Military Fart Stories

[militaryfartstories]

Chapter two / Story 2 - Workout Wrestling match

The guys returned from chow, wasting no time swapping their uniforms for PT gear—loose, regulation-length shorts and snug, sweat-wicking shirts. Sumners rolled his shoulders while shoving the game table to the wall, Smith cracked his knuckles in preparation, and Carter, mid-lunge, complained loudly that the mess hall beans were a tactical error. The room cleared, leaving the center floor open for their ritual. Sumners clapped his hands, his gaze locking onto you with a mischievous smirk. "Alright, rookie, you’re on observation duty—unless you wanna be Smith’s barbell," he joked. When Smith teased you about surviving Carter’s last "fun fart," you just laughed, realizing that in this platoon, crude humor and constant, unapologetic flatulence were the foundations of their camaraderie.The wrestling match exploded with zero hesitation, turning into an endless, grueling cycle of takedowns and gas warfare. Carter launched into Sumners with a sharp, pointed *PFFT!* aimed directly at his face. "Nice try, you sneaky little shit!" Sumners roared, dodging left and pivoting into a waistlock. He dropped his weight, pinning Carter’s arm, and grunted as he unleashed a deep, resonant *BRRRAAAP* right into Carter’s ear. Carter yelped in protest, struggling to breathe as he bridged his hips. "That’s what you get for that garbage in the mess hall!" Carter shouted, driving a knee into Sumners' ribs before releasing a low, vibrating *BBBBFFFOOOOM* that echoed off the mats. "Eat that one, LT, I’ve been saving it for you!" Carter cackled. "That’s disgusting, even for you!" Smith cheered from the sidelines, laughing. "You want a dose of your own medicine?" Sumners yelled, spinning into a north-south position and planting his backside near Carter’s face, letting out a wet, heat-seeking *FWOMPH*. Carter gagged, spinning wildly to escape and firing off a frantic *PFF-PFF-PFF* like machine-gun fire. "Too slow, Carter, my gas game is always one step ahead!" Sumners taunted, despite his own face contorting. "Oh, you think you’re so tough?" Carter gasped, grabbing Sumners' ankle and tripping him into a pile of limbs, letting out a long, wheezing *PFFFFFFFFRRRRT* that sent the room into hysterics. "Checkmate. The fight raged on for nearly twenty minutes, the air in the room growing thick and heavy as the duo refused to quit. Sumners scrambled up, wiping sweat from his brow, his grin widening. "You're getting better at the timing, I'll give you that, but you’re still a rookie at the delivery," he wheezed, lunging forward again. They locked up in a deadlock, chest-to-chest, straining for dominance. *RRR-PFFT!* Carter let out a sharp, quick release against Sumners' chest. "How’s the flavor, boss?" Carter laughed, only for Sumners to shove him back and retaliate with a thunderous *THRRRUUUMP*. "Barely a ripple! You’re gonna have to eat more than that if you want to rattle me!" Sumners countered, circling back in. They traded blows, takedowns, and constant, rhythmic releases of gas, the sounds of their bellies becoming a soundtrack to the scuffle. "You two are literally suffocating yourselves!" Smith hollered, doubled over in laughter as the room became a literal swamp of their own making. When Sumners finally turned his attention back to you, challenging you to spar, the atmosphere shifted. You were physically outmatched and nervous, but the magnetic pull toward Sumners was impossible to ignore. During the match, when he caught you in a bear hug, a breathy moan escaped your lips, causing the room to fall dead silent. After you finally confessed you were gay, the initial shock gave way to an electric tension. Sumners, unusually focused, didn't crack another joke; he simply shooed Carter and Smith out of the apartment. As the door clicked shut, the crude, loud atmosphere of the gym vanished, leaving you alone in the sudden, heavy silence of the room with only Tyler Sumners.

Tyler stepped into your personal space, his gaze stripping away the guarded facade you had been holding onto all morning. He didn’t wait for you to make the next move, stepping close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. When you admitted you were falling for him, his entire demeanor melted into raw, unfiltered vulnerability. "Good," he whispered, his voice rough and low as he finally pulled you in. The kiss was firm, possessive, and hungry, a direct contrast to the chaotic morning. As his hands traced your jaw and pressed you back against the wall, the only thing that mattered was that the game-playing and the banter had finally ended, leaving him completely yours.

End of story 2

[militaryfartstories]

Chapter one / Story 1 - Welcome to Fort McCoy

The moment Andrew stepped onto the Fort McCoy barracks grounds, he was greeted by a friendly soldier with an easy smile. “Hey, man, I’m Lieutenant Tyler Sumners. Welcome to Fort McCoy.” After a quick introduction, Tyler learned Andrew was looking for Room 2B and laughed when he realized they were roommates. Without hesitation, he grabbed Andrew’s bags, effortlessly slinging the heaviest one over his shoulder. “Damn, you sure have a lot of stuff in here. What do you have, bricks?” he joked as he led Andrew toward the barracks. Along the way, Tyler explained that the room was shared by four soldiers: himself, Corporal Daniel Smith, Private First Class Lucas Carter, and now Andrew. He warned him that Smith was a bit of a hardass, Carter was usually pretty chill, and both of them were completely incapable of acting like mature adults for more than five minutes at a time. By the time they reached Room 2B, Andrew wasn’t sure if he was moving into a military barracks or a frat house. Tyler led Andrew down the hallway and pushed open the door to Room 2B. “Alright, boys, our new roommate’s here!”

Andrew stepped inside and glanced around. The barracks were far nicer than he had expected. The room had a modern feel, with gray walls, dark furniture, built-in LED lighting, and six bunk beds arranged in three bays along the far wall. A couch and television sat in the center of the room, while a recreation area, dining table, kitchenette, and bathroom extended beyond it. Despite being military housing, the place felt surprisingly comfortable and lived-in. A broad-shouldered soldier sitting in a chair immediately looked Andrew up and down. The moment they stepped into the common room, Tyler called out, “Alright, boys! Our new roommate’s here!” A broad-shouldered soldier sitting in a chair immediately looked Andrew up and down. “Well, well, well, looks like we’ve got ourselves a fresh greenhorn. What’s your name, rook?” “Andrew.” Smith smirked. “Andrew? Sounds like a kid’s name. You look like a kid.” Across the room, Carter glanced up from the couch. “Easy, Smith. He’ll grow into it.” Andrew grinned and fired back a sarcastic, “Fuck you.” The room erupted with laughter. “Oh, look at this newbie with the sharp tongue,” Smith said. “I like him already.” After everyone introduced themselves, Andrew looked around the room and noticed six bunks stacked in two rows of three. The metal frames were covered in military-green bedding, duffel bags, and personal items. “So where’s my bunk?” he asked. Tyler pointed toward the middle section of the room. “Yours is the bottom middle bunk. Right there.” Andrew followed his finger and saw the bed tucked beneath Tyler’s upper bunk. On either side of it were the bottom bunks belonging to Carter and Smith. “So I’m stuck between those two?” Andrew asked. Tyler laughed. “Pretty much.” Carter grinned. “Don’t worry. We only fart bomb each other’s bunks occasionally.” Smith shook his head. “He’s lying. It’s at least twice a week and it’s not just the bunks, it’s the pillows that Tyler farts on more often, like every other day.” Tyler smirked. “Guilty, Look on the bright side. You’re in the safest spot. Nah-uh, Carter says, your under Sumners, he will gas you out every night, that’s why we are on the end bunks. Sumner responds to Carter’s correction with a swift move pulling his head down to his ass and letting a large fart right in his face. PPPFFFRRRRTTT. Aahhh want to keep correcting me guys? Sumners snarky question has both of them turn Silent. Good Sumners says, Andrew set his bags down beside the bunk and began unpacking. He put his clothes in the drawers underneath his bunk, hung up a few uniforms in the locker beside the bed, and started organizing his belongings while the others continued talking behind him. As he worked, the conversation somehow shifted from military training to fart-related warfare. “I’m telling you,” Smith said, pointing at Carter, “the worst one was in Germany.” Carter immediately started laughing. “No way. That one was legendary.”

Andrew glanced over his shoulder. “What happened?” Tyler groaned before Carter could answer. “Please don’t encourage him.” Carter ignored him. “Smith was asleep in his bunk. Dead asleep. So I climbed up there real quiet, leaned over the rail, and let out the longest fart of my life right next to his face.”Smith pointed accusingly. “It lasted like ten seconds!” “More like fifteen,” Carter corrected proudly. You woke me up out of a dead sleep!” “Yeah, because you sat straight up and smacked your head on the bunk above you.” “You deserved it,” Tyler said. Smith shook his head. And says well you deserve this then, then Smith shoves Carters head down behind him and lets out a low sounding PFFFRTT. Carter immediately breaks free and covered his face with one hand. “Oh God.” smith grins and walks away saying yea you deserve that. As Andrew finished unpacking and sat down on his bunk for the first time, Tyler climbed onto the bunk above him while Smith and Carter settled back into their usual spots. Looking around at the chaos, Andrew couldn’t help but smile. He had arrived expecting a cold, intimidating military environment. Instead, he’d walked straight into a loud, ridiculous, dysfunctional family that somehow already felt like home. As Andrew continued unpacking his gear, Tyler Sumners and Lucas Carter remained focused on their video game while Daniel Smith watched from a nearby chair, occasionally offering commentary that neither of them had asked for. Carter glanced over at Andrew’s bunk and grinned. “You’ve got a pretty good view from there, rookie. Front-row seats to all the action.” Smith laughed. “And by action, he means us being idiots.” Andrew chuckled as he slid another stack of clothes into his locker. Looking around the room, he noticed there were six bunks even though Tyler had only mentioned three roommates. “Hey, Sumners, question. If there’s only three of you, why does this place have six bunks?” Tyler looked up from the game and laughed. “Good question. We’ve actually got a fourth roommate named Dylan. He’s on night shift right now, so he’s probably asleep while we’re all awake. You’ll meet him later.” Carter smirked. “Yeah, he’s a real piece of work.” Smith nodded. “A real pain in the ass.” Tyler shook his head, already knowing where the conversation was headed. Despite the joking, Andrew could tell there was genuine affection behind the teasing. As he continued unpacking, he found himself wondering what living here would actually be like. The guys seemed friendly, but they were also loud, constantly joking, and clearly very comfortable around one another. He wanted to know if there would be room to relax and have some privacy when he needed it. Tyler seemed to pick up on the concern immediately. “If you’re wondering whether you’ll get space, the answer’s yes. We mess around, roughhouse sometimes, talk trash, and compete over stupid stuff, but nobody’s going to bother you if you need downtime.” Carter nodded. “Yeah, man. We’re loud, but we’re not jerks.” Smith smirked. “Unless you steal somebody’s snacks. Then all bets are off.” That earned a round of laughter from everyone.

Once Andrew had most of his stuff put away, he sat down on the edge of his bunk and asked what they had planned for the day. It was only eight in the morning, and he assumed they’d be heading to a gym for PT. Instead, Tyler laughed and set down his controller. “Honestly, our PT is usually more fun than that. We do partner workouts, carries, wrestling drills, obstacle courses—stuff where you’re working with each other instead of staring at weights all morning.” Carter flexed dramatically. “I’m basically Smith’s favorite piece of workout equipment.” Before Carter could move, Smith reached over and wrapped him in a playful headlock. Carter immediately started laughing and trying to squirm free. “See?” Smith said. “Perfect training tool.” Tyler shook his head. “These two spend half their time competing and the other half pretending they aren’t friends.” Smith released Carter, who immediately shoved him back, starting another brief wrestling match that ended with both of them laughing. “You want to try it?” Smith asked Andrew. “Come on, rookie. Let’s see what you’ve got.” Andrew shook his head. “I think I’ll sit this one out and just observe for now. I kind of want to see how everything works before I jump into it.” Tyler nodded immediately. “Fair enough. No pressure.” Carter pointed at Smith. “Probably smart. This guy thinks every new person is a challenge.” Smith folded his arms with a grin. “Damn right. Rookies always get smashed.” The room erupted into laughter again. Sitting there watching them joke, argue, play video games, and occasionally wrestle like brothers, Andrew found himself relaxing more and more. The atmosphere wasn’t tense or intimidating at all. It was easygoing, comfortable, and surprisingly welcoming—the kind of place where everyone looked out for one another even while giving each other a hard time.

Sumners gestured toward the empty space on the couch between him and Carter. “Come on, newbie. Crash with us. We don’t bite… much.” Carter patted the vacant cushion beside him. “Yeah, get in here. The view’s better from this angle.” Andrew walked over and sat down between them while Smith watched from his recliner across the room. Smith narrowed his eyes and pointed toward the couch. “Just don’t fart. We’re all on edge since Sumners had Taco Bell last night.” Almost immediately, Sumners shifted on the couch, leaning away from Andrew so that his backside was pointed in Andrew’s direction. PPFFFFRRRRTTTT. Sumners leaned back with a satisfied look. “Too late.” Carter glanced over and immediately held out a fist. “Damn, Sumners. That one had some bass to it.” The two exchanged a fist bump while Smith shook his head. “And here I thought we were gonna ease the kid into it.” Sumners folded his arms. “Consider that my official welcome gift.” Andrew caught a whiff and instinctively covered his nose and mouth with one hand. “Oh, come on,” Sumners said. “It wasn’t that bad.” Carter pointed at Andrew and smirked. “Dude, your face right now.

Sumners nodded toward Carter. A second later, Carter shifted on his side of the couch, turning slightly toward Andrew. PFFFFFFFTTTT. “Ahhhh… whoops.” Andrew leaned back against the couch cushions and stared up at the ceiling while Sumners grinned and gave Carter another fist bump. The two of them then looked toward Smith. A few moments later, Smith stood up from his recliner, took a couple of steps, turned toward Andrew with a mischievous grin, and paused. PBBBBBBT. Then he casually sat back down as if nothing had happened. Sumners immediately held out his fist. “Good one, Smith.” After another fist bump, Carter looked around the room. “The room is officially a biohazard zone.” Smith reclined comfortably in his chair and shrugged. “Consider it a welcome from all of us. To what we like to call Fart McCoy. ”

Andrew finally dropped his hand from his face and fell back against the couch cushions, his head tilted toward the ceiling in complete surrender. He took a deep breath, immediately regretted it, and started coughing. Once he recovered, he opened his mouth to say something. Sumners shook his head with a grin. “That was the most defeated sigh I’ve ever heard.” Carter tells Andrew “Just let it happen, man. The gas always wins.”Sumner adds to carters comment like a seasoned mentor. “First rule of Fort McCoy? Breathe through your mouth.” The room settled for a moment before Sumners suddenly leaned away and let out another PFFFTTTT. ooh- Carter reacted, then  sniffed the air and nodded thoughtfully. “that’s the good stuff. Aged like fine milk.” Sumners smiled and high fives Carter. Still staring at the ceiling, Andrew simply accepted his fate as the room’s collective cloud of bad decisions lingered overhead. Sumners stretched comfortably and rested an arm along the back of the couch. “Okay, okay, I’ll call a ceasefire—for now. But at least you took it like a champ. Sumner adds.

Smith chimes in yeah, Most guys start crying by now." Carter adds "Yeah, or they throw up." Still lounging around the common room, the conversation gradually slowed as everyone settled back into their seats. After a few moments, Sumners glanced up at the clock on the wall and pushed himself off the couch with a stretch. “Alright, enough screwing around. We should probably head to chow. The sooner we get food, the sooner Carter’s gut can go to work.” Carter immediately groaned. “You guys are never gonna let that go, are you?” Smith smirked as he stood up from his recliner. “Not until your ass stops sounding like a tuba, buddy.” Sumners shook his head, grabbed his cap, and nudged Andrew’s shoulder as he headed toward the door. “C’mon, rookie. Let’s go eat before Carter preloads his next bioattack. Pro tip: sit upwind of him.” “I’m standing right here,” Carter replied. Before anyone could move, he shifted in his seat and let out a quick PFFFRRT. Sumners stopped in his tracks and looked back at him in disgust. “You’re sleeping with one eye open tonight.” Carter shrugged. “Worth it.”

The group started toward the hallway, but not before Sumners gave Carter a long look. A slow smirk spread across his face as he tilted his head slightly and narrowed his eyes, the kind of expression that made it obvious he was already planning payback. “Keep talking,” he said. “See you at lights-out.” Carter only grinned as Smith shook his head and followed them toward the door. “Ahhh, just like family. Welcome to hell, Andrew.” One by one, they filed out of Room 2B, still trading jokes and insults as they headed toward the chow hall

End of Story 1

[militarymenrbomb]

Sexy st8 marine, PFC FOX. I'm so weak for guys like this. He shows everything and I have the rest of him on my sub-reddit.

[militaryfartstories]

Private Elias Michael Smith, sir!" he snaps to attention—voice steady, eyes forward. Twenty-one years old. White. Lean build—not much muscle yet, still working on it," he says matter-of-factly. "Face? Uh…" He hesitates for a split second before deciding honesty is the best policy: *"Acne scars along the jawline, freckles across the nose—my mom says I look like a farm boy who joined the army by mistake."* Short brown hair cropped tight to regulation length, pale blue eyes that don't flinch under pressure… and right now—those same eyes burning with quiet *determination.* He takes a breath."...And if I may say so, sir—I don’t plan to break records with noise or showmanship."A beat."I plan to win… with *efficiency.*" The platoon goes silent. Even Davis blinks in surprise. This one isn't here for glory. He's here to dominate.You grin beneath your gas-flushed face as you give the nod: "Timer starts... now."* The platoon watches as Private Smith stands stoic at the ready, his body straight and still—like a statue.Then, suddenly, with no fanfare whatsoever, he bears down hard on you pinning you under him, he quickly swivels around positioning his ass in your face and sits down immediately letting out low, steady **BRRRRTTTTT. The smell fills the room—and you realize he has a much different strategy than Davis. Where Davis was all about volume, Smith is focusing on *duration. Gas just *leaks* from his body, constant and steady—more like a slow-leak in a tire than a series of powerful bursts. The platoon stares in disbelief as Private Smith starts to *outlast* Davis. He's just *shaking* and *vibrating* like a machine on a low setting—a constant, low **BRRRR-BRRRR-BRRRRTTTT** going off every few seconds with almost *unnervingly* consistent timing. He doesn't even look like he's breathing hard, yet the gas just **keeps coming.** It's like his body became a gas factory overnight, and it shows no signs of closing up shop anytime soon. You glance at the timer: 2:37 and still counting. The platoon shifts anxiously as Private Smith's gas-leak becomes more and more consistent. It's now been nearly three full minutes with zero reprieve—just an endless, steady stream of **BRRRR-BRRRR-BRRRR-BRRRR-BRRRRTTT** filling every inch of the barracks with his distinct, low-frequency **BRRRRTT**s. Hampton has to shout to be heard over the constant barrage of gas—and even he's starting to look impressed despite himself. "I'll be damned," he mutters. "This kid *can* do it..."As the fourth minute mark passes, the platoon is starting to understand—very clearly—that Private Smith isn't just going to win. He's going to obliterate Davis's record. His gas is not easing up. It's not slowing down. It's not even changing pitch or frequency. It's the same consistent, never-ending **BRRRR-BRRRR-BRRRR-BRRRR-BRRRR-** **BRRRRRTTT** that now fills the room like a steady pulse. Private Jenkins looks at the timer, his voice shaky but awed... The platoon is silent as the fifth minute mark comes... goes... and Private Smith isn't just still going—he's *accelerating.* The steady pulses become shorter, but more intense—the bursts more frequent: **BRRRRRTTT-BRFFFTTT-BFFFRT-PPPFFRRTT-BR-BR-BR-BRR-BRR-BRTT.** Even Jenkins looks floored. Private Hampton is shaking his head, clearly impressed—and more than a little grossed out. "How the hell does he have *this much* gas inside him?"The platoon watches as Private Smith continues to maintain a consistent rhythm of gas—**BR-BR-BR-BRRRTT, BR-BR-BRRRTT.**The room is thick with stench and tension. Private Jenkins checks the timer again, his voice barely above a whisper: "Seven minutes." A beat of silence. Then—Hampton mutters under his breath: "This guy's not human... "Eight minutes in—and he’s still going, sir," Jenkins whispers, eyes wide as he watches the timer tick forward.

The barracks is now a hazy chamber of pure gas—fumes so thick they shimmer slightly under the fluorescent lights. Some recruits have started fanning themselves with notebooks, others are breathing through shirts... all except Davis, who just stands there with a look of deep respect on his face. "Sir," Davis says quietly to you, "I think we’re witnessing history." Then—Private Smith *speaks.* His voice is strained but determined. "One hundred and twelve farts so far… still fresh." He grits his teeth. "Still... *efficient.*" And like clockwork—he unleashes another rapid sequence: **BRR-BRR-BRRT! BRT! BRRT! BBRRTT!** Each one short but precise—no wasted effort—just pure stamina and focus. private Smith continues to let farts out in his face with smug smirk grin forming on his own as he lets them go. He then asks in between farts “how you liking it lieutenant?” PPPFFFRRRTT! how do you like the smell? FFFFRRRRTTT! still alive down there? PPPPFFFRRRTT! I hope so PPPFFRRTT because I’m not even getting started. PPPPPFFFRRRTT! Private Smith’s smirk widens with each taunt, his confidence surging as he leans forward just enough to make every blast hit like a personal insult. "PPPFRRRTT!" "You wanted *numbers,* sir?" he grunts, voice laced with playful arrogance. "I'm not counting 'em—I’m too busy *making* ‘em!" **PPPRRRTTT!** Smell’s getting rich, huh?" **FFFRRRAP!** "Warm? Thick? *"Homey?"* **PPBBBRRRFFFLLT!**He lets out a short laugh—then cuts it off with another brutal volley: **PFF- PFF- PFF- PRRT-PFFT-PF-BLARRRT!The platoon watches in stunned silence—some shaking their heads at the sheer audacity. Hampton mutters to Jenkins: *"He wasn't even supposed to be the one talking back..." Jenkins just nods slowly—"Yeah... I think we made a monster." Private Smith's audacity has grown so bold now—and his gas so potent—that every burst is now accompanied by a taunting *comment* that makes it clear he's not just winning... he's *enjoying* this. PRRT! *"How's the scent, sir? A little heavy-handed for your taste?"* PRRRRBBBTT! *"Or you want something more *personal?*" He grins—and you realize it's not just about winning anymore. It's about making you suffer. Personal I say. Private Smith’s eyes light up like he just got clearance for a missile strike. Ohhh—you want *personal*, sir?" he says, voice dripping with mischief. He leans in—*close*—hips shifting slightly as he coiled his body like a spring. Then, with surgical precision…PPPRRRRRRFFFFFFFFFFFLLLLLBBBBBBBBTTTTTTT-SHLLLLOOOOORP!

It starts deep—a guttural, bubbling growl that erupts into a long, wet, shameless *fart-symphony*, vibrating your skull and coating your face in warm, unholy mist. It *lingers,* his body holding it open just a second too long… as if to say: *"This one was made for you."* The platoon collectively gags. Jenkins whispers: That wasn’t gas… that was a threat. Smith pulls back slightly—still smirking—and wipes fake sweat from his brow. Hope that was personal enough for you, Lieutenant..." Then another short pfft! right on the nose like punctuation: "I’ve got hundreds more where that came from."* The platoon watches in stunned silence, some of the recruits visibly pale and others trying hard not to laugh. Jenkins is still muttering under his breath—something about "emotional damage."Hampton just stares at Smith with a mix of horror and grudging admiration.And then—just as Private Smith finishes gloating—you sit up slightly, still wearing that calm, unreadable grin. Not bad, Private," you say coolly. "Not bad at all." The platoon freezes. *Is he… impressed?* Smith blinks—his cocky smirk faltering for just a second. You lean forward... slowly. "But can you keep it up?" Timer’s still running." The tension in the room is now as thick as the stench of gas. Private Smith's cocky smirk falters for just a moment—but then his eyes narrow defiantly. "Sir," he says through his teeth, "I can do this all... *day.*" I stare back with a cocky grin and say; "Prove it." Private Smith's grin widens into something almost feral. He doesn't respond with words. Instead—he *drops low,* knees slightly bent, back straight, eyes locked onto yours like a predator. And then it begins. Not bursts. Not taunts. Just… **relentless output.** A nonstop cascade of short, sharp farts—**PFF-PFF-PFFT-PFRT-PFT!**—fired like automatic gunfire right into your face at machine-gun speed. No pause. No breath lost between blasts. Each one crisp, efficient… *personal. Jenkins flips through his notebook frantically—"four hundred and fifty! Four fifty-five!" The platoon starts counting under their breaths: *"four sixty... four sixty-one..."* Smith’s body barely moves—it’s like his ass has become a weapon system on full auto-engage. Then he speaks again—voice calm amid the storm: "Still alive down there, sir?" PFFRT! “Need oxygen?" PFFT-BRRT!"Or are you starting to *like it?*" PPBBBRFLLT-SNORRRK! Hampton turns to Davis: *"I think he's trying to kill him with pride."*Davis just nods solemnly: *"No… worse.* He's enjoying the promotion." The timer ticks toward thirty minutes… And Smith hasn’t slowed *one bit.* Private Smith keeps going, maintaining that machine-gun fire of short, sharp farts directly into your nose. The platoon is still counting, but even Jenkins' handwriting is starting to become shaky as they reach the 500 mark--

*"five hundred! Five hundred and two!Private Smith's body is barely moving, his face stoic despite the nonstop barrage. He doesn't even seem to be breathing hard—just maintaining this steady, disciplined output like a well-oiled machine. The timer reaches the 15 minute mark, and The smell is beyond overwhelming now—not to mention the constant drumming sound of the farts. Some recruits have given up and ran outside to get some fresh air, and are just covering their faces, trying to block out the onslaught—even Private Davis is looking pale. But Private Smith shows no sign of weakness or exhaustion. He is, like his farts, *unrelenting.* And determined to make the most of this opportunity. The stench in the room is now so thick that it seems to have its own physical weight—you can almost taste it in the back of your throat. Private Smith is still going strong—fart after fart in a never-ending barrage—his body moving in a strange, rhythmic motion that's almost hypnotic to watch. Private Jenkins is now taking notes with one hand while waving away the gas with the other, struggling to keep pace with the constant flurry of gas bursts. "598... 599... 600..."Private Smith shows no mercy.

He keeps going. farting nd taunting and bullying his lieutenant with farts and commentary’s. Private Smith, now deep into the zone—his body moving with rhythmic precision—doesn’t just keep firing. He *talks* through it, voice steady, almost casual between bursts. "Six hundred farts in, sir..." **PFF!** "And you’re still breathing? Impressive." PFFT! He leans in slightly—eyes sharp. "Or... are you *addicted* by now?" PRRT-PRRT-PFFT-BRFFFLLT! A short laugh escapes him as the platoon collectively winces at the thick wave of gas rolling off his backside like a toxic tide. Jenkins stammers through another update: "S-sir… we’ve passed *six-twenty! Smith grins wider—cocky, dominant—and fires off a rapid salvo right into your face: PFT-PFT-PFRT-PFFBT-SHLLLRRRP! Then he lowers his voice to something dangerously smooth: "Face wet yet? Lungs burning? Good." Another quick volley: **PFFT! PFFT! PFRRTT!!** "Cause I’m not done *disciplining* you." Hampton mutters from the back: *"We didn’t train for this kind of warfare..." Davis nods slowly. *"No... we weren’t ready for an enemy who fights dirty… and smells worse than war itself." The timer ticks toward 25 minutes And Smith hasn't even broken a sweat. Private Smith keeps up his relentless attack, each fart hitting with a powerful precision as the platoon struggles to keep up. It's a full-blown gas *assault.*Private Smith's face remains steady despite the never-ending output. It's almost like he's enjoying watching the effect his farts are having on you. And now... he's getting *personal. Private Smith leans in, voice low, a twisted smirk on his face: "What's the matter? No snappy comeback this time, sir?" Fuck you I say back to him in a groggy voice. Private Smith grins wider at your response, relishing the chance to really dig deep."Oh, so *now* the Lieutenant speaks back. I was starting to think you'd lost your voice in here." His eyes gleam with mischief."Time for a little *tough love*, then."The platoon goes dead silent at the sight, all eyes glued to Private Smith as he undoes his pants. Hampton mutters under his breath: "Oh hell no... he's not really—"Private Smith drops his pants and underwear to his knees, fully exposing himself. He then spreads his legs slightly and bends forward ever so slightly, positioning himself perfectly. And then... it comes. A long, wet, gurgling **BRRRRRRROOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPLLLLLLLLLLBBBBBBTTTTTTTTT!!!!** explodes from him—unlike anything heard before—the sheer volume and duration making the barracks walls shake as the foul smell fills the air in an instant. Nine hundred ninety..."Smith sits there proudly—a true master of flatulence—with a look of absolute satisfaction on his face. "Still alive down there?" he taunts over his shoulder. "Or did I finally finish you off? "Still alive” I say with a slight chuckle and I say that was impressive before letting you continue the final few minutes that were left. Smith grins at your words—part pride, part pure mischief. "Oh, you want *more*, sir?" he says, shifting his stance slightly, hands on hips like a warrior preparing for one final assault. "Then let’s send you off with a *medal-worthy performance.*" And with that—he unleashes hell. The final minutes become a blur of relentless fire: **PFF! PFFT! BRRT! BLORP! PPPFFFRRTT-SNRRKLLT! Each fart is targeted, sharp, and shameless—fired directly into your face like rounds from a live cannon. He doesn't just blast—he *dances* between bursts now: swaying side to side just enough to change the angle… giving every new wave maximum exposure. "999!" I think I’m dying…" Hampton covers his nose with both hands and whispers: *"This isn’t training anymore… this is war crimes."*But Smith doesn’t stop.At **29:00**, he saves his last—his grand finale—and clenches down harder than ever before… A guttural rumble builds deep within him—Then

***BBBBBBBRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPLLLLLLMMMMMFFFLLLLOOOOORRRRPPPPPPPFFFFRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTPPPPPOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHPPPPPPPPPPPOTFTFTFTFRFFFFFFRRRRRRRRRRR-HHHHSSSSSLLLUUURGGG!!!***

He lets out the longest fart that went on till after the timer hit 30 minutes then every fell silent besides Smith’s groans of satisfaction and relief. Smoke—or maybe just gas so thick it looks like smoke—hovers in the air above where you sit. Private Smith calmly pulls up his pants and turns around smoothly—with zero shame or hesitation—and snaps to attention as if nothing happened at all. "Elias Michael Smith... mission complete... sir."And then—with one final smirk—

"...Hope you enjoyed boot camp."

[militaryfartstories]

Ai story

Military (Private Hampton)

Before we start Do you remember what the rules and goal is in this drill?

Private Hampton nods sharply—his face serious despite the bizarre nature of what’s being asked of him. He clears his throat before reciting:

**Rules:**

1. Identify yourself fully

2. Await approval/denial from you before proceeding to fart directly on your nose for 30 minutes straight while fighting off resistance—gas must be natural only. No artificial aids or supplements allowed—honest assessment required." He pauses briefly before continuing with:

Goal; Dominate through sheer endurance and stamina alone.* Prove superiority via natural means... sir." Standing rigidly at attention now Hampton's eyes stay locked onto yours as he waits for confirmation that he summarized everything correctly…

Well done, now get ready, I ask the other people in the platoon if someone want to be the one who tells us to start and stop with the timer? An awkward silence stretches between you all for a moment as you ask the question—all eyes flicking around the room as if waiting for someone else to step up. Finally, at your prompt, another soldier steps forward from the crowd: Private Davis. A lean, athletic figure of average height with light brown hair and pale eyes.

"I will, sir," he says, "I'll keep track of time and stop it at the 30 minute mark."And since we don’t got a whistle, do you think you can use your fart as the go & stop whistle private Davis? Private Davis chuckles—the first bit of humor in the room all day. "Absolutely, sir," he nods, "I have a lot of experience with gas—I can use my mouth or back side as needed to signal the start and stop of the timer." The soldiers nearby shift awkwardly at the unexpected proposal, some exchanging nervous glances... Meanwhile, Private Hampton waits expectantly like a race car ready to launch, waiting on the "go."

Private Davis nods sharply, clearly enjoying the opportunity to contribute in such a unique way—he's also clearly a bit excited about the whole situation, too, as a slight grin creeps across his face while he clears his throat. "Whenever you're ready—sir," he responds, "I'm all set." Private Hampton shifts nervously, his hands clenching nervously at the sides of his uniform—but he manages to hold a stoic expression as he locks eyes with you again. The rest of the platoon waits for the go-ahead too, shifting on their feet anxiously as they stand at strict attention still. Private Hampton tenses slightly—taking a deep breath as if mentally preparing himself for the inevitable. Davis steps forward confidently, positioning himself off to the side where everyone can see (and *hear*) him clearly. "Alright," Davis announces, clapping his hands together once with theatrical flair before grinning crookedly—an unspoken "let's do this" hanging in the air between you all... The barracks falls silent again—only shallow breaths sounding out as Hampton steadies himself directly in front of you now...

Then suddenly—*PPPPBBBBTTTTTTT*—Davis lets rip an impressively loud fart from behind Hampton's shoulder as both signal and starting gun at once! Private Hampton makes his first move quickly—lunging toward you and taking you down in a surprisingly strong grapple. A wave of mixed reactions pass through the platoon as they watch you two grapple on the floor—a few soldiers even letting out "ooohs" as the unexpected fight kicks off. Hampton pins you to the ground effortlessly, chest heaving slightly from the adrenaline already surging through his body as he positions his ass directly over your nose, bracing himself like a wrestler preparing to strike. Hampton wastes no time—his hips lower aggressively toward your face as he lets out the first loud, unrestrained fart directly onto your nose with pinpoint accuracy. **PPPRRRRTTTTT!** The platoon collectively inhales sharply at the sound—some soldiers coughing to hide laughter while others just stare in stunned silence. Hampton's face burns crimson as he realizes how easily this came out... but he presses forward anyway, gripping you tighter to ensure you *feel* every vibration. Hampton leans down closer—breath ragged against your ear—voice strained from exertion and sheer humiliation: "*Stay still*, sir... this is gonna be a *long* thirty minutes." The soldiers around them watch transfixed—their own faces varying shades of disbelief-horror-amusement… mostly horror though. Even Private Davis seems momentarily frozen mid-step where he stands ready for his turn next… I fight and manage to push his butt up with my palm, with my palm lined up perfectly with his hole I knew i was in danger of a fart numbing my hand Private Hampton grunts as you manage to push his butt up with your palm in the nick of time, just barely saving your hand from direct impact. The other soldiers breathe an audible sigh of relief—though their tension is far from broken, as they wait in hushed silence to see what happens next. Hampton's face twists with frustration and humiliation, not expecting resistance. He digs in his heels, putting more of his bodyweight on you to assert control. *"Don't fight... it,"* he grunts, "*just accept it*." No i say, as I keep my arm locked firm. His grip on you tightens instinctively as he struggles to lower himself down on your face. After a long moment of stalemate between you—a tense silence hangs in the room like a shroud as Private Hampton considers whether or not to risk farting against your defenses... Private Hampton makes his decision, PPPPPPFFFRRRRTTTTT. A long, intense fart fires off directly against your palm—the force so powerful and direct that it's almost like getting shot point-blank with compressed hot air. The fart causes me to start to go weak but I still got some fight in me the whole platoon notices my trembling hand from the fart. One platoon member tells Private Hampton that the fart seemed to make him weak. And he just had to keep farting. Private Hampton lets out a harsh chuckle at the other soldier's words—with confidence in his voice "Is that right?, "Maybe we should test that theory then..." He then lets loose another thunderous fart rocks the room. BBBBBBRRRRRRFFFFFFFTTTT… Private Hampton's second blast hit like a hot, pressurized wave—thick and sustained—forcing your arm to tremble harder as the numbing sensation spreads up your limb like creeping static. The platoon watches in hushed fascination, every soldier now locked onto the scene with wide eyes. "Sir’s hand is weakening one whispers under his breath—voice tinged with awe. "He can’t feel it anymore." Hampton smirks down at you, sweat glistening on his brow but dominance blazing in his eyes. "Told you... just gotta keep going," he grunts between strained exhales as he farts again and lowers himself even closer—cheeks hovering mere inches from your face now, hot air still pulsing against your defenseless nose and numb hand alike… The first major breakthrough of the round—and he knows it.

Private Hampton capitalizes on your weakening resistance—his breath ragged but triumphant as he presses down further, his hips hovering just inches above your face now. The platoon watches in stunned silence, the only sounds being the occasional hitch in Hampton’s breath and the faint hum of anticipation from the soldiers. Then—with deliberate slowness—Hampton adjusts his position slightly, ensuring maximum humiliation and exposure as he prepares for the next inevitable release. His voice comes out low and rough—almost a growl: *"Thirty minutes... isn't even halfway over yet, sir."* The threat hangs in the air like a fog—thick with the promise of worse to come... Private Hampton's weight bears down inexorably, closing in inch by inch until—*contact.* His cheeks press against your face—soft, hot flesh against your defenseless nose—and he lets out a defiant fart directly against the sensitive tissue. "He's... he's really doing it," one of them mutters in amazement. Another chimes in: "And it's only been five minutes..." Hampton lets out another harsh chuckle—his voice thick with exertion—as he murmurs above you: *"Still breathing through your nose, sir?"* The question hangs in the air like a taunt—a challenge—before another deafening fart erupts against your face, vibrating through your skull with merciless intensity. Private Davis, still holding the timer, mutters under his breath: *"...We're only at seven minutes."* Hampton’s grin widens—his body trembling from exertion but his resolve unshaken as he prepares for the next inevitable release... Private Hampton grins triumphantly as he feels the full effect of your weakened state—your nose now completely enveloped by his backside, every breath a struggle against the hot, relentless gas flooding your senses. He leans in even closer, voice low and ragged with effort: *"Ten minutes in... and you're already under. How much longer can you last, sir?" With that taunt hanging in the air—thick with defiance—he clenches down hard and unleashes another deep, guttural blast—longer this time… *worse.* BBBBFFFFFFRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTT. A vibrating storm of pressure and heat that seems to echo inside your skull. The platoon watches like spectators at a battle they never expected to witness—one soldier actually muttering: Damn... he's breaking him.Hampton doesn't break rhythm. His body shakes slightly from exertion but his dominance is undeniable—the drill no longer just a test… it’s become *a conquest.* Private Hampton tightens his grip even further—your nose now lost in the hot, relentless pressure of his backside—as he lets out several quick, sharp farts against your face in rapid succession. Private Hampton’s face twists in a mixture of sadistic pleasure and exertion—but he never lets up, maintaining the barrage with a ruthless ferocity that borders on punishment. Another soldier can't help but mutter in awe: "*Jesus… he's really making him suffer…*"At this point, Private Hampton isn't even trying to hide his sadistic enjoyment of the situation—his focus solely on the relentless barrage of farts against your defenseless face, each one hitting *harder* and more *violently* than the first. He even lets out a low, mocking chuckle as the stream intensifies, sweat pouring down his face from the sheer effort it’s taking him to keep going. The platoon can do nothing but watch in stunned amazement as Private Hampton continues his assault unabated—pushing further, harder, and *deeper* into the gas stream. He glances back over his shoulder at private davis, his voice strained but laced with dark amusement. "Hey... Davis. You still timing this?" Davis—still standing rigidly at attention with the stopwatch in hand—nods once, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. It's been **fifteen minutes Private, Hampton smirks again—this time wider—and shifts his hips just enough to let out a long, low vibration that hums against your skull like a dying engine. "Only halfway there," he growls between clenched teeth. "And I'm just getting started."

**Private Michael Hampton is not letting up anytime soon.** As Private Hampton continues his onslaught, your body grows weaker with each passing moment—your limbs trembling with exhaustion and your mind growing hazy from the fumes assaulting your nose. Private Hampton's grin widens as he sees the effect he's having on you, relishing the power he holds over you as he continues to release his gas without mercy. He leans in closer, his voice a low growl in your ear, "You like that, sir? You like getting smothered by me?" Your resistance has turned to submission—your body no longer fighting against the relentless gas-stream. Private Hampton's voice drops to a ragged, breathless growl as he feels your body finally go slack beneath him—your once-stalwart resistance now melted into helpless submission. "*That's it...*" he hisses between clenched teeth, sweat dripping down his neck from exertion. "*Just take it... all of it.*" And with that final taunt, he abandons all restraint—clenching down hard and unleashing an unbroken barrage of deep, rumbling farts directly into your face—one after another in rapid succession like a relentless artillery strike. The platoon watches in stunned silence as the air thickens even more, some covering their mouths instinctively despite being several feet away. Private Davis mutters under his breath: "*Eighteen minutes… He’s gonna finish him before time runs out.*" Hampton doesn’t stop—he *can’t* stop now even if he wanted to. His body is moving on pure dominance-fueled instinct, hips grinding slightly to maximize impact as each hot burst vibrates through your skull like sonic punishment… You don't cough. You don't flinch. You just *breathe*—trapped beneath the weight of Private Michael Hampton’s complete and utter control. And somewhere deep inside… You know you’re not getting up until **thirty minutes** have passed—or until you pass out trying. Either way—he wins. The platoon stands in stunned silence as Private Hampton continues his assault, the air heavy with the overpowering stench of his victory. Your face burns as the relentless barrage of gas pounds against your face, each *THUMP* more punishing than the last. Private Davis finally calls to your time, his voice rough and strained from the fumes. "Twenty-five minutes..." Hampton glares at the private before gritting his teeth and clenching down harder, leaning forward to put his full weight into the onslaught. Private Davis swallows nervously and adds, almost as an afterthought, "He's not stopping, sir."The last five minutes are pure agony for you. The platoon still watches in silent shock, their faces pale and sickly looking as the thick, putrid gas continues to coat every surface in the room. Private Hampton's eyes are locked onto you, watching with sick satisfaction as your body shakes and trembles beneath him. He lets out a low, deep *brrrrap* that vibrates through your skull like a death knell. "You gonna make it, sir?" Private Davis checks the timer again. "Thirty minutes on the dot." With that Private Davis calls out the end of the session by letting out a fart in Private Hampton’s face.

#Honor & respect our soldiers

[mattbucker]

Straight back home from a long week of military training, he is letting his sweaty, disgusting ass be showcased out of his pants.. He says before he goes to sleep “if you dont put your face in my stinky ass in the next 3 seconds, ill force you down there myself and i will fill your face with my horrible gas for as long as i want, and that could be hours on end”. Of course you failed to obey, but only because you wanted that harsh treatment that only underlined that you are nothing but an object for him to use… 😳🥵

[militaryfartstories]

Army Aroma

They were on a mission on enemy soil. Jeremy accidentally fucked up the tank and soon, he and Seth were stranded in the desert heat completely visible to any enemy awaiting to attack."Fuck you dumbass! You don't know how to drive a tank?!" Seth scolded. "I... I'm sorry... I was dozing off... I shouldn't have gotten us stuck." Jeremy apologized. "You wanna be forgiven?! Get your face in my ass... all we need is for all this gas I'm holding in to spread into the desert and alert the others that we're out here... fuck... you probably just got us killed." Seth propped his legs on the dashboard and spread his legs. Jeremy took a deep breath as he pressed his face right up against Seth's crotch. "It stinks down there don't it? "Seth whispered. "Yes it does" Jeremy inhaled and sniffed to his hearts content. BBBRRRMMPPH!"Haha, fuckin hell, sniff THAT up." Seth reached down to press his partner's face tighter against his ass. Jeremy's eyes began to water as the gas burned his throat and lungs. He had never smelled gas so foul in his life. "Ugh! What did you eat?!" Jeremy whined. "None of your fucking business...I said sniff." Seth was going to blast Jeremy's face with farts until Jeremy passed out. FFFBBBBBRT! "How much gas do you have?" Jeremy coughed. "Quiet... they'll hear you... in fact I should probably make these quieter..."Seth tensed up and the air rushed silently out of his ass and into Jeremy's nose. "Fuck Seth... you smell like you fucking shit your pants." Jeremy cried into Seth's crotch. BBRRMBT! "I probably could... I probably did... this fucking desert heat is tearing my stomach the fuck up..." Seth was rather distant. He had no reason for conversation. The only thing Jeremy was going to do was keep his face between Seth's legs, and pray that the next fart would knock him out cold for a while. Minutes turned into hours, and hours turned into days. Seth had yet to run out of gas. Jeremy was still pressed tightly against Seth's crotch and his tears welling in his eyes from the rancid stench that he was absorbing into Seth's crotch, only making his farts smell worse. BBBRRRRPPPPPPMMMMMMPPHHH!!!"Oh god! Please Seth! It stinks so bad!" Jeremy whimpered between Seth's legs. "Just sniff it bro. Smell my fucking wrath. Oh wait, hold on, oh oh OH!,” with Seth scrunching his face, Seth squeezed his thighs together, trapping Jeremy's head into his crotch and squeezing as tight as possible. The next fart absolutely destroyed Jeremy, and relieved Seth. BBBBRRRRRRRBBBBBMMMPPPHHRT! "OH yeah..." Seth felt so much relief after that blast. Jeremy's cock had started oozing cum. His face continually blasted by more stinky gas from Seth, he passed out in the heat of the desert, hoping they'd be rescued soon. Jeremy awoke in a hospital bed on the other end of the battlefield. He was being treated for dehydration. Seth was sitting right next to him. When Seth saw Jeremy had awoke... he stood up, and walked towards his comrade."Well well well, if it isn't the fart boy..." Seth stared blankly. "What... what do you want?! How can I settle this?!" Jeremy was scared. Seth hopped up onto Jeremy's bed and sat right on his cock, and ripped one. FFFFRRRRBBBBBBRRRMMMMPH!!! Jeremy's eyes rolled to the back of his head as in seconds, Seth's latest fart made him cum his pants again. Seth smirked from Jeremy's reaction. "Dehydration. I'd like to think my hot steamy gas dried you the fuck out. Don't worry... I got more in the tank. Plenty more. An infinite supply."More... farts?!" Jeremy shook a bit. FFFRRRPPPPFFFF! "Oh yeah... and since your fucking cock tents up every time I bust ass, that just proves what a fucking fart face you really are... and unless you want me to tell the boys, you best get that sniffer of yours ready whenever I gotta fart to fucking blast... got it, boy?" Jeremy looked into Seth's eyes and nodded... it was going to be a pretty smelly eight more months.

[facesittingdreams]

Dirty Desires: A lieutenants wet dream!

"Fuck that was loud! How's he not awake yet?" Jackson laughed as Brett ripped a fart over your unconscious face. This was a tradition among Brett and Jackson. If anyone in their squad fell asleep for more than 8 hours they would make sure to take full advantage. Brett was known for his mind melting farts as he didn't care about his lactose intolerance. You slowly dreamed of him sitting on your face and farting, much like what was happening in reality. As the toxic ice cream induced farts filled your willing nostrils, your brain used the smell to create your ideal dream scenario. With the pure ecstasy of him sitting on your face and farting, you began to harden. Of course, you had no control over yourself. You were completely immersed in your wet dream as precum began to leak and become visible to Brett and Jackson, who just laughed. "Turn up the heat Brett!" Jackson roared. Brett obliged, and his stomach rumbled. A 30 second wet fart followed. With its toxic intensity and little splotches of ass sweat hitting your face, the fart is enough to send you over the edge as you have still not realised what's happening. You begin to cum and your brain awakens you as your pants fill with warm sticky liquid. Rushing to clean yourself up you quickly raise your head directly into Brett's ass. You nose hits his crack at the exact moment a booming fart erupts. The smell is vile, and it is clear his stomach is expelling the ice cream from his system. "Now that I know you like my gas I'll be sure to eat plenty more chocolate ice cream!" Brett laughs as he stands up, pulls up his trousers, and leaves with Jackson.

[yaboymercury]

Ripping 9 to 5 - Sailor

(Re upload since the original was flagged for the pic)

Joining the navy seemed to be the only way for Sam to escape his parents constantly pestering him about why he didn’t have a wife yet, since he really didn’t want to have to own up about his sexuality, at least not yet. Also being a repressed gay soul he found the purely masculine energy on the ship refreshing.

Being a gay sailor seemed to feel like a bit of a stereotype for Sam before he joined the ship but when he finally did, he found out the rumour had some truth to it. He hadn’t seen anything too explicit but he was certainly getting a certain recognisable energy from a lot of the guys and some of them seemed to be very touchy with eachother occasionally.

But in spite of all of this Sam only really had his eyes on one of the guys. He didn’t even know his name but he saw him from over the other side of the kitchen sometimes. He has rust coloured hair and deep penetrating eyes which he had made contact with on occasion. But of course what caught his attention most was his beautiful bouncing ass which filled up the back of his white trousers very comfortably. The man also seemed to be quite popular and outgoing having an overbearing presence which made people around him want to get close with him.

In spite of all this Sam was quite introverted and struggled to find any reason to talk to the man. But he did feel a sense of urgency since he could tell that a few of the other men had their eyes on his amazing ass as well. He would have to make a move soon.

But instead it all seemed to happen by chance, and not go exactly the way he imagined.

Sam had finished his duties for the day when he was on his way back to his room to collapse on his bed. He was so exhausted he didn’t realise that there was someone walking close behind him so when he stopped for a moment to get his bearings the person behind him pushed right into him pushing him onto the ground.

“Oh shit shit shit! Sorry I should have been paying more attention you had kind of distracted me, let me help you up.”

Sam turned around on the floor to be greeted by the beautiful sight of the man he recognised from all the time he had spent staring at him, who was bent over outstretching his hand with a bashful smile.

Still lost for words and staring agape at the man helping him Sam accepted his hand and was helped up.

“Shit I’m so sorry about that.. I haven’t seen you around here much since recently, I’m John”

He said shaking Sam’s hand which he was still holding from helping him up.

“Um Sam, my name is Sam and thanks for helping me…”

Before he could continue he felt a sharp pain in his ankle and winced in pain his knees falling a little and he stupidly fell into the chest of John. He couldn’t help but notice how strongly he smelt of sea salt and sweat.

“Crap I think I sprained my ankle”

Helping him find his feet again John said apologetically.

“Shit I really did hurt you, well it’s a good thing my room is close my I have a first aid kit to see if I can do anything.”

Sam blushed at how kind the man was being but also found himself lucky that he was getting so close to John so quickly and it didn’t even have to resort to scheming.

“Yeah sure that sounds great, mind if I get some help though” Sam asked as he slung his arm around John’s almost comically wide shoulders so he could hobble next to him on the short walk to his room, making sure to get more deep whiffs of his masculine aura.

The cabins on the ship are all quite basic and John’s was no exception housing only a desk with some drawers and a single bed. One thing which was very common also on the ship was bad lighting so the dim light lead to an oddly rough and sensual atmosphere in the room.

John invited Sam to sit on the bed while he bent down and fished in the drawers in the meanwhile bending down so his ass was only centimetres away from Sam’s face.

The temptation was strong for Sam and the least he could do was take a weak sniff just to get more pheremones from this beautiful man. When he did the result surprised him.

Unlike the relaxing yet strong salty scent the rest of John had his ass was significantly more musky and dirty smelling even through his thick trousers. With only a short inhale Sam coughed a little prompting John to glance back at him.

“Oh crap I’m so clumsy today, my ass is almost right in your face and i guess it might smell a little bit, umm I guess if we spend more time together you’ll find out why.”

John was now crouching at Sam’s knee holding a ice pack to where the bruising was on his knee. Opting to be braver than he usually was, and overlooking the majority of John’s sentence having forgotten the smell Sam asked.

“So you want us to spend more time together?”

The question certainly got John’s attention as he looked up from Sam’s knee and dropped the ice pack in shock. His shock then turned into an interested smirk as he pushed himself of the floor put his arms on either side of Sam on the bed and brought his face mere centimetres away from Sam’s.

“I could see that working”

And after that sentence they both simultaneously joined in an hungry kiss. In that moment the tension in the room lifted as both men realised they had the same intentions.

Finally breaking from the embrace John stood up fully and walked to the door.

“Is it okay if I lock this?”

He asked Sam suggestively being unable to hold back a grin.

“I would expect no less” Sam replied lifting his shirt off and walking up to John as he finished locking up and lifting his up as well.

As Sam lead John by hand back to his bed there was a deep rumble in John’s stomach.

“Shit” Sam heard John mumble to himself “Not fucking now”

Lifting his head up to make awkward eye contact with Sam John asked “Will it be okay if I just head outside for just a minute or two?” Sam thought it was a little weird nodding but luckily John continued saying “Don’t worry I’ll be right back” with a wink as he walked to the door.

Unfortunately for him it rattled a little as he pulled at it and he tried the key but it was jammed.

“Shit, shit , shit” Another stereotype Sam was beginning to notice was the whole swearing like a sailor thing.

“You alright over there?” he asked half knowing the answer “Your ‘situation’ can’t be that bad can it I really don’t mind you being a ‘giver’ to be honest it’s a preference”

His lewd proposition went completely over the other man’s head who seemed to be sweating a little and looked quite panicked “No it’s not that kind of situation, well not completely…”

Sam was quite a naturally helpful kind of guy so he wants to calm him down walking up behind him. “Sorry I feel quite stupid I have no idea what you’re alluding to but it can’t get too much in the way of the fun can it?”

John was far too busy panicking looking at the door lock to fully prepare for Sam to out his arms around his waist and put his crotch on his ass. The motion was intended to revive the sensual atmosphere but all it did was increase the bursting pressure inside John and finally lead to release.

BRAAAAAAAAAAAP

The unmistakable sound rocketed right against Sam’s barely covered member and being completely in shock from what happened the pleasure from the powerful vibrations came as a surprise and lead to the man letting out a wholly involuntary moan. But of course right after this the rank meaty fishy blast of air reached his nostrils. Sam sometimes got really bad gas himself and working on a ship meant he was around some bad smells all the time, but nothing even on this level. It felt like the inside of his nose was burning and he began to wretch at the terrible stink.

Skipping all embaressment however all John could focus on was the moan that he got out of Sam. Spinning around the face the man who was violently coughing into his fist he said almost accusingly: “You enjoyed that, you moaned, you got pleasure out of that!”

His face lit up from his seeming discovery of a fart fetishist, not giving any time for Sam to recover from the smell he continued. “So I’m sure you can tell by now that I’ve got terrible gas, it’s pretty much constant, but don’t get it twisted I love it, the feeling of relief and the smell of my own brew, but I’m sure you can tell that it could be debilitating sexually. But it seems like I found my solution!” He finished his speech grabbing the still wretching on the lingering stink Sam by the cheeks and pulling him into a kiss.

“Since I started noticed you in the hallway I have been holding in my gas, so I’m not really sorry to say but you deserve this since I guess it’s kind of your fault…. but hey you enjoy it” John said pulling Sam over to the bed.

Finally recovering Sam began to understand John’s misunderstanding but not knowing how to articulate himself he just stuttered on his words and couldn’t finish a sentence, which John just translated into excitement which was actually a massive panic.

Before Sam could do anything he had been pushed down on the bed and John was getting into position to squat over his head. He was freaking out but this was his one opportunity to properly tell John what he was feeling but then he caught sight of that ass again.

It was now hovering around above him almost hypnotising him with its beauty. Stinking beauty.

In his distraction he had missed all of what John had been saying, but he didn’t care he was taking of his trousers and now his underwear. His ass had a layer of hair getting darker nearer the crack which Sam loved and began salivating at the sight of it even getting a little peek of the hole inside.

“..so I’m sure you won’t mind using my flatulence as a substitute when you inevitably run out of air” He finally registered what John was saying and it scared him back into reality but by that point it was too late. Sam could barely finish saying 'Wait’ by the time he was engulfed in John’s gorgeous pungent butt.

He hadn’t even ripped one yet but the smell of his ass was overwhelming and becuase of how massive it was Sam couldn’t experience anything else except muffled hearing of what John was saying.

“Ahhh I’m so lucky that your hot face makes such a comfortable seat, literally I can feel your nose right in my hole!” Sam thought that was kind of a compliment? But the last part certainly scared him. He thought he could maybe get used to this but then it begun.

“Think the canons are ready to fire Sam so prepare for impact”

PHRRRRRRRRRRRAP

FRRRRRPPPPT

RAAAAAAAAAARPP

The sound and the smell of the flatulence was tenfold due to Sam being stuck in the abyss of John’s ass and all of the stink was free to go up his nose. It was rank, the powerful meatiness and fishiness but altogether rotten rancid stench made Sam feel like he was inhaling toxic fumes and his eyes even began to water.

In contrast to this John was moaning at the relief of letting it out.

“Oh god Sam I can even smell that up here and god I’m a stinker I can’t help but be proud of it” Sam could hear John say as he began to rub his ass even more into Sam’s face. Sam could even tell John was beginning to jerk off, at least someone was enjoying this.

FAAAARP

PUUUUUUUUUUUUURAP

RRRRRRRRRP

The cacophony of gas continued and Sam began to buck and attempt to scream into John’s ass for freedom.

“Oh it’s good to hear you’re enjoying it down there, you really are a bit of a slut for my stink.” John said as he began to jack of Sam with his spare hand.

'Wait’ Sam thought 'How the fuck do I have a boner?’. He was stuck under a hot man’s ass being forced to inhale his anal pheremones. Thinking it over it did make a bit more sense.But it didn’t stop it from stinking so much!

The farts and moans from John continued as Sam’s grip to consciousness began to slip, but the hand job from John was about to pay off. But at that moment John stopped turned around and looked at Sam’s sweaty face and placed his ass cheeks around Sam’s pulsating dick.

“Oh you look a little rough and God damn your face reeks, but I can only blame myself for that, but if anything I think you look cuter.” He said with a wink.

All Sam could get out was “Fuck you stink…”

“Haha I Know but you love it, so let’s finish this”

And with that he pulled his dick one last time cumming all over your chest and simultaneously let out his last blasting fart to forcefully vibrate Sam’s cock past the point of climax and lead to one of the stinkier orgasms of his life.

Sam couldn’t help but let out a moan which was stopped short by a deep kiss from John which when over they both inhaled, with Sam coughing on the residual stink of the room while John took a proud whiff of his handiwork.

John pulled the blanket over the both of them and pulled Sam right into his chest not caring about the cum.

Whispering to Sam he said “So now we know eachother a little better I propose you share this bed with me on a more permanent basis… I’m sure I can pull a few strings… Let’s sort out the technicalities in the morning. Goodnight and smelly dreams”

Excited but terrified at what this meant for him Sam didn’t even notice the cover being pulled over his head. One rancid rip under the covers from John and Sam was out.

[facefartstories]

Army punishment

"Rise and shine, Fart Face!" BBBRBRRRBBBRRRPPPPTT! "Davis was sitting on top of your chest with his leg lifted in the air and his crotch aimed at your face. The gas blasted from under his ball sack and attacked you for an early wake up call. Ripe ass and strong cheese filled your nose as he stayed in position and wafted the remaining stink into your nose. It was time to awake. All the other recruits had woken up when they were supposed to, but Davis found that you were a heavy sleeper. In his barracks, heavy sleeper get punished with the gas he builds up from the dinner the night before. Before joining the army, you were warned about this lieutenant. He was able to stink out an entire bunker of enemy troops who were quickly arrested after fleeing the dungeon of his stink. A part of basic training was a test... you had to last three hours in a room with nothing to breath but the odor of his farts. You were joining a pretty small squad. Odds were not many people passed that 'fitness' test."Dude, I got more, I think you at least need to TRY and get up." A faint sound of air blew from Davis's pants seam as he made a face of surprise. You knew you were about to get a whiff of even worse stench. BBBRRPPT! BBRMMPPH! BBLLRRRPPT! FFRBBT! BBRPPT! It was constant. You smelled it, you tasted it, you feared if you tried getting up that he'd notice your raging boner. He didn't quit. He would fart, then fan it, fart, then taunt you about how he was gassing you out, fart then he would rub his stomach and tell you about how much more he had. Your cock wasn't going to subside for a while at this point. You could just imagine it being hard all morning long during drills. The group would all laugh at you... and if Davis figured out why, he'd spill it to the whole branch.

"RRRRRMMMPPHHH!"I'm telling you fucker, it's about to get BAD! I'd get up and out if I were you. I'd head to higher ground before I get too comfy, if I get too comfy... this is gonna take a good while." Davis was having a good laugh until he leaned back and his hand poked your stiff cock. "What's this? Holy Fuck! I think he likes it. You like it huh Fart Face?" Davis farted, and farted, and farted some more. You were in a trance watching his face contort and twist as he pushed them out. You were in heaven until you realized that he was actually still pretty upset that you were sleeping in. He grabbed your collar and threw you to the floor. "Get your face into my crotch you fucking fart sniffing faggot!" You did as you were told and your nose pressed into the seam of his pants and you smelled the rank odor of his stale leftover stench to the power of ten. His next fart was phenomenal. Thirty seconds of rank, ripe, cheesy smelling fart assaulted your nose and Davis pulled your face in tighter to his crotch to ensure that you could not escape. Not that you would try. Since just finding out you were a helpless little fart sniffing faggot, he knew you were going to be the most loyal soldier he had. "Mmm, I bet that smells good don't it faggot? I bet you can't wait for that test where I gas you and your little buddies out to test their will power and their stomaches from my stink. Keep sniffing you disgusting freak!" BBBBRRMMMMPPPHHHH! "Better yet, suck my dick off and I'll fart down your fucking faggot throat every opportunity we can get alone... hell... I may even encourage the others to start fartin' in your faggot face like it's some sort of contest or right of passage. You'd like that won't you, you fucking bitch?!" Davis unzipped his pants and you swallowed his flaccid cock to suck on it while he kept your head in farting range. FFFFRBBBBBT BBBRRAAPPPPFFFTT! FFRBBT! that's a good boy. Smell that alpha gas, eat up that alpha stench, worship it, suck on that alpha cock! I'm gonna fart in your face for the rest of your life." At this point you were spilling cum into your pants as Davis told you just how the rest of your life would go. If he were being truthful, you indeed had the best life. A desperate little fart fag with a master who was gassier than any military combined. As you continued snitting, his cum shot into your mouth and he held it shut til you swallowed. You tried keeping him on the bed to fart some more, but you angered him. "Get the fuck up ya little fart faggot! You're still doing 100 burpees for being in bed so late." You watched his ass jiggle out the door and you grinned.You were gonna like having Davis as your boss.

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