There's a small but reasonably popular bakery in town, known to its patrons by the powerful, delectable aroma reminiscent of all the tasty goods on display, which gives everything their 'fresh from the oven' appeal. It's strongest as it wafts its way out of the back, but there's a bit more to the smell that goes on behind closed doors…
*BL-BrrRBRmMLrRrbfFf…*
The baker running this fine establishment has an entire backdoor bakery of their own, and it's in some SERIOUS need of airing out. The warm, sickly-sweet fumes bubble out of their rear like the air of the oven they're opening, and they can hardly even smell what was in the oven to begin with.
"Phew… Oh, they're stinkers today…"
With the ovens open, they reach back with a big oven mitt to pull a cheek aside for another juicy fart, and then casually (and somewhat ineffectually) fan the gas away from their backside before reaching back into the oven and pulling out their other, considerably less meaty baked goods.
Now holding the tray of pastries in front of them, the wind-breaking baker finally gets a good whiff of their more refined craft. It smells scrumptious as usual, though the scent does have to fight through the muggy haze wafting from their rear end.
As they start to move towards the front of the bakery, their cakes lightly shake and jiggle. Too many carbs have let them expand to an impressive size, although they're pretty well-contained when not being stuck into the air. But their ass's sheer mass betrays itself through the visible, tangible amount of heft that moves when they walk, which accentuates the low rumbling that often emanates from it.
When they come to the door, they pause to stick their leg out–
*BRRRUMMMPHHT!!*
–and ripple the layers constraining their ass one last time before they turn around (taking yet another 'experimental' whiff) and booty-bump the door open.
By gluten-intolerant standards, those farts were actually pretty benign…
The customers won't notice anything strange today either, right?
It’s your first roadtrip since telling your long term boyfriend about your fart fetish.
He’s driving, he insisted on it, saying that you’re
“Thanks for peeling this,” he commends before taking a bite of his beef jerky
You look over as he takes a bite of his Slim Jim. He takes this opportunity to flash a wide grin. If you didn’t know better you would think it looked like a predator flashing the oppressive white of its teeth at its prey. You tried to keep your composure, but he was on a mission to make you submit; test the waters of your new confession.
When you initially told him about your fart fetish he laughed. It wasn’t until the embarrassment of your seriousness that he knew you weren’t lying.
“Is that why you love eating my ass,” he teased. You were too shy to elaborate in the moment so he left you alone. Walking away with an amused grin. You could tell it humored him. That someone so proper, so clean and hygienic would want to worship his unwashed farting asshole. You figured since he never brought it up again he wasn’t interested.
The lingering scent of his last emission hung thick in the air. Even if you didn’t want to sniff it there was no escaping the eggy, meaty stench. He took another bite of his snack. His smile fading slightly. Now just a casual cocky grin, his eyes on the road,
“Am I living up to your fantasy,” he prods. He relaxes in his seat slightly and you expect another toot to escape.
He side eyes you as he shifts, and chuckles; there was no fart. He’s laughing at your anticipation. He’s testing your desperation. How bad do you want it? Bad enough to look down and observe the way his thighs sink into his seat.
“Umm..” you drone out softly distracted and unsure of what to say. The vulnerability from revealing such a shameful secret leaves you embarrassed. What do you say?
“Does it smell good,” he asks in a joking tone. You can tell there’s a sense of genuine curiosity too.
“Cause fuck I think it reeks in here.” His smile grows wider as he speaks. His words re clearly riling up something inside of you. You’re clenching your thighs together and stifling your breathing.
He takes a small bite of his beef jerky and then sets it down in the cup holder again. For the first time since getting on the highway he looks at you, really looks at you; not a glance or a side eye. You look back at him, and the nervousness in your stomach must’ve translated to your face because you watch his smile soften. His humor shifts to compassion and you watch as he reaches a hand over to your shoulder. He squeezes your shoulder and moves it over to the back of your neck.
“If you want me to stop baby. I won’t tease you.”
“I’m fine, it smells great, you’re exceeding my fantasies,” you blurt out awkwardly hoping to diffuse the tension. His face softens again. You know this look. It’s a look of mock sympathy, a condescending snarl that makes you feel smaller than you are. It’s the look he gives you when he teases you with his fingers, and his tongue and whatever else he can torture you with. It’s the look he gives you after he makes you cum. Your awkwardness turns back to being flustered as you realize now he has no intent of showing you mercy, and then you hear it: another deep rumble from his seat. This one is longer and wetter than the others, but is almost fully muffled by the seat.
“I’m glad you’re doing fine, and I’m glad I could exceed your fantasies,” he teases, squeezing your neck before letting go and picking up his Slim Jim. Oh god, you’ve created a monster, and oh god, does it smell. You feel your face cringe as the smell hits you. It’s thick and meaty, and you can tell by the way his stomach gurgles as he takes a bite of his beef jerky and the sigh he lets out its far from over.
You’re barely two hours into a 12 hour roadtrip and he’s already filled the car with the faintest stench of ass. Even as you try not to pick it up every inhale is traced with him. He’s finished his snack, and his hand has made its home back on your thigh. His silence leaves you on edge. You’re constantly anticipating what he is going to do or say next, it’s killing you. You want to talk about the pretty wildflowers or the shape of the clouds, but you’re shocked into silence, awaiting his next move. He can see the anticipation on your face he’s marveling in the silent submission he’s locked you in with nothing but his gas. You go for the next thirty minutes in silence. Every now and again he’ll squeeze your thigh playfully, but his eyes remain on the highway.
It’s almost a relaxing ride, it could be a comfortable silence if it wasn’t so charged. There is a peace in the air, along with some other things, until his hand squeezes your thigh tight enough you have to stifle a whimper. You quickly look over at him and he spreads his legs and rips a poot. You go to turn away in response, but he grabs your arm and pulls you closer.
“Where are you going baby? Come here, take off your seatbelt.”
“What,” you ask confused and shocked at his rough insistence.
“Take off your seatbelt,” he repeats in a darker tone. Your neck prickles at his assertive tone but you can’t give in that easy.
“No, we’re on the highway, y-“
“Take it off Princess, that’s not a question.” He moves his hand down to unclick your seatbelt, but you quickly maneuver your fingers down before he can get to it.
“What do you want?” You try to muster as much attitude as you can but you sound just as weak as you feel. Then you watch as his hand hovers over your body and moves to the back of your neck. You can feel the warmth of his hand before it even makes contact with you.
“Sniff this for me,” he says pulling your neck over the console. Defying all reason you follow his control without second thought and place your nose at the inseam of his pants, and sniff.
“Good girl,” he says stroking your hair as you inhale deeply. You feel his dick bounce against your cheek as it throbs from your proximity.
“Good girl,” he says again, almost in a moan, “It was starting to stink in here.”
hii everyone this is my first public fetish story I'm posting. this character (Cyrus) is not an OC he is from the P0ke/m0n series (I do NOT need this showing up in main tags/general searches haha). please enjoy this story of a repressed and uptight man losing all control of his ability to hold in his gas
Cyrus had no particular fondness for coffee; in fact, he found the taste to be quite repulsive, though he’d never let it show. It was something he drank to function, purely to fuel the machine that was his often-ailing body. As such, it was always supposed to be black coffee. He wasn’t the type of man to do things for “fun” or “enjoyment,” which were vague and sentimental concepts he simply did not have time to deal with. He didn’t need sugar, milk, or creamer; he drank his coffee as it came.
…That, and he happened to be absurdly lactose intolerant. It frustrated him immensely; yet another way in which he was painfully human and so far from the perfect ideal he sought. He usually didn’t have much trouble avoiding dairy, though a familiar and unwelcome bubbling in his stomach made him feel as though he hadn’t been diligent enough.
He shifted uncomfortably in his office chair at Team Galactic HQ. His stomach was softly gurgling, making him thankful he was so particular about his office’s isolation from the rest of the building.
Fuck. That moronic grunt I allowed to fetch me coffee must have made some executive decision to add creamer, he thought to himself, scowling as his discomfort grew.
Why would someone do that? Why were people so stupid and presumptuous?
Cyrus sighed and rested his head in his hands, his frustration quickly interrupted by a surging cramp in his abdomen. At first, he tried to ignore it, keeping his hands and mind busy by focusing on writing his next speech. He wasn’t a child; he could keep his bodily functions at bay without issue. Another sharp cramp rung through his lower body and he found one of his hands tentatively massaging his aching stomach, finding it far more bloated than usual.
He angrily stood up and locked his office door, his stomach audibly complaining about the sudden movement. The last thing people needed to hear was him in such a vulnerable state. It was unbecoming of him.
He tried to resume his task but quickly found himself wrapping both arms around his stomach, head on his desk. “Mmnh….” Although the cool surface felt nice on his sweaty face, he let out a soft groan of pain as his insides worked themselves into knots. Righting his posture and forcing himself upright, he tried to set his sights on typing the concluding thoughts of his speech, still able to hear his gurgling stomach over the sounds of the keypresses.
A sudden cramp came that was too intense for him to fight against; though he tried, tensing his muscles so as to not give into his weakness, his body had other plans. Unable to take it any longer, he involuntarily relaxed and let out a forceful, long, wet fart, one that made him sigh in relief.
How shameful.
It was a disgusting feeling, to be so controlled by his body in this way. He attempted to stand up to open a window to rid himself of the foul odor but found another drawn-out fart bubbling out of him, so desperate he couldn’t hold it back as it filled the room with a sulfurous smell.
Whatever. He would simply resume his duties as any responsible adult would. When needed, he would provide himself relief, if that’s what it took to get his work done.
As he got back to typing, he felt a sharp cramp as his stomach lurched. He didn’t need to apply much pressure to let out a deep, ringing burp, one that made his throat hurt a bit from the sheer force of it. Anticipating another, he placed a hand over his mouth as a belch rose up from the depths of his body, muffled by his palm. Sighing, he closed his eyes, feeling shame and humiliation burn through him. “...Absolutely disgusting,” he quietly commented to nobody in particular.
The smells his body was producing at this point were foul. Entirely unable to restrain his gut from tightening and clenching, a soft, bubbly fart practically leaked out of him, filling his pants with an eggy stench. Perhaps even more mortifying than the gas itself was the sheer amount of relief it was bringing Cyrus to release it; on most occasions, he used every once of his willpower to hold back any eructations or flatulence indefinitely. To be so utterly at the mercy of his body made him feel powerless and weak, but releasing the painful pressure building up inside him was bordering on euphoric.
Taking a momentary break from typing to lean to one side, he let out a bassy fart with a finish just slightly too wet to make him feel comfortable. Another cramp hit him and forced a huge airy fart out of his hole; he let out a contented sigh of relief when it finally finished.
Every part of this disgusted him, especially the warm, damp feeling that was starting to fill the back of his briefs from the moisture of his farts. He was worried he’d need a change of underwear before the day came to a close. Hell, he might from the smell alone. But goddamnit, he’d vowed to complete his tasks at any cost. Nothing so trivial as an upset stomach would interrupt his duties.
As he set himself back to work on writing his speech, his face was burning hot from embarrassment, even though he was alone. Cyrus had always been particularly shy about his bodily functions, especially those deemed more…impolite in nature. What, was he really so weak as to lose control over his bowels, like he was a child? Regardless, even when he tried to hold back his gas, he soon found it erupting out of him, hot searing farts hissing out of him for upwards of ten seconds at a time, rendering the office air nearly unbreathable.
He pressed a fist to his mouth to stifle another loud belch, before furrowing his brow in frustration. A quick assessment of his midsection revealed him to be no less bloated than before, perhaps even moreso despite the massive amount of gas he’d managed to expel. I despise this. This is no way for a leader to conduct himself, he thought as he tentatively unbuttoned his pants and unbuckled his belt, allowing his swollen gut some relief. As revolting as this was, it’d also be best if it was over as fast as possible, and perhaps that required some encouragement on Cyrus’s behalf.
Trying to apply firm pressure to his tender abdomen, he took his fingertips and began massaging his stomach. Forcing his gas in certainly wasn’t working, so maybe forcing it out would have more productive results. With one hand, he gripped the edge of his desk, as he pushed out a massive, roaring fart, so long that it left him out of breath. “Arceus almighty…” He mused to himself as his stomach churned. Every time his hand connected with his midsection, another bubble of gas would force its way out of him.
This strategy seemed to be decent for making progress, though Cyrus’s gut seemed to be capable of producing nearly endless air. After another flurry of smaller farts, he let out a large one that, to his displeasure, felt decidedly wet.
“...Fuck,” he said, getting to his feet and attempting to make his way to his private bathroom. With every step, he let out another rancid, swampy fart, interrupted periodically by deep burps. When he finally got to the bathroom, he felt like he was being stabbed in the abdomen; surely whatever demonic force would emerge from the depths of his bowels would not leave his pants intact, and he was so close to the toilet, but…
Cyrus was unable to restrain the disgustingly wet, sloppy fart that tore through his bowels, his mouth opening a bit in shock at how truly vile it was. It sounded and smelled like he was actively soiling himself. When he managed to shove down his pants and seat himself on the toilet, finally releasing the storm brewing in his intestines, he rested his head in his hands. This was going to be a long day.
Pyra and Mythra have a cooking battle and have to deal with the after-effects.
This story is written by HiroMirrows - https://www.deviantart.com/hiromirrows/art/Aegis-Cooking-Battle-975471797
The other day I impulsively started writing a story about two characters, a guy and a girl. And then I realized I could give a brief synopsis here since a lot of it is eprocto stuff
These two characters have been friends since childhood, although they love nothing more than arguing with each other and otherwise getting on one another's nerves. But the guy has an ace up his sleeve – the girl is easily disgusted, and he's a natural at being gross. So when she asks to hang out with him for the afternoon, he realizes he's looking at a golden opportunity to torment her.
In an effort to gross her out as much as possible, he pulls out nearly every trick in the book – sniffs his pits, chews with his mouth open, scratches where it itches, admits he hasn't showered since his last run, and of course, he farts. Constantly. Loudly. And without any warning beyond a "hey, check THIS out!"
But no matter how many foul smells he gives off, to the point that it fills the entire room, she remains steadfast. Even multiple pizza-fueled lactose farts aimed right at her aren't powerful enough to break her.
...Except, on the inside, she's irreparable. Watching (and smelling) him get more and more brazen in an effort to gross her out, even pointing his ass at her to rip some of the foulest farts she's ever smelled, has made her so immensely horny that she starts to forget to keep up the "eww, that's disgusting!" facade that he's seen and believed for years.
Eventually though, she cracks, and after some questioning from her baffled (and somewhat frustrated) friend, she admits to being secretly obsessed with his stink for years while convincing him that she hated it, so he'd think it'd be a way to get a rise out of her.
And how does he handle all this news?
...By belching in her mouth while giving her her first kiss, and then proceeding to drown her in boysmell until she stinks so much like his putrid pizza farts that a layperson wouldn't be able to tell who it originally came from.
The other day I impulsively started writing a story about two characters, a guy and a girl. And then I realized I could give a brief synopsis here since a lot of it is eprocto stuff
These two characters have been friends since childhood, although they love nothing more than arguing with each other and otherwise getting on one another's nerves. But the guy has an ace up his sleeve – the girl is easily disgusted, and he's a natural at being gross. So when she asks to hang out with him for the afternoon, he realizes he's looking at a golden opportunity to torment her.
In an effort to gross her out as much as possible, he pulls out nearly every trick in the book – sniffs his pits, chews with his mouth open, scratches where it itches, admits he hasn't showered since his last run, and of course, he farts. Constantly. Loudly. And without any warning beyond a "hey, check THIS out!"
But no matter how many foul smells he gives off, to the point that it fills the entire room, she remains steadfast. Even multiple pizza-fueled lactose farts aimed right at her aren't powerful enough to break her.
...Except, on the inside, she's irreparable. Watching (and smelling) him get more and more brazen in an effort to gross her out, even pointing his ass at her to rip some of the foulest farts she's ever smelled, has made her so immensely horny that she starts to forget to keep up the "eww, that's disgusting!" facade that he's seen and believed for years.
Eventually though, she cracks, and after some questioning from her baffled (and somewhat frustrated) friend, she admits to being secretly obsessed with his stink for years while convincing him that she hated it, so he'd think it'd be a way to get a rise out of her.
And how does he handle all this news?
...By belching in her mouth while giving her her first kiss, and then proceeding to drown her in boysmell until she stinks so much like his putrid pizza farts that a layperson wouldn't be able to tell who it originally came from.
blakekathryn
tangentwithtanner
