fart slave. When I let rip on you I sometimes imagine how you must feel. Unlike a lot of people I'm fully aware that my shit stinks, really stinks, in fact. It must make you feel really sad to know that I enjoy ripping ass on you, that you're suffering is a entertainment commodity in my life, huh?'

I shuffle my ass on top of him, smiling as he groans, 'Well anyway, I'm going to put you in the chair now. I think those eggs are starting to get to me, and I want your nose well and truly up my ass before I start cutting them, because even I don't want to smell those nasty fuckers. You're going to have to sniff extra hard today to snort up those eggs, it will be your most difficult day yet. Oh, and I might be working overtime, so you're in for the long haul.'

Rising off him, I raise him off the ground. He doesn't fight, he merely staggers towards the chair, allowing me to guide him until his back of his head is aligned to back of the chair. I handcuff his arms to the usual hoops protruding from the edges of the desk, making them extra tight. My farts today will make him squirm, and I'm just making sure he can't escape his binds, no matter how much he is going to want to. It's almost comical how he's bound to my seat, his eyes, welling with tears just staring upwards as he fails to endure the idea of sniffing my super eggy farts all day.

I turn and display my bottom to him. I can feel him stare upwards at it. It's a nice bum, firm and round. I must admit, I've caught men ogling before. I mean, it's not the best ass in the world, but it's nice. He's not looking up at it with lust, through, he's staring at it in absolute fear and disgust. It's funny, I used to imagine if men would still look at my ass in the same way if they smelled my office seat after a large lunch, or smelled my lingering fumes in a bathroom I had just used to take a steaming dump. Now, I know the answer to that, and so does my sniffer. If you want a guy to stop looking at your ass, make sure to drop an ass bomb near him, and do it often. Make sure he knows it's you, and he won't look at you in the same way ever again.

I bend and finally begin to sit on my slave's face. I feel the outline of his bony nose press deep into my crack, resting far inside me as my trousers form a natural, but comfortable wedgie. These leggings are thin enough that the smell will escape seamlessly through, and thick enough that the fart smell will embed in the material, ensuring he will always be breathing in my butt stench.

As I relax atop his face I feel him react to the sweaty funk of my bum. That, coupled with stale farts ripped earlier this morning, makes my weight all the more unbearable for him. It's important to get comfortable, so that when I cut the cheese I get to enjoy his suffering without even minor discomforts. It's my pig that should suffer through everything, I am better than him and shouldn't suffer even a little, even if, or especially if me enjoying minor comforts ensures he's in absolute hell. Even through I'm quite athletic and light, my weight isn't easy to take, even if he can breath, but he must do so. I would cause him infinite and eternal agony and humiliation even if it only contributed to a millisecond of my comfort.

For a while, I allow my belly to rumble deeply. Each time it does my pig flinches, partially from expecting a fart, partially from the knowledge that such loud rumbles surely must infer that something big is brewing in my gut. I know if I just loosen the pressure I'll let one rip, but I want to build it up a little. His first fart should inform him of the hell he's in for today.

As soon as I shift my ass ever so slightly to the right, focusing my weight on my right butt check, he becomes aware that something is coming. A second later, I push and my anus releases a deep, brassy, long fart which seems to vibrate the very chair I'm sitting on. It's extremely loud, and very low, what I'd call a manly fart. It was long enough that I heard and felt my pig's pained screams before the fart ended, the pure, raw stench still flowing into his open nostrils as he breaths it in as if it was air. I lower my ass back down whilst the fart is ending with a flapping, airy rippling, the sound of it dying out until it officially ends in a puff of light air. His screams are more apparent now without the sound of my fart to drown them out. He sounds like a wounded animal, and whilst I sigh deeply in relief, holding back laughter, I realise why.

The excess vapour of that fart escapes the hold down there. It must've been just a portion of it, yet it was incredibly potent. I exclaim audibly and waft the air out of my face. The eggs have kicked in, that much was sure, as the stink that hit my nose was powerful and extremely eggy.

'That is so gross', I say, still wafting the fart away from my nose.

His screams take a long time to die out. Even after they did, my ass still firmly plopped against his face, his throaty moans indicate that the smell was still present. That wasn't surprising, a fart of that calibre never truly died out. I'll be surprised if his flesh hadn't been signed by it. Maybe, I think to myself, that it would forever be etched into his face, a permanent tattoo. People would look at him in disgust as they gain a whiff of it as he walks past them, not knowing it's actually a fart permanently etched into his skin. That's actually hot, imagining that my farts will cling to him forever, their stale smell never leaving him. If I could choose to ensure that he could never wash the smell of my trumps off his ugly face, I would do so in a heartbeat.

It's very relaxing on his face. His flesh acts as a cushion for my cheeks, and his nose, stuck up my ass, acts as a filter for the smell of my gas. Occasionally, I shuffle my hips around. This always causes him to release a soft moan, as my weight shifts above him, my cheeks crushing the bones of his face. As I do this once more I begin to think about a way to trick him into inhaling the pure essence of my next fart. For a while, I ponder this, but soon an idea comes to me.

I release some gas, just a little, enough to cause him pain. It's a sharp, horn life fart, breezy and quiet. I have been holding in a larger fart for a minute or so now, waiting for the right time to strike. He moves his head around and moans loudly, letting out stifled coughs. He begins to breath heavily as his coughs drain him.

Once he stops coughing, he begins to inhale deeply to regain his breath. That's when I let out the real monster. A deep, bubbling, loud explosion of a fart escapes my bowels and heats his face as it's force burns his nostrils and flesh. His protests increase, but he is forced to continue his inhaling until the fart ends and the smell is inside of him, torturing him, burning him out. As I laugh, my ass jiggles above him. He's convulsing, the sheer timing of the fart perfect, his suffering maximized. Clearly, he is overwhelmed by how I had forced it inside of him, and his muffled protests only made me feel great about entrapping him like that. Sure, ripping ass is fun, but tricking Pig into such a situation made me feel all the more aroused. I outsmarted him and he knew it, proving that he has no defence to my desires that I action against him.

'Jesus', I mutter as the smell finally hits me, wafting the air away, 'that was a real bad one, huh? A true stinker.'

Too soon do I need to let rip again. Still, as it slowly comes I grow impatient, as it seemed to be somewhat trapped, so I squeeze my gut until I force it out. It ripples out violently and loudly, the flesh of my ass vibrating his face as he begins to scream. I sigh, but I don't have time to fully enjoy his cries, as still my gut expands with the force of this fart. Boy, this is a big one.

I once again squeeze and his shaking face is once again bestowed with a deep and wretched fart. It escapes with such speed and ferocity that I fear I have burned an hole through my underwear. God, those eggs have culminated in this, it seems, because still my guts churns with the rest of the fart.

Pressing one hand against my belly, and one against my side, I focus until my anus opens up and out streams the final flatulent explosion, a brassy, long, and gritty fart which ends appropriately in a wet bubbling. My anus actually feels scorched, and Pig is crying so loudly I fear he may die of an heart attack and I won't be able to torture him any longer. Despite that, the relief of the fart finally escaping and the enjoyment I'm getting from his obvious agony sends shudders through me of such intensity that I let a little toot rip accidentally. How embarrassing. For him, of course.

I sniff the air a little and gag, 'Oh my god, that is so disgusting. How can you still be alive? I think I need to take a shit, honestly, and that's how it could smell so bad. Pre-poop farts are always the worst. I'll prove this to you by farting again soon. Don't worry, I'll go and wreck the toilet afterwards, I just want the enjoyment of you smelling this next one.'

He begins to seize up at this information, sobbing hopelessly, surrounded by the stink of that last fart. His hands, tied down, open and close, shaking, as are his legs. I hope I don't shit my pants, that will take a while to clean up, but I'm going to risk it to provide him with a true pre-poop fart. He hasn't really had any of them before, other than the last one, but with his job he's going to have to get used to it sooner or later.

After a few minutes I feel it pressing at my anus. I really need to take a dump at this point, to the point where I'm bending over a little, trying to hold it in. I take the risk and push out a steamy fart. It's rank vapour is inhaled by my slave (I always time it right), and soon he is crying out in pain. Like before, he sounds like he's in real agony, and I respond to this my chuckling and letting him endure my ass and it's smell.

'I told you pre-poop farts are the worst', I say, straining.

Soon the urge becomes too much. I stand, looking below at my slave, who lies there coughing and gagging violently, shaking his head. His face is red and his eyes welled with tears. He must absolutely stink of fart. The sight of his heaving, shivering frame fills me with joy, but I cannot stay to gloat for long, I need to use the toilet. God, I hope I don't block it.

'Don't worry', I muttered, smiling, 'I'll be back soon. Just need to destroy the toilet. Just think of that whilst I'm gone.'

As I left my ass involuntarily released a sharp toot into the room. Something for him to remember me by until I return.