masc frat hazing ritual that involves being their fart huffer after a night out drinking, bellies full of gurgling fermentation. upon their arrival back from the bars, stumbling and teetering and laughing, they corral you into the basement of the frat house where you take turns nuzzling your nose into crack after sweaty crack, sniffing up any and everything they have to give you.
with your snout nudged up against a cargo pants seam, the first brother to take to you lets out a potent, rumbling fart, heavy and ripe in your nostrils and vibrating against your face. the other brothers giggle in their drunkenness, little gasps and "oooh, wow,"s and "jeez,"s in response to your predicament, playing it up by fanning the smell away. she reaches back and grabs your hair, rocking your face side-to-side in between her hefty cheeks, letting a few more brassy, heady rips purr into your face, the smell taking hold in your pores. you take deep breaths through your nose, sighing on the exhale, letting the stench sop into your olfactory nerve and the bubbly sounds bounce around in your brain.
you're passed around indiscriminately, the torment seemingly nonstop, soft mockeries persistently thrown your way. you go without coercion, letting strong hands ease your head where they wanted it. "that's it, sniff it all up," someone urges into your ear with your face smushed into another brother's briefs, her jeans around her knees. her boxers are damp and swampy, the earthy musk emanating from them seasoning every burbling fart that heats your face, humid and poignant and tantalizing. while the brothers were drunk off busch apple, you grew lightheaded and woozy with your own gas-induced intoxication.
two brothers sit you in the corner, one having forgone her pants, the remaining boyshorts riding into her ass, the other with their jeans pulled a quarter down their cheeks, a few inches of musky crack visible above the waistband. they sandwich your face in between four plush globes of ass, their raunchy farts sputtering against your head, pungent and smoggy and fully encapsulating your senses. you can't help but moan audibly now with the olfactory input doubled, hot, bubbling beer farts fumigating the last of your fresh air.
with arousal getting the better of you, you turn your head towards the visible upper crack in your face, opening your mouth and letting your tongue dip just inside the doughy cleavage, feeling the pliant flesh mold to the muscle, little wisps of body hair tickling your lips. the strength of their next rip sends vibrations through their fat, cushiony cheeks and over your prodding tongue, making your eyes flutter back and your mouth water so expeditiously as the syrupy reek settles on your tastebuds that a dollop of saliva drips down your chin.
"damn," they muse above you, looking over their shoulder upon feeling your bold oral exploration. "you like sniffing our nasty farts that much? freak."
"hey, be nice to the pledges," the second brother objects. "you don't want them to... tap out, do you?" with that, she forces your face (and tongue) out of their ass and back to hers, letting a particularly bubbling and explosive fart warble into your nose and against your mouth, sticky and ripe and so hot. the other brother smirks and adds onto the revolting offense by pushing out another repugnant, burbling fart, the scents mingling in a dense, poignant concoction and the cacophony of loud, bubbly sounds going straight to your crotch. huff like your life depends on it, the thick, muggy warmth filling your lungs.
you don't know how many hours into the hazing it was when a delivery driver deposits mexican on the house's porch, or when a brother brings it down into the basement. "fuel," they tell you from your spot on your knees, a thoroughly farted-through pair of boxers discarded over your face. "so you won't have to worry about us running out anytime soon."
now full of greasy fast food and refried beans and lingering beer bloat, their farts are somehow worse, and more frequent. you just close your eyes, moaning and nearly drooling, crotch on fire as you helplessly accept the onslaught, rancid, intense, steamy ass blasting you from all angles, seeping into the sulci of your brain, making you dumb. your face is squished in between someone's asscrack, then sandwiched again between two, then three, then four. your face is sat on, surrounded, and smothered in drunk, meat-sweating asses, farts dripping out of them in deep, burbling wafts, hammering against your skull and drilling your nose. you were positive this would cling to you for days.
sunrise was approaching by the time they ease up. you were a panting, wet mess, sweating and soaking in a pool of your own arousal. "getting tired? yeah, us too." one brother pets a hand over your hair, both condescending and comforting. taking this as a cue the night was over, you stand and begin to leave, but you're caught by the arms on both sides. "what do you think you're doing? you're sleeping here. under the covers of whoever wants you most. a little dutch oven never hurt anyone, did it?"
you had a feeling this "little" dutch oven would be more of a violently noxious one, so you nod eagerly and let yourself be led to a bedroom where you'll spend the next few hours huffing sleepy hangover gas in a blanketed sauna
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