Third Wheel Slave
by Voidmasterdom

PART 1

I felt the gnawing, bloated air expand further and further inside me. I tried to massage my stomach to ease the stress on my gut until we got home, but soon the pressure was too much. I turned to face my boyfriend, who's muscled arms were gripped around the steering wheel of the car, making him more attractive than ever.

“I'm so sorry, Brad”, I wince.

"What's up?” He turned to face me. I could feel his eyes widen behind the screens of his sunglasses.

I did not need to explain, I turned to one side and released a portion of the pressure in my gut, a stream of hot air. The sound was high-pitched and airy and lasted longer than I expected, and I let out more than I had planned, but the soothing feeling in my belly was so reliving that I gasped and stared at the ceiling of the car in ecstasy.

“Oh, Jesus”, I said as the smell of rotten fish quickly filled the small space of the car. I heard Grant cough loudly as he reached for the window with one hand. I was not in the mood to mess with him, so I let him open the window and gasp for air outside like a dog. Poor Brad.

“That's foul”, he said through his coughing fit, “the A/C is broke too, couldn't you hold it in?”

Suddenly, the hilarity of the situation hit me like a brick, and I began to laugh loudly, feeling the booming laughter hurt my lungs as I inhaled in more of the awful fart. I was going to apologise, but I decided not too. He had to get used to my farts sooner or later, he was just having some trouble, and honestly something deep inside me desired to share my farts with another human being, willing or not. It was something I had not discussed with Brad, but it was something I thought about a lot, especially during sex. As my laughter died and the fart staled in the cool air circulating throughout the car, I realised that I would have to tell him sooner or later.

“Shannon, I love you, but you have the worst farts I've ever smelt, and I've played football with some real nasty guys”, he said, clearly still uncomfortable with the presence of the fart in the air.

“Well, like my mother used to say, better out than in”.

She did actually say that. A lot. In fact, I got a lot of my habits from my mother, and one of those was the propensity to fart in front of others. The other aspect was my bitchy, uncompromising nature, a dark side of my personality I have come to accept in recent years. Those two quirks often mixed together fairly well and I remember various situations where my mother used them both. In fact, it was likely one of these incidents, early in my life, that drew me to have the desires I do today. I'm not proud of them, but I accept that I cannot change them.

One particular incident occurred when I was a young lady. I recall walking down the street with my mother, when we saw a beggar on the street. Personally, to this day I have no specific issue with the homeless, but my mother, the snob that she was, hated them with a passion. To her, they were nothing more than vermin. However, this time, she smiled, and told the beggar when asked that she did have something to give to him. I recall the dishevelled man sighing in relief as his face warmed to us, and I recall knowing that my mother was not going to be giving him any money. I was so nervous that I couldn't look at him, but it didn't stop me from witnessing what my mother did next with a kind of nervous excitement.

She approached, and turned around. I recall she was wearing bleached jeans that were cut off above the leather of her white heels. She bent down, not close enough that she was touching him (this would have disgusted her), but enough that her ass crack had expanded and allowed enough room for her 'gift' to him. I saw her face redden a little as she forced out a long, bubbling fart. It lasted for only a short while but it was quite violent and I recall holding my nose quickly as the awful, bitter strength of the fart forced it's way into the dingy atmosphere of the empty walkway.

She stood up straight, and wafted it towards the beggar, who was now coughing loudly and yelling something in both anger and disgust. A part of it must've been fear through, because my mother slowly turned around, chuckling, before she replied to his outburst. She could tell when people were scared, just as I could.

“I just thought I'd show you how much a piece of filth like you is worth”, she spat down at him, before holding my hand and leaving him behind to suffer in her stink. God, she was a bitch. I can't say that I don't know where I get it from. Maybe someday I could out-bitch her.

When we got home, we unpacked the shopping in the kitchen and I went upstairs to take a steaming dump. After wiping and wading through the awful fetid air that now flooded the bathroom, almost forgetting to flush, I wandered back down stairs and sat next to Brad.

“Phew, you do not want to go into that bathroom for the next 24 hours, unless you have a death-wish.”

He smiled with one side of his face and shook his head, “You're disgusting, you know that?”

This was going to be the night I told him. We had discussed this before, I wasn't really enjoying our sex. It wasn't his fault, he was great in bed, it was because we never engaged in what my true pleasure was. I almost feel disgusting for even holding these thoughts, but when you grow up with a woman who sees men as her stepping stones, your mind is warped by that. Mine clearly had been.

The specific and revolting ideas I have for humiliating other men cross my mind all the time. I'm at work, shifting my weight on my chair to get comfortable as I stare at endless rows of meaningless data, but I'm thinking of that skinny guy from my previous internship struggling underneath my ass. I'm driving home, stuck in traffic, but I'm imagining pulling one of the guy's stuck ahead out of his car and into mine for some clammy hotbox ass sniffing. Despite my constant fetishisation of men's weakness, Brad was a man who wanted equal dynamics, and whilst he was great, it wasn't the dynamic I was looking for.

I thought I could put up with not having that side of my desires satiated. Even before Brad refused, I knew I couldn't toy with him the way I wanted to do with a certain type of man. He was too strong willed and physically fit, the fantasy would not be fulfilled with him even if he agreed. So I told myself: I am not my mother, I don't need to treat others like that for my own satisfaction. I had tricked a few others when I was younger into temporary slave-dom, whilst studying for my degree with a perpetual hangover, but those days were over. I was accused of taking it so far and I was almost prosecuted for the incident with that one loser I helped haze. I bet even now he still thinks upon those three days I held him in the sorority house's spare room and made him smell things no human would want to smell. Ever since then I have never truly been satisfied.

Now, I realized I could not live without satiating them. I needed somebody to deal with it. And so did Brad. He hated my smells and gross quirks, and this offered a solution that killed two birds with one stone. My gross habits would soon be somebody else's problem, just as they had been during those three days in college, the best three days of my life.

“Brad, we need to talk”, I muttered, half slouched on the sofa.

His eyes widened and his lip curled, “Oh, babe, what is it?”

“Oh, don't look at me like that”, I smile, trying to calm his nerves, “it's nothing like that. It's about my- my thing.”

“What thing?” He looked confused for a second.

“Y'know”, I mumble, “that thing we were talking about before.”

“Oh”, he exhaled, straightening up.

“Look, I know you don't want to do these things, but it's too difficult for me to hide that part away from me. I want a slave, I want to make somebody suffer using my body. I don't want that person to be you, but that doesn't mean I can't be with you. Would you be okay if I invited a sub to live with us? He would not have any part of our relationship and I would never have sex with him, I love you exclusively, he'll just be a tool for my own pleasure.

“I don't know”, he sighed, staring at the floor, “I don't really like the idea of it.”

“Why not?” I asked, suddenly. I thought he would be happy not to deal with my gross side, but he looked dejected, as if I had hurt him.

“I don't want somebody else to gain pleasure from you. I'm your partner, I should be the only one you want to pleasure.”

“Oh, Babe”, I sighed, sitting back. For a moment I think this is a lost cause. I either give up on my desires, or we break up, and I don't want to break up anytime soon with a catch like that. Then, the short, tingling sensation of an idea being birthed came to me. Maybe there was a way we could both be happy, and when I say that, I mean just us both. Brad's condition and my desire could be met mutually. The idea was sick, but it could work. Just as it worked back then. But this time it wouldn't just be three days.

“Brad”, I sit up, “I have an idea. A way we can both be happy.”

“Huh”, he looks up from the floor, confused, twisting his head slightly to one side, the muscles on his shoulder glistening underneath the false chandelier above.

“Let's just run with it for a second. All the previous conditions apply. I have a sub to torture, you and me fuck as usual. The only difference being is that this sub of mine, well, let's just say he won't be getting any pleasure out of the experience. I'll get some random guy to serve me, somebody who hates it, that way he's not enjoying or getting pleasure from me. In fact, he'll hate every stinking moment of it.”

Brad was silent.

“Think about it, you would never have to deal with this again”.

I lean my denim clad ass to one side and allow a short burst of hot air to pierce the fabric of my jeans and enter the breathing space of my lover. I'm not proud of it, but as I smell the thick pungent cheese stink, I know this will sway him. I'm manipulating him with my farts, but if the conclusion is best for both of us, I'm not going to feel too bad.

“Jesus christ, cheese butt”, he began to waft the air back to me. I giggled, and wiggled my toes as he shook his head, “Fine, in fact, good, choose a sub who won't gain any pleasure from it, you gross princess. That's kind of a turn on, actually, and I won't have to smell those fucking awful farts of yours.”

I shrieked in pleasure and hugged him tight, smelling the fart thicken in the air as I dived through the centre of the cloud, “you will not regret this”.

“Just one thing”, he says, as I stop crushing him, “how the hell are you going to make somebody into your toy?”

I think of my mother and all that she taught me, and grinned wildly, “trust me, that won't be an issue”.

His name was Stephen. I didn't know him very well, but he worked at my friend's office and I often saw him look at me, in what he believes to be secret, in a sort of pathetic, lustful way, whenever I came in for lunch with her. He's scrawny, around my age, and has the kind of face that you'd see scattered throughout offices all across the country, doing menial data entry. Perhaps a bit worse, because his head was slightly too small for his body, which was out of proportion completely. I'm usually quite judgemental when it comes to looks, but for the type of relationship we were going to engage in, Stephen's looks didn't matter. In fact, I'd prefer he'd be a bit of a ugly loser. That way, I'd never feel any embarrassment at melting his face with my foul blasts.

It was easy to get a guy like that to trust you when you look like me. I'm not a super model or anything, but let's just say that I've never had issues getting hot guys to like me. Guys who are significantly less attractive than I am? It was a piece of cake. All I had to do was not tell him that I planned to transform him into an living absorber of farts and I was good.

I picked a day when Dana, my friend, wasn't at work. I knew that she absent, and I didn't want anyone to see me. If the police were to get involved, I didn't want anything leading back to me. I worked at a chemist, albeit in the back office, so it wasn't that hard to get something that can subdue him. All I had to do was spring the trap.

Waiting, I plucked at my long hair and began to stroke my hip, clad in a pair of thin, casual grey sports leggings. I wore a short-sleeved t-shirt that held back the soft breeze but didn't make me sweat too much under the beaming sun that had crawled out from the grey clouds that had held it at bay this morning.

I was leaning near the back entrance, where there was no cameras. I had parked a rented car near the door and was waiting for him to come. I knew he would, because previously I had seen him leave this way when I came to meet up with Nora. I also knew he left later than most people, due to his high workload. Well, he might be an ass kisser at work, but he's about to become a real-life brown-noser.

He almost knocked into me as he came through the door. His eyes widened as they glanced upon me and I could tell he was forcing himself to look towards my eyes and not down below.

I turned to face him and smiled warmly, imagining myself kneeing him hard in the balls to stop myself gagging from the thought of offering him even fake sympathy.

“Excuse me, you work with Dana, right?” I ask, swivelling my blonde fringe in my fingers.

“Y-Yeah”, he muttered, “what's your name?”

I giggle, mainly at how pathetic he is, but I try to hide it, “My name's Shannon. What about you?”

“Stephen”, he mumbled, looking towards the floor.

“Stephen, Hi. Have you seen Dana?” I asked, swivelling my hips slightly. The trick is to put effort into the subtly of the movement. Too much and it appears dishonest, conniving, even.

“Sorry, she wasn't at work today.”

“Oh damn it”, I muttered, but not too loudly, tapping my foot on the ground and pressing my arms against my hip, “I thought she was working today. I needed her to help me take this heavy table out of my car so I can properly set it down to fit through the door when I take it out.”

“Oh”, he mumbled. Pathetic, he wasn't even going to ask me.

“You couldn't happen to help me with it, could you?” I blink a few times and turn my head as I look him in the eyes. He tries to avoid my gaze and shuffles his feet on the ground.

“Sure, yeah, of course”.

I grinned, knowing that I had him in my trap, “Oh, you're such a nice guy. Thanks for helping me. The car is just over here”.

I led him towards the rental. I actually did have an old table in the back, in case he started getting suspicious. I spent the last few days preparing for him. I had purchased some equipment that would help me with his new job, mainly binds and tape, and I had gone through the scenario in my head many times to ensure that I wouldn't fuck this up. Everything was going to plan.

“The table is just in there”, I said, “could you try and unlatch it and then bring it out?”

He mumbled an agreement and then reached into the car. I carefully removed from the side of the car. in a small but easily accessible compartment, the horse tranquillizer. I had to guess his weight for the dosage, but I was sure it didn't matter too much as long as I didn't inject too much into him. I slipped over him, the spacious land rover easily allowing me to slip in without touching him, before pressing the needle into his neck and injecting the liquid into him.

He made a sort of gasping noise before collapsing on the table. It was quite a small table, so it wasn't difficult to press back the seat and push him into the boot. He wasn't particularly heavy and the slippery surface of the table facilitated this.

I got out the car and walked around to the boot. I bound his hands together with hard plastic, before putting one of my old socks in his mouth and stretching the heavy duty tape across his face. I then turned him around so that the pre placed bin liner stretched around him several times. This manoeuvre happened to be a lot more difficult than I had originally thought and by the time I finished I was sweating rather profusely. Applying the tape to the bag was the easiest part, and soon I had locked the boot and started to drive out from the back of the building, onto the highway that led to our home.

“Babe”, I said, after phoning my boyfriend using the hands-free, “I'll be home with my slave in about ten minutes. Could you get ready to help me carry him in?”

There was a short burst of laughter from the other side of the phone, “you really did it, huh? I'll be ready.”

“Good”, I said, feeling the rumbling in my gut, in fact I'm sure my BF could hear it from the other side of the phone, “I really need to cut the cheese so we can get started pretty much straight away.”

“That's great, babe. Just try and hold it in, would you? Remember, we agreed that he'd take all of your farts for you. I don't want to have to explain to the rental company where there's a hole burned into the seat.”

I laughed, “I think I can hold it. God, this poor fuck is going to be in for a particularly nasty surprise when I get home. That Chinese food is really coming back on me.”

When I arrived at the house, I parked the car in the garage. We lived in a detached but I didn't want to risk being seen by any of the neighbours. Still, at least we were fully insulated noise wise, so there was no risk of any muffled screams being heard.

My boyfriend helped me to drag the figure into the room. He was heavier than I remembered, but Brad had no issue holding up his relativity insignificant weight. I didn't take his safety into consideration when I simply let go and dropped him, his head hitting the hard floor with a grisly thud, but he wasn't awake yet so their was no response from him.

“Brad, could you get the harness? I think I left it in the cellar.

As Brad left to grab my gear, ready to use on the poor sob I had fooled into entering a life of forced, hellish subservience to me and my smelly bum, I looked upon my handiwork. I would've made a good serial killer, I told myself, but I didn't want him to die. Not because I cared about his life, it was meaningless to me, but it was important to me that he lived through each rip, that each moment of his waking life was spent in a position of disgust, humiliation, and pain. I always knew I was a sadist, I had gotten that from my mother, but I had never felt such an intense desire to inflict my desires on an unwilling inferior than I did now. I now understood why my mother enjoyed the pain of others, and she had been a good teacher, as poor Stephen was soon to discover.

“Here it is”, Brad smiled. Even he was enjoying it, although perhaps just the idea of never having to put up with a sneaky fart from my bottom gave him great relief. He passed me the harness that I would use to introduce Stephen to his new position in life. We had debated which tool to use initially, but I was set on the harness. It was the best way for him to be trapped between my cheeks whilst also making sure that my butt was physically attached to his face with an element of mobility, which was part of the perverse fantasy of his hell at my hands, a fantasy that would soon become reality.

“Babe, shouldn't you put on the harness before he wakes?”

“Nah”, I said, still staring at my new slave, “I want to look him directly in the eyes and tell him exactly what I'm going to do with him first. I want to see the fear and disgust as he realises what is in store for him.”

Brad was silent for a moment as I heard him scratch his head, “Babe”, he said, “this new you. I kinda like it, but damn, I didn't realise you were such a psycho.”

I turned to him and smiled, “Don't worry, I'm only going to be this way to him. This will just make both of our lives more enjoyable. Remember, he is just a toy for me to torture, his will is irrelevant, and if you really care about my pleasure, you would know how much this means to me.”

Brad blinked a few times, scratching his chiselled chin, “no worries babe, I'm fully supportive of you.”

I was going to think of something else to further comfort any lingering worries my boyfriend might be having when I felt and then heard the hard stirring of my slave as he woke from his chemically induced sleep. He made a few noises as I looked over to him, my bum planted on the floor as I stared into his blinking eyes. Soon he began to look at both of us, eyes wide with enraged fear, his body wiggling like a worm as he failed to make any headway against his bonds. Brad walked into the background, clearly knowing that this was my time to shine.

“There's no point in trying to escape”, I said, looming over him, on my face a serious gaze I had perfected in the mirror last night. I wanted him to feel as much fear as possible during the transition period between the end of his old life, and his new life behind and beneath my bum.

“Listen very carefully, bitch. I have kidnapped you. I have planned this for some time now. Your life of freedom is over. Now, you are going to serve me as my personal slave. I don't think you'll like the particulars of your job very much, but knowing your duties is important, so listen up”.

He stared at the walls, and looked around, before his gag vibrated with his conscious screams. He closed his eyes, a line of tears appearing beneath his lids, before he began to shake himself from side to side, trying to escape his tight bonds to no avail. I merely sighed, before delivering a sharp slap to his face.

“Stop that, or I will really fucking hurt you”, I said, relieved when instantly I drove the fear of pain into him. I was a little disappointed he showed no fight, I wanted to punish him, to break him.

“As I was saying, you will have a role that I am going to force you into, a permanent role that you should never expect to escape from. Basically, I have a bit of a weak stomach. This results in strongly smelling and frequent gas that my boyfriend has to deal with. Well, had to deal with. It is going to be your job to filter every single one of my farts, and you will do so regardless of how bad they smell.”

He looked at me in confusion and then, quickly, disgust, before once again struggling against his bonds, protesting loudly as he failed once again to make any headway in his escape.

“Your face will be attached to my ass, a permanent fixture to my bottom. This harness I have next to me will make sure that you are tightly pressed in, so that each trump will be absorbed into your system. You will not leave my ass unless absolutely necessary, in case I need to fart. Your nose will be pressed tight to form a seal in which you can absorb the full force of my gas.”

I smiled as he began once again to cry, a short gag escaping him as he imagined his fate. God, how I wish I could read his mind right now, understand his horror. His cries sent through me waves of chemical pleasure that caused my skin to itch softly.

“Now, I must warn you. My farts are quite noxious. In fact, they are so vile that I have to install you as my filter to ensure that my poor boyfriend no longer has to deal with the smell. However, despite their horrid stink, you will be expected to endure them, and will not be given any breaks. It is your job to sniff when I fart, and if you don't, you will be punished with physical torture. I have a branding iron that I'm all to happy to use against use if you step out of line”.

As he began to shout, muffled yelps which didn't deter me from my goal of instilling in him the very real fear of his life beneath me, I picked up the harness and, in full view of him, began to attach the first layer together using the belts. Then, standing up, I placed the harness around his head, attaching it so that it could not be pulled off by himself, no matter how much he tried. He shook his head violently, as if this would stop me from doing what I was about to do, but it didn't. I loosened his binds so he could kneel and crawl, and admired my handiwork.

“My ass goes there”, I pointed towards the rest of the harness, bringing my bemused grimace close to his face, to show him how close he would be to my gas production chute. Now, I was ready to get in my harness and allow my slave his first whiff of his superior's arse. My boyfriend watched with anticipation as I picked up the harness and forced the slave onto his knees with surprising ease.

“Ugh, I feel a fart brewing now”, I say, and in reaction he attempted to escape, or at least obstruct me from my goal of having his nose in my bum ready for this incoming fart, pushing at my ass with his hands, “don't try and stop me, there's no point. Just shut up and take it”.

His movements made it somewhat difficult to slip into the harness, and at one point I stopped my boyfriend from getting involved, but eventually I slipped it around my waist and with once decent pull, brought his face into the spongy flesh of my somewhat sweaty crack. I shuffled my hips around as I tightly pulled the belt of the harness so that he had no fresh air to distract him from my farts. He must've not been a fan of my arse, probably because I had mentioned trumping. He shivered in fearful anticipation for what soon I would deliver upon him. His nose felt somewhat comforting in my ass, not only due to the fact that he would be taking in my gas soon, a fact which still caused me to shiver in pleasure every so often, but also because I felt powerful knowing I had full control over what suffering he would be receiving.

I was still standing, he was on his hands and knees like a dog. I didn't have time to test out the various positions and movements this may constrict me to, as the gas was already about to leak out from my butt and out from the soft material of my leggings, which formed an half wedgie in my ass as his nose pushed them up against my crack. It almost tickled, but in a soft, pleasurable way.

I grunted, shifted slightly to one side, and let out a burst of sharp, high pitched air which rippled for a few seconds, before ending in a silent burst of toxic gas. I couldn't help myself, I laughed, mainly in pleasure at the release, but also because of how my victim had reacted. At the start of the fart, he released a short, low grunt, almost one of surprise, before his voice cracked into one of disgust, a high pitched protest which ended against the silent wind of my fart in a gag induced beg for release as the stink of my bowels introduced itself to his nose.

“Smell my fart, bitch”, I said, shaking my ass, grinning towards my boyfriend, who had just finished chortling and was now nodding towards me as I did a joyful jig, my ass vibrating against the nose of my victim, who was still recovering from the smell of my fart, still freshly etched into my leggings.

“I can't smell anything, babe”, my boyfriend says in relief, still clearly amused by the moans of my slave, who must look ridiculous with his nose jammed into my crack.

“Well”, I sniffed the air, “I can smell a little bit. It smells of really strong cheese, but I can only smell a portion. It probably means that I'll need to readjust the harness.”

Ignoring the protests of my slave, I dragged the belt of the harness, feeling his nose and face expand into the flesh of my ass as I put it up a notch, “Slave, stop complaining. You will take full responsibility for the smell of my trumps. This is your fucking life now, and you're already crying? If you are this weak you will truly find this new job of yours pure hell, but I don't care weather or not you adjust.”

I could feel his high pitched moans and realized that the tight hold of the harness dug into the back of his head, “I don't care if it hurts, you will have to endure it. Ugh, I think I gotta fart again. Let's see if this is any better.”

I turned slightly to one side, holding my belly with one hand. I push out a slightly longer, deeper fart, which I could feel bubble out against the pressure of his nose in my crack. This time, I felt the warm fumes force it's way into the nostrils of my slave, who clearly hated this position more than the last, as he made a sort of pained shriek in reaction to the stink which rushed into his system to be filtered, a reaction that showed his disdain and disgust more so than before.

After finishing my chortling and winking at my boyfriend, who just sat there looking happy at my pleasure, I sniffed the air deeply.

“That was quite a bad fart, but I can barely smell it. I can smell a trace of bad meat in the air, but this position is much better. Slave, does it smell really bad?”

He made a sort of choked gag which I know indicated that he hated the smell.

“Good”, I shift my hip to one side, “at least now you know that this isn't a fucking holiday. You're mine for life, and it's going to be a gruelling and disgusting life. There's nothing you can do to make things better, but if you don't smell my ass properly and do what I say, I'll make it so much fucking worse”.

I let out a sharp but warm SBD without warning, injecting the little puff of rank air directly into my slave's nose, who made a sort of gasp before shaking his head and coughing into his gag, his ragged breath interrupted by a elongated gag. I shared a knowing look at my boyfriend, who just shook his head and half smiled.

“Anyway”, Brad said, itching his head, “I said I would meet up with the guys. I'll let you two get to know each other.

“Ok, bye babe”, I blew him a kiss as he waved goodbye. When the door closed, I relaxed the tension in my body and turned around. It was a slow move, and my slave was forced to crawl along as I turned, his breathing of my farts still causing him to release the occasional disgusted splutter. He must feel so disgusting right now.

“Carrying on from what I said before”, I said, more quietly but sharper, with a colder inflection in my voice, “I am using you not only to deal with my gas, but because I enjoy letting it rip against your face. I like the total control I have over your life. Do not imagine that I will make this easy for you, I want you to suffer. My diet will make life back there unbearable. There is no escape, so learn to sniff up my farts, learn to obey orders, and your life will still be hellish, but disobey me and I can make it even worse. There is no compromise here, you will sniff my farts and you will hate them but you will have no choice.”

My speech had him silent, but after it ended I could hear his quiet, high pitched cries as tears trickled down his fart imbued cheeks. I had something to dry those tears, I thought, with an evil grin stretching across my face.

“Now, let’s see if you can sniff up a fart. Don’t worry, I have a real fart for you to practice with brewed in my gut, and it will not be the last, so you’ll be getting lots of practice. When I let rip, you will allow your nostrils to open to the smell and then you inhale deeply. Of course, you will hate this, but if you don’t learn there’s always your mouth.”

He was taken aback by how easily I could up the cruelty, and this realization did nothing to quench his soft, salty tears.

“Right, fart pig, here it is”, I twisted my hip, allowing his anticipation to build up as his fearful breathing only intensified. I let my ass cheeks rest comfortably to one side as the fart which had kept me slightly bloated rushed out in a loud, airy trumpet of a release, a long dry heated stinker which burned into the open nostrils of my slave. He cried out almost immediately.

“Sniff, or you’ll fucking regret it”, I said in a voice so thick with violent inflection that it almost caused me to shudder. It appeared to work, however, as he forced himself to take his first big sniff, an action which caused him to immediately convulse into a coughing fit.

“Keep sniffing”, I said, closing my eyes, allowing my pleasure to climax in an ultimate, dominant euphoria as his 2nd deep sniff cooled down my asshole and tickled my sweat clad crack. He dry heaved and gagged as his breath became imbued with pure fart.

“Pathetic”, I said, in response to his pained breathing, “a single fart and you’ve exhausted yourself on it. What are you going to do about this, now you’ve got no energy?”

I pushed out a warm SBD I had been holding back. It was the type of fart which came out in a series of damp silent puffs, which were quiet and small but burned the flesh of the anus as it blazed out from deep within the recesses of my churning bowels. He began to gag as I quickly turned from my waist and looked down at his weeping frame with disdain.

“I shouldn’t have to remind you every time. Fucking sniff”, I scolded, reaching down and yanking on his hair, sighing as the pain shot through and caused him to whimper like a pathetic dog. Then, I felt him breath in my fart deep, my SBD leaving the etches of the thin fabric of leggings and being filtered through my very own fart pig.

“Ahh, that’s better, the awful stink is inside you. How does that make you feel?” I shook my ass as he cried out, a plead, one which only made me feel better about what I was doing. This new pastime of mine reflected the true monster I was, using the power of my body to cause somebody extreme humiliation and disgust.

This was probably as close to a girl as he’d ever get, and his relationship with the opposite sex will be face to ass exclusively. I’ll make sure of that.

PART 2

Brad's kiss was warm and his hold strong, which fuelled our entwined passion driving it into something more intense and primal. It was so strong that it hid the sensation of the brewing in my belly until it was too late. At least he wouldn't have to deal with it.

I turned from him, stopped, and allowed the large pull of gas to leave my body in a trumpeting trailing fart. I felt it vibrate against the flesh beneath my tight denim clad ass, and from the face below came a muffled shriek followed by several loud gags. The harness pressed the slave's face deep within my ass, not that I needed it, as I was using him as a cushion as I pressed down my full weight upon him as he laid sprawled out on the sofa. He was going nowhere.

“I bet that one reeks”, Brad chuckled deeply, stroking my hair.

“Well, since we had curry for dinner, I'm inclined to agree with you”, I said, causing us both to laugh, a laugh which ended in the continuation of our passionate kiss, both of us inattentive to the screams below as the fart burned my slaves nasal cavity, my weight only worsening the situation for him.

The slave had come a long way in the past few months regarding his ability to sniff the full smell of the fart so that I did not have to deal with any excess smell. It was not a surprise, considering the awful punishments I was putting him through after each failure, and it wasn’t as if he was becoming used to the smells, evident by his crying and screaming that often escaped the tight hold of my cheeks after a particularly strong or rotten fart. It was just pattern enforcement. This was the best of both worlds, as I did not want his suffering beneath my bum to be watered down, nor did I want anyone but him to smell my own fart fumes.

As the kiss intensified I pulled Brad closer, his weight pushing the tight denim hard against the face below. He growled in pain, pleading with me using muffled, pathetic grunts for me to take some of my weight off. Instead, my weight continued to press into him, Brad's own weight pressing my ass deeper into his face, the fart etched denim crushing his nose until his nostrils formed a fuse with my ass. What a perfect time to fart.

And I did. It was a long, airy squeaker, that bubbled directly into my slave's nose, causing him initially to shriek in shock. Then, as the smell began to rise into his system, he made a series of digested yelps which me and Brad ignored in the heat of the kiss in which we were engaged. When I first began ripping ass into his nose, I would have burst out laughing, but now it was a part of our everyday lives and whilst I still gained pleasure from it, I no longer had to recognise each rip, or add comment to each stink I made him endure.

“Let's move this to the bedroom”, Brad said, finally unpeeling his lips from my own.

“Sure”, I said, biting my lip as I let a loud trump ripple from my ass. The slave screamed in response to the smell, which caused us both to chuckle. What did he expect? I did have curry for dinner after all.

I don't want to go into too much detail, but we fucked whilst fart boy's face was snug between my cheeks, me arched on my back and our full weight pressing down on him as I offered him no relieve, several farts roaring out of my bottom during the act. The harness wasn't too comfortable because I had to wear it whilst nude, but at the very least he had to deal with his nose trapped in my naked ass. I recall peeling off my clothes, slipping them off as I loosened the harness so I could undress with him still at my ass. I recall with great delight his shuddering yowls as he realized what I was going to do with him.

Afterwards, I gasped, and pulled the covers over us, laying on my back, the twisted frame of the suffering slave roasting underneath me, his heavy breathing tickling my swampy asshole. Who said pretty girls couldn't be really nasty? Well, he learned that they could a long time ago. Still, I thought as a smile appeared on my face, there's no reason not to ensure he's fully aware of what girls like me are capable of once more.

With that thought in mind I bit my bottom lip hard, twisted my hip slightly towards the side, and pushed out a long gasp of a fart, an airy hollow ripple which sounded like a heavy zip being pulled down for what seemed like an eternity. It was a dry post-sex fart, but I could tell by the way it burnt and the violent heaving of my slave that it really stunk. I burst into a series of high pitched giggles as my boyfriend shook his head and chuckled in a deep manly voice.

“You're nasty”, he said, looking directly into my gaze, sharing my amusement.

“I was holding that one in during sex”, I giggled, “I didn't want to put you off too much with a loud fart like that, even if the smell wouldn't be your problem.”

“It's somebody's problem through, apparently”, Brad said, indicating that the screams below were particularly desperate and agonized, “I really think he wants some fresh air.”

“The only air he's going to get for some time now is this”, I let out a sharp, small toot, laughing as he cried and gagged in reaction. I felt my asshole push out the fart, opening up and swallowing the tip of his nose for the duration of it.

“That was a hot one”, I said as his shrieks picked up, Brad laughed but scooted away from me, as if the smell would still flood his nostrils. Perhaps it was a natural reaction from a year of having to deal with my bad smells. I was just glad that I didn't have to make him endure that any more.

My slave's plight wasn't aided by my less than fastidious hygiene as of late. I had not washed my ass since yesterday morning and it was pretty grimy and ripe down there, especially since I had done a workout this afternoon. I had washed my armpits because Brad complained of my BO, but I refused to wash my ass, only so I could extend the suffering of the poor Sniffer Boy between my cheeks. I compromised by extending the tightness of the harness to a level where it began to dig into his skin, a move which caused him great pain but caused me great amusement as my full ripe stink became a staple of his breathing. My farts, as disgusting as they were, were now a part of his system, my methane a frequent source of strain on his over-abused lungs.

To state this point to myself, I allowed another fart to rip down below, beneath the covers where my slave baked in stink. It was slightly wet, almost gritty, what I would call a swamp fart. Fart Boy hates those types of farts, because they are always very potent and smell like utter shit. As he screams in another failed attempt at relieving the pain, I realize how grateful I am for the tightness of the harness intensifying his gross agony. There's no way I would want my or Brad's nostrils straining with the force of the smell that he is currently enduring.

“My ass it really hot”, I say, adjusting the harness so that he breathing had enough room to cool down my anus for a second, “it's like a sauna of farts down there.”

Brad laughed, “I'm just glad we don't have the fumes wafting between the edge of the covers, which is what happened before he became a part of your life.”

I fell asleep with him still in my ass. I remember, as I drifted off to sleep, feeling the smooth vibrations of his pain against my ass as my exhausted frame felt a rocking fart bubble beneath the covers, my asshole rippling violently against his nostrils as the curry fart wrecked his nose. I knew, as sleep came upon me, that he would not be having a very peaceful night down there tonight, a thought which drew me closer into the comfort of sleep.

I awoke as the force of a particularly gruesome fart escaped my naked cheeks. At first, as the last vestiges of sleep escaped me, I wasn't sure of what happened. Soon through, as the fart juice warmed my ass and Fart Boy's screams rocked through the flesh of my well endowed bottom, I knew what happened, and I felt myself smile my morning began with my favourite pastime: torturing Fart Boy. I remembered that it was a protein shake and oatmeal for breakfast today, so he was going to have a long morning ahead of him.

Before I could so that, through, I needed to take my morning dump. Unfortunately for Fart Boy I had begun to involve him in this process, and as I sighed, stretched under the cover, pressing his damp face into my cheeks to adjusted my weight, perhaps he was thinking of the torture that was to come. The idea made me a little wet, and as Brad had already got up to go to work, I had the bathroom to myself (or, at least, I had the bathroom to me and my slave).

“I need to take a huge shit”, I mumbled under my breath, loud enough for him to hear me. I let out a steamy SBD that mixed in with his moans and protests that quickly turned to screams amidst the rank air of my bloated gut.

It was a difficult journey to the bathroom. I had to drag my slave via my sweating crack as he awaited the worst part of his mornings, a pure methane torture from my bowels which put my morning farts to shame. As long as he suffered in order to keep my bathroom relatively free from the damp fecal fumes which would soon emanate like wafts of brown smoke from my toilet, baking itself into the fabric of the room itself, then it was all worth it. Still, I should not have had that curry last night. I didn't think they'll be anything left of my toilet after the dump I was about to take.

The descent of my bottom onto the toilet was difficult. First, I had to loosen the harness so that I could push it to my front, so he would face my pussy, and that was the most difficult manoeuvre as he often began to weep uncontrollably whilst becoming still during the process, likely from a complete horror of what was happening to him. Then, as that was finished, I had to slowly lower my sweaty ass into the bowl and adjust his face so that he was leaning over the bowl, his face trapped between my legs, his nose pointed towards the water below.

When that was finished, however, I felt the a great joy as my victim was helplessly trapped, and that I had the power to deliver unto him the nastiest humiliation that he could imagine, and present his nose with the foulest of all smells: a nasty morning curry dump.

I started out by squeezing out a sharp curry toot. He jumped as it came out of my ass, an airy cut which filled the hotbox of the bowl with a dry, spicy stink. He coughed several times into the bowl before releasing a long gag. I chuckled to myself as I imagined the lingering stink inside building up into a cloud of breathable sulphur. It was only going to get worse.

The next fart was more wet and solid, likely spraying a thin line of wet ass into the bowl. It must've been as nasty to smell as it sounded, for he dry heaved into the bowl like a cat trying to unleash a furball. That's why you don't feed them the night before locking them in a toilet hotbox. You don't want the grossness of his puke to vibrate your hips, you only want your own stink to overwhelm him. I've learned that lesson the hard way, but at least now he has nothing to regurgitate, leaving him to dry heave in boiled wet fart.

The third push released a thunderous roar of a fart which ended in a large splash in the water as I evacuated my bowels. As the second splash quickly hit he began to groan and then choke through his muffled, gagged screams. His body gyrated as I pushed out the final bomb, hearing the thick splash below coincide with his heaving and shrieking. I laughed, letting out an airy toot to finish it off as he remained trapped in that hellish bowl beneath him. A hot stink escaped and I held my nose against the fumes that caused him to wretch. After that mess, he wished for death.

“That was one steaming dump”, I giggle, my girly voice contrasting with the content of my words, “why don't I just relax here for a bit so you can take in the full power of my morning release? Slave, I also need you to start sniffing much more deeply. If not, well, you're going to find yourself trapped down there for much longer.”

He cried as he was forced to sniff the smell of shit deeply, each time retching as my minx laughter vibrated against his heaving frame. I heard his heavy breathing erupt each time into a series of coughs, gags, and chokes. He cried for a little like a little girl before he continued to sniff, knowing what the truth depths of unwilling depravity I could force him into if he didn't do exactly as I wanted. I spent the next 10 minutes there, and when I wiped my ass I left him there, to extend his dump breathing session for as long as possible before the relief of the flush caused him to collapse against the rim of the seat.

After struggling to get up, I walked out of the bathroom with his face once again attached to my ass. The dump had taken a lot out of me, but it didn't stop me from letting out a single poot of a fart into his nose as I shut the door behind us, trapping inside the excess fumes. He walked alongside the warm stink of my silent air biscuit, moaning. He didn't respond much to it, however, as the smell of the dump had exhausted him by the time I had left the bathroom the fester in the remainder of the sulphuric fumes of human waste. It's too bad, I wanted his screams to liven up my flesh. Still, there's plenty of time for that later.

The only time he was truly separate from my ass, other than to eat and use the toilet, was when I was getting dressed. I found it too awkward to attempt to dress myself with him dangling near the outline of my arse. I made it quick, trampling over his kneeling, coughing frame as I dressed in a t-shirt and thin, worn grey leggings. Today was a relaxation day, which meant that I did not need to take care of my personal hygiene. That was good for me, not so good for him.

I picked up the grey leggings before I wore them and dangled them in front of me. I rose my nose slightly to the material which usually clamps to my ass crack. I audibly gagged as the smell of thick, stale fart mixed with unwashed, dry sweat invaded my poor nose. I drew my face away from them and coughed.

“These pants smell worse than your face”, I say, my face still screwed up in disgust, “here, take a whiff.”

I pulled his hair as he whined through his gag and slammed the ass end of the pants hard into his face, rubbing in the stink. He groaned in both pain and disgust as the stale smell of gas, etched into the grey leggings, revealed itself to him. He really hates these leggings, because they don't hold anything back, and if they did then the gas would just get etched into the thin cotton material hugging my bum, meaning he would get to enjoy my stale farts as well as my fresh ones. The pure agony of the fart stink will overwhelm him, and I tried to remain calm as my body shook in joy from the idea of his suffering beneath my leggings.

I pulled even harder on his hair, my fingers carefully entwined so I would not lose grip as I violently tugged at his roots. He began to scream, and as he did his breathing became intense, and he had no choice through the agony to breath the stale fart air of my fart stained leggings with deep gulps of methane ripened air.

“They stink, huh?” I said as I continued toying with his hair, feeling his breath violently rip through the leggings. I felt his choke dry as his screams mixed with several gags, he smell coming through to him through the pain of it all.

“This is just a mere teaser of what today will bring, Fart Boy”, I spit, finally releasing his hair and slamming him hard against the floor. He gasped, his face red and tear ridden, his gag frothing as he choked on the air. His nose had left a slight imprint on the back of the leggings. As I dressed into them I watched him rub the blood red mark at the back of his head before turning on his back away from me, gasping, spluttering, and crying like some pathetic, malformed freak boy. I wanted him to feel more pain, watching him then, and with my stomach bloated with a large fart, I knew that he torture was far from over.

I jumped up in the air, legs sprayed out. He screamed in terror as my full weight crashed down hard against his chest. He made a sort of shrieking exhalation as all the air left him, the impact of my butt and full weight crashing down against him sending spital and tears flying from him. I could feel them as my backside faced his breathless face. Perfect timing, I thought, releasing the raunchy, manly fart on his upper chest just as his empty, screaming lungs forced him to breath in more heavily than he would be able to do naturally. Of course, his inhalations vacuumed up that meaty, raw fart up, causing him not only to continue his cries of pain, but to interject them with a desperate heaving which told me all I needed to know about the fart. Then it's rancid stench hit me.

“Oh my fucking god, that fart absolutely stinks”, I said loudly, holding my nose, “breath that one in, fart goblin. Take in those fumes and suffer through the pain.”

He had no choice. My damage to his chest caused him to breath in the fart infused air around him deeply without recourse. I was not going to make it an easier on him, grinding my ass and weight down to add insult to injury, and as he groaned he breathed in my ass stink, my ass rubbing his chin, taking up his whole view. I wanted him to look upon the full view of my admittedly well toned, sexy ass (although I doubted he could look at it that way), and for him to see those pounds of flesh as his entire reason to be alive, regardless of his hatred for his life role. I gloated, shaking my ass slightly as he wheezed and spluttered and cried softly to himself in the still present stink of my meaty release.

“Y'know, it's quite pathetic when you think about it. I mean, your entire meaning in life is to absorb my fart stink. Do you even think about that? The fact that the only reason for you being alive is to press your ugly nose into a smelly butt and sniff a woman's trumps? You see, if I were you, and thank god I'm not, I would just be a wreck. Because you're nothing, are you? You're just my fart toilet and that's it, there's nothing else about you that's important.”

I pause to fart. His soft weeping turns into gagging as the hot, spicy gust of foul wind envelops his face. I waft the excess stink towards his face, screwing my own face up in reaction to the rising smell. I like the way his disgusted heaving echoes around the room when the flesh of my cheeks are not muffling the sound of his suffering.

“Whilst you're dealing with that whopper, think about it. You literally sniff farts for a living. It's not just a job, it's what you are as a person. You are a human fart toilet. And do you know what? It's really quite funny how pathetic that is. That you only exist to process the methane from my bowels.”

He was softly weeping. I had the widest bitch smile on my face. Physical humiliation and torture was great, of course, but I really got off on destroying somebody's idea of themselves and replacing it with something broken and unworthy of happiness. And do you know the sickest part about it? I didn't even have to lie about him. I had just told him the truth, opened his eyes to what he really was, and that's why he was crying.

“Are you crying?” I mocked, “you should be. You're a worthless inhaler of gas, and you will never be anything else. Now, let's dry those tears for you. I think I have enough hot air to dry them all.”

I shake my ass as I lift it up and methodically place it down on his whimpering face. I make sure to shuffle my ass from side to side until his nose is properly aligned with my asshole. Then, I sighed as he cried beneath me. Finally, he's back where he belongs. Now, let's remind him of that fact.

I fart loudly, grunting as the stink escapes in one long trailing explosion. He whimpers and then screams. It looks like we have a long day ahead of us, and with my protein shake and oatmeal breakfast, his hell was only just beginning.

PART 3

I grunted a little, feeling the flesh of my anus open slightly as the burning fizzle of a long, trumpeting fart escaped my ass and burned out into a silent gust of deadly wind which relieves my asshole of it's sudden itch. The relief causes me to stare at the ceiling, close my eyes, and sigh. The pleasure from it was so strong that Brad's supportive clapping and the screams of fart boy behind me only piqued my attention after a few seconds of hazy bliss.

“Don't worry”, I smiled, seeing the corner of his lips turn into a frown, “You'll be back in a week or two. I'm sure you'll get time to relax in London between meetings and conferences. And you can look forward to seeing me again”.

He smiled then, and I held my leg to my chest, feeling a deep gurgling in my gut, “oh, and before you go, something to remind you that you are the only man in this house.”

I grunted a little, feeling the flesh of my anus opening slightly as the burning fizzle of a long, trumpeting fart escaped my ass and burned out into a silent gust of deadly wind which relieved my asshole of it's sudden itch. The relief caused me to stare at the ceiling, close my eyes, and sigh. The pleasure from it was so strong that Brad's supportive clapping and the screams of fart boy behind me only piqued my attention after a few seconds of hazy bliss.

“Jesus”, Brad shook his head, “he's heaving. That must've been a real bad one.”

“Just be glad you don't have to smell a thing”, I said, partially to remind Brad of his vast superiority over Fart Boy, and partially to remind Fart Boy of his role, not that he needed a particular reminder when he nostrils, fumigated with a perpetual mist of fart, was enough of a reminder for him anyway. Still, I always liked rubbing things in.

“I'd give you a final hug, but I don't want to risk a leak.”

We shared a hearty laugh and soon we said our goodbyes and he was out the door. My smile turned to a smirk as I stared down below at the chest appearing from out my crotch, heaving violently as his lungs struggled to process the heat of my flatulence. It made me happy to see him in such a state.

“Fuck me, those boiled eggs are going right through me”, I said, holding my belly as several deep farts brewed inside, “do you think it was a good idea to eat six of them?”

I laughed, my cackle disguising a brief and accidental release of a dry heat SBD. He choked on the burning stink of the air and I merely sighed, albeit with a wide grin, “You might have to endure these hard boiled egg farts all morning, I don't think you'll be going anywhere anytime soon.”

Boy, did he cry. Perhaps he expected a short reprieve from my constant morning gas output, that begun with a plate of hard boiled eggs that I forced him to watch me eat, knowing full well that he was dreading absorbing the smell of my soon to be hard boiled egg gas, but he wasn't getting anything like that. It only took 10 minutes for the first fart to kick in, and as I had tied him to my ass, he got all of it. God, I love the sound of him choking on my raw flatulence.

The house still smelled like stale farts, despite my slave filtering most of them. Any quick turn of the hip as I reached out to grab something can allow a stream of thick fart vapour to escape the otherwise tight hold his face is trapped in. Occasionally, when he was eating or using the bathroom, I let rip in the air just as a call back to my pre-slave days. In that sense, me and Brad were not fully absolved of having to deal with the awful smell, although the burden was heavily skewed upon slave boy.

Fortunately, when the doorbell rang and forced me from out my pleasure driven stupor, I was next to the cellar door. Still, a rushing, almost instantiation horror filled my gut, dampening a fart I was planning to release and leaving my gas dormant in my heavy, sinking stomach.

“Shit”, I say, feeling a brief moan behind me. Who the fuck was that? I wasn't expecting anybody, not today.

I quickly staggered down the stairs, and as the 2nd ringing occurred, I was almost shaking. My slave was restless as I tied him into the soundproofed basement bed frame with violent speed. He was still gagged but his bloodshot eyes looked up at me in some half mix of confusion and fear. I hid my anxious grimace and shot him a smirk.

“I'll be back soon with a nice big egg fart for you to gobble up, slave”, I shot him a fake, sadistic smile before turning and leaving him alone in the basement.

Oh fuck, what if it was the police? I knew he had been officially missing for some time. I was reading the newspaper one time when I saw his ugly mug stare out from one of the back pages.' Have you seen this man', it said. It made me chuckle. I even remember untying my slave and showing him the photo.

“They're not even really looking for you, you're cared for so little that you barely get a mention in the paper”, I giggled and let out a burp into his face, “isn't that great? It means that the police aren't going to save you from this.” I had then let out, through my sport leggings, a steamy, deep fart into the air, letting it flood the atmosphere we both shared. He looked on in disgust and horror as he realized he was not going to be found and I bore my grinning stare back at him.

In contrast to the sly joy I was feeling back then, I was now regretting my relaxed nature. Had I made a mistake? I couldn't go to jail. I tried to relax myself, telling myself that it was not the police, but who else could it be? The post had been diverted, and a big gate obstructed any salesman. Oh god, am I through?

With bated breath I opened the door and instantly my heart rose in my chest and my anxiety subsided. My mom's red lipstick coiled around her lips as she smiled, looking better than ever, dressed in a nice cream pair of slacks alongside a smart jumper. Trailing behind her, I saw my younger sister, with long dark hair and a shy gaze.

“Surprise”, my mom smiled coldly, “It's so good to see you, Shannon.”

Whilst relief filled me, my silence was extended by my shock. It had been over 6 months since I had seen her or my sister in person. My mouth rested uncomfortably open as I looked them both down. My sister, sighing, flicked back a long streak of brown hair and gave me an uninterested smile as my mom begin to enter my house without invitation.

“Oh, hello mother, hello Jessica.” I said, turning around to let them both past into the kitchen area.

My mother quickly made herself at him in the living room. Resting on the sofa as my sister took a seat next to me, I bent over and sighed. I still didn't know what to think about this whole situation. We had barely said anything, but the silence spoke for us all. My mother quickly took advantage of the anxious atmosphere.

“Well, this place looks nicer than the last time I visited. When was that, last year?”

“Yes”, I almost stutter, “before Christmas. What are you doing here?”

My mother twisted her head to once side and smirked, “Why, I'm just here to see my precious daughter, that's all. Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“I guess not”, I rest back on the sofa quietly, knowing that there was little point to arguing with my mother. If she wanted to be a part of my life, she would be. This was not a good time.

“So, where is Brad?” My mother cleared her throat, dragging her arm down her legs. My sister at this point had crossed her legs, clad in tight denim, and was stretched over her phone.

“He's on a business trip for the next two weeks.”

My mother raised her eyebrows, “Business trip, huh?”

I knew what she was suggesting but decided to say nothing. There were very little point in engaging with my mother in an argument on her terms, and with the nervous energy inside me expanding, I knew I was not ready to go down that route.

We talked casually for some time. It was a little awkward, considering that we hadn't seen each other in so long, so I was quiet during the conversation, allowing my mother to lead it. It wasn't that there were no love between us, but I was always scared that I was going to disappoint her. She taught me to hide my emotions, to get what you want from people rather than talk to them as people, so it was difficult for me to just throw that away when I was speaking with her. I found it difficult with Brad, and I had been living with him for some time now.

During the conversation, my mother, whilst talking about the uselessness of men, stopped mid-sentence and I both felt and heard the soft leather of the chair beneath her ripple deeply. I widened my eyes and pushed myself away from her slightly, as her eyes rolled back slightly as she released a soft, feminine sigh of relief.

“That's better”, she remarked casually, using her hand to waft the air of the fart away, “me and your sister went for burritos earlier, and you know what Mexican food does to me.”

I was shocked, despite the gas I had been releasing today, that my mother was so reserved in her mature elegance, yet so shameless in her grossness. Even I, who was admittedly less feminine and more extroverted than her, could not have shamelessly farted in somebody's home I hadn't been to for so long.

“You could've warned me”, I sigh, leaning back in my chair until a thick, pungent stink attacked my nose. It was an awful, strong stench which quickly pervaded the room with it's encompassing cloud of thick methane. I grasped my nose and stifled a gag as I shuffled away from my mother, who looked at me with relieved amusement.

“That's disgusting”, I exclaim, wafting the burrito fart back towards her, the smell now attacking the back of my throat, despite me trying to evade it, “and I thought mine were bad.”

This makes my mother giggle, “you've learned from the best, Shannon, but I'm still the best. Still, you're quite right, that really does have a kick to it.”

She shuffled slightly to one side, and continued talking to me, ignoring the fact that my voice in response to her queries came out squeaky and strangely pitched, on account of my pinched nose. I was not trusting the air in the room, not yet. If only I could fart like that on the regular, my slave's life would be so much more unbearable than it already is. I'll learn one day. The gut is a tool to sharpen.

When I started thinking about my slave again, my eyes widened and I inadvertently allowed the air to enter my nose as I released my grip from it. Shit, I thought, suddenly ignoring my mother as the memory of him tied down in the basement came back to me. Whilst I was sure he was safe there, I was quite sure I had forgot to lock the door.

I looked around the room, about to excuse myself, when I noticed something with caused my heart to sink. My sister, who had once sat quietly on the edge of the corner Sofa, was nowhere to be seen. Oh fuck, oh shit, she was looking through the house, and my slave, well-

“Excuse me for-” I was interrupted by a loud, shocked yelp. It was unmistakable. It was my sister, and it's muffled, echoless resonance meant only one thing. It came from beneath the floor, and travelled through the open door of my cellar.

I shot up as my mother looked at me with a confused frown, but I didn't have time to say anything. My face must've told her everything, for she quickly followed me, and when I ran out to see the door to the dungeon wide open, and the silhouette of my sister below, hands around mouth, I wanted to scream.

“What is this?” My mother said, eventually, as she caught up. She walked down into the basement and I followed, like I was a little girl again, quiet as my wrongdoing would soon be discovered. Fuck.

“Who the hell is this?” My mother gasped, turning to me. I looked out and my slave looked back at all three of us with a reddened face, his muffled call for helps escaping through his gag. His whole body turned red as he shook in his ties, a mixture of fear, confusion, and hope stretched onto his face. The brief lines of hope in his face made me more sick than the situation I found myself in. I had never wanted to see him with a very real hope settled into his grimace.

“Care to explain?” My mother held her hips and smirked. There was no point lying to my mother, I knew that, so when I eventually spoke out, my voice shaking as bile rose in my throat, I told the truth.

“He's my slave”, I gulped, looking at both my mother and sister, who for a second stared in an utterly astonished silence. I looked on, not in shame, but with a grimace attempting normality. I wanted to act as if this was all okay.

It was my mother who first broke the silence.

“Your slave, what do you mean?”

I gulp. I've told the truth so far, I may as well continue.

“He's my ass slave. He smells my farts.”

My sister instantly burst into a series of high-pitched squealing giggles, as she mimed a look of humorous disgust, “Eww”, she muttered, holding her sides as the cellar was filled with her laughter. My mother smirked and held her hip as she leaned to one side. The scene was so absurd, so cringe-inducing that even fart boy was quiet.

“Show us”, my mother said, her smirk widening.

“What, you want me to use my slave?”

“Yes”, my mother was still, as my sister's laughter died, “I want to see what you do to him.”

Whilst initially I was quite embarrassed to show my mother, the fact that a large egg fart was brewing in my gut, ready for deposit in the bank of Fart Boy's nostrils, pushed me over the edge. Perhaps having an audience, even if it was my mother, would only enhance the feeling of humiliation for him, which is exactly what I wanted. Besides, I had seen her inconvenience others and downright torment other's with her own smells. It's time to show her I learned well.

“I guess I'll show you then”, I smirked, before approaching fart boy. His silence quickly ended as he began turning his head, moaning, his eyes shut as a few tears loosened from the grip of his eyelids.

“It's going to stink”, I say, turning around, straddling my slave on the hard frame of the bed, “I'd stand back, if I was you.”

My mother stayed where she was as my sister stepped back, knowing full well how bad a Shannon fart could be, on her face a mixture of bewilderment and excitement. My mother just looked nonchalantly at the whole scene, taking it in with the eyes of a critic. As my ass pressed into his face, her cold expression was broken with a tiny smile that only came from the side of her lips.

“You better inhale this one, bitch. Don't want my family to smell it, do we?”

I didn't give him time to respond before I pushed. It didn't take much effort for the deep, bubbling egg fart to rip violently up his nostrils, echoing damply in his stink fried nasal cavity. I felt the force of it go inside him, drowning him in rank air from the inside out.

Whilst my buckling, whimpering slave struggled to down my fart, my sister's raucous laughter filled the basement. I looked at my mother and felt my face go red. She was smiling, and I saw her hands clasp together. Was she clapping?

“Not bad”, she said, rubbing her hands together, “how long have you had him?”

“A few months”, I said, laying my weight backwards, feeling the flesh of Fart Boy expand beneath my bum, which currently gave off a smell of foul sulphur which seemed to disgust me more than it did my mother, but my slave most of all.

“Riley, go upstairs. I want to have a word with your sister.”

My sister sighed, “but mom, I want to see him take another fart.”

“I said, go”, my mom spoke more sternly this time. A short period of still silence ended as my sister walked out without another word. She knew that to disobey mother was absurdly stupid.

“So, I assume the rumours were true then.” My mother said, turning back to face me as my sister sulked off upstairs.

“Rumours?” I ask, confused.

My mom smiles at me “The rumours about that boy in college. You know, I was so proud of you when I heard what happened. You denied it so ferociously that I almost thought you were being falsely accused.”

“Oh, that”, I sigh, recalling the screams of my sorority fart inhaler during those days of torture, “yes, they were true. I lied because I didn't want to screw up, knowing that the wimp had pressed charges against me. I also thought you would've been ashamed.”

“Quite the contrary”, my mother smiled at me more deeply than I ever remembered her doing before. I had never seen myself as needing or craving my mother's attention, but her rare instance of pride made me all gooey inside. I felt a warmth rush me, and as I smiled I closed my eyes and let out a little toot. My slave cried, and me and my mother shared a short laugh.

“You have outdone yourself, Shannon. I always knew you had it in you.”

“I assume you mean that you've done this sort of thing in the past?”

My mother laughed heartily, “oh honey, you have no idea. Do you know what? Me and your sister grabbed some breakfast burritos on our way down here, what with your abysmal cooking and all. Perhaps I could show you a few things?”

Inside, I felt no conflict. We were actually bonding over something, and the sadistic idea of my slave suffering through one of my mother's infamous burrito farts filled me with a certain unhinged pleasure. I knew how degenerate this evilness brewing inside me was, the progress of my sadistic desires mixing with my need for my mother's acceptance, but I didn't care. I just wanted Fart Boy to suffer even more than before.

“That's a good idea, but give it a sec, I'm gonna let one go and we'll have to wait for it to clear.”

My slave, I noticed, had been whimpering in fear over the last minute or so. He must've heard our conversation quite astutely, for he was shaking with anxiety. Still, the mention of an upcoming fart caused his incessant, quiet whimpering to increase in both pitch and volume more than anything. I had clearly trained him to fear my farts well, although after being under my ass for any length of time, I doubt any push was required.

I let the fart out as if it was nothing, as if I was farting into a toilet. In a way, I was, but his protests and writhing after my sweltering release reminded me that he was much more fun to use than an inanimate object.

“We might be waiting a while for that monster to clear”, I laughed. My mother twisted her arm elegantly and laughed into it. Even now, talking in the excess mists of my fart, she appeared beyond reproach, inscrutable in her classy aura. I doubt even her messy burrito farts could revoke that sense of her in anyone other than Fart Boy, who I imagined was also wondering, through the pain and agony of his constant abuse, about the elegance of the lady about to sit upon him.

After the fart subsided, and I felt my gut calm, I peeled myself off my slave. His head collapsed violently against the bed as his eyes, thick with red veins, aimlessly rolled. His nose inhaled fresh air and his lungs collapsed under the weight of it, so used to breathing thick methane imbued air that they likely couldn't deal with the lack of taint in normal oxygen.

The poor fuck was becoming reliant on breathing thick farts, despite his aversion to it. Perhaps one day he'll be unable to breath in normal air, but he didn't have to worry about that now, for my Mother had casually strolled over to him and, adjusting her beige slack clad bottom, she quickly lifted her leg over him and, ignoring his protests, introduced his nose to her crack, which sunk comfortably into the thin fabric, expanding the outline of her underwear.

She sighed in relief as his nose sunk into her crack, “This brings back some great memories”, she chuckled slowly, rubbing her belly as the gas grew inside of her, “I'd stand back if I was you, Shannon, these burrito trumps are extremely raunchy”.

I took my mother's advice with the seriousness it deserved, as did my slave, who buckled uselessly underneath her. He knew he wasn't avoiding my mother's upcoming fart, but still he persisted in his efforts, like a trapped animal on the verge of execution.

“Oh, I feel one coming. It feels quite large”, My mother said, before leaning forward and releasing a deep, growling, trailing fart which violently attacked Fart Boy's nostrils with it's meaty stink. She eloquently released a soft groan of relief as the fart was complete and the smell of it injected into my slave's nose.

Fart Boy was desperate to escape. Crying and begging, he pulled and gagged and heaved, but my mother remained perched on him without effort and the fart continued to haunt him. A whiff of the gas hit me, a thick meat infused rotten stench which caused me to walk further back into the basement.

My mother released a short follow up fart, groaning again as the explosion collided with Fart Boy's screaming nostrils, “Oh my, those must smell particularly horrendous.”

Fart boy confirmed this by screeching into my mother's butt, inadvertently allowing more of the fart into his system. I was too enraptured by the scene to say anything. The way she was sat was perfect to ensure that he could not move his nose an inch from her ass, which, after those two farts, was a fact which caused him to plead desperately through his gag. It must fucking stink down there.

“Breath it all in, you worthless worm”, my mother spat, “you're going to take another burrito fart very soon, so you will process the remaining gas in time for it's release.”

My slave fearfully and reluctantly breathed in deeply, each inhalation causing him to heave, gag, wretch, and cry loudly. My mother seemed uninterested in his suffering, as if, for her, the only thing that mattered was that her burrito farts were properly filtered, that her seat did it's job.

The way her butt melted softly into his face informed me how I must've looked when I sat down. I have a larger butt, but we still both have similar posteriors, so I felt as if I was on the outside looking in, looking in at what my torture looked like. I knew this image would only intensify the pleasure I get from his torture, as now I can appreciate the full humiliation of having a farting ass atop your face. I can understand his pain more now, and as such I can fully bask in it.

My line of thinking was interrupted by a elongated ripple of a fart that my mother released with a slight twist of her hip, careful not to remove her crack from my slave's nose. It vibrated her bottom and my slave's face with a violent ferocity that was almost comical. It even sent my mother into a short fit of tiny giggles, a sound which was muted by the growing screams of the poor sob beneath her that had to breathe in the fart she had so humourlessly cut.

The smell was so strong I could smell the bowel processed wheat from the tortilla. I gagged loudly and grasped my nose, not ever smelling something so meaty in it's strength before. I stood even further back, much to the amusement of my mother, who merely wafted her hands across the warm stink outside her crotch.

“He's a good sniffer”, my mother said, pressing back her fringe, “but there's improvement to be made. Still, I see you're making good progress on him.”

“He's sniffing more every day, poor sob”. I laughed, suddenly feeling a growing weight in my own gut, “could you move off of him, please? I really need to cut the cheese.”

My mother nodded, “I'll save the rest of his gas for later.”

I sat upon my throne, and sat my ass upon his red face, which had cast itself to one side as he heaved from the previous three farts, I adjusted his nose and felt the warmth of my mother's gas still deeply etched on his face, heating my ass. It was a little gross imagining what had burrowed deep into the pores of Fart Boy's skin, a smell that was not my own, but it was more amusing to imagine him suffering through it, so I shuffled my behind and got comfortable, ready to add to his torture.

I suddenly felt the large batch of gas curdle violently inside me, causing my stomach to ache profoundly. I held it and swore, rubbing it, easing it towards it's intended destination.

“Get ready to breathe this one in”, I spat, “it's going to be really nasty, I can tell.”

And boy, it was nasty. It began with a tiny squeak, before quickly erupting into an high pitched, loud trumpeting which slowly rippled off beat until it ended in a huge burst of boiling fart. The dry heated egg fart baked my asshole and caused my skin to burn against it's sticky, hot torture. My ass began to quickly sweat from the heat, as I scrunched up my face and rubbed it up and down.

My slave reacted quickly to the heat of the stink below. He kicked, his throat releasing tortured gurgles which increased in intensity as the pure rankness of the air became apparent to him. It was one of the worst farts he had smelled, and he had still not recovered from my mother's unique stink, so it was particularly horrendous. His pathetic reaction had me in stitches, my continuous laughter soon joined by my mother's chuckles. His suffering was as funny to her as it was to me.

“I think I just melted your face, Fart Boy”, I say, my ass vibrating with his violent and desperate struggle, “you'll be even uglier than before, if that was even possible”.

My mother and I talked casually as my fart stink slowly died down. It was as if we had bonded through his torture, and his screams had driven us closer. Soon, Fart Boy's existence became almost forgotten, as I used him as a mere seat, cutting only one small toot for him to gag on during the long conversation.

“We better make dinner”, my mother said soon after, “I'm starving.”

I smile, thinking of slave boy beneath me and how he would be spending the rest of the afternoon after a nice meal, “sure, what about some steamed broccoli and cheddar soup?”

My mother agreed as my slave whimpered beneath me. In fact, I'm sure I heard him weep when he knew what was for dinner.

Now that we all knew the hidden secret in my basement, we decided to bring Fart Boy upstairs. He was gagged, as usual, and I made him walk up on his hands on knees, like a whimpering dog, a shock collar wrapped carefully around his neck. He slowly shook in fear, the thought of our soup farts too much to handle, the fear of our upcoming stink so pronounced that he could barely shift up to the top of the basement stairs as he body became rigid.

When I forced him into the room, my sister instantly lit up at the sight of him, her face red with laughter as he looked upon the messy carpet, red with humiliation. He dared not look at any of us, crawling pathetically into place, awaiting whatever torture he knew would be inflicted on him next.

“We're going to leave him tied to the chair”, my mother dictated, seeing the binds I had forgot to hide beneath the creases of one of the cushions, “you take care of your sister's slave”.

My sister smirked, “of course, mom”.

Whilst we started cutting the vegetables and grating the cheese, I thought I heard above the sound of slicing, mixing, and sizzling, a far off series of pained moans. The smells of lunch filled the air, a precursor to the stinks it would be transformed to after going through our stomachs, but still, I could only focus on the sound of the cries. Was that Fart Boy?

“Give me a minute”, I say, leaving my mother to deal with the ingredients for just a while.

In the room, the source of the sound quickly became clear. My sister had sat deeply onto Fart Boy's face, her face a mixture of disgust and ecstasy as she wafted a warm air of meaty stink away from her crotch. Her legs were wide, allowing a portion of the stink to escape the screaming grasp of her seat.

She saw me, looked me directly into the eyes, before shuffling her Jean clad bottom and releasing a deep, manly fart. She grunted as it left her, without the class I like to imagine myself having, and smirked as Fart Boy screamed.

“Those burrito farts stink”, she wafted the air once more, “don't worry, I'm taking good care of him.”

I smiled, filled with pride at the sight despite the rank stink of beefy gas in the air. Finally, Fart Boy had become a fart filter for my whole family. My fantasy, of making him truly suffer in life had finally been achieved. He now had three butts to bare.

“Good”, I chuckle, “looks like he's having an hard time down there.”

My sister said nothing, instead she showed her agreement in the form of another fart. I left the room before the stink could hit me, as the cries of my slave filled the room.

Back in the kitchen, my mother was busy with the meal. The smell of the soup was strong, and reminded me of the screaming slave my sister currently was having fun with.

“I've enjoyed today”, my mother said, nodding, “I think me and your sister will have to visit more often.”

I thought of Fart Boy's new duties, and grinned wildly, “You're can come anytime."