ugh I got ice cream sundaes with my friend yesterday and I went over to her place after, and good god she just,,,,kept loudly farting, and seemed so unbothered by it
I genuinely deserve an Oscar for how I played it off like i didn't care. she was like "sorry I keep farting lol, maybe I have ibs haha " and god I could feel myself throbbing a little, felt like such a perv
Flashback to two weeks ago when my job had bunch of massive orders come in, so I had to come in extra early, meaning I didn’t always necessarily get all my morning gas out. Bending over and ripping massive farts thankful the music was drowning them out but feeling my entire ass rumble. God.
Imagine Person A getting flak from their friend group for farting in public whenever they need to. From their perspective, Person A is careless about loading up on stuff that will give them gas later, and they get bothered by A producing enough gas to be able to let out some audible squeaking sputters every hour or so. A isn’t mean about this, but just confused, insisting that it’s not that bad.
Then one day, the friends meet Person B, A’s roommate/romantic partner (whichever you want), and they realize that Person B is so unbelievably flatulent with such powerful gas that Person A thinks their own farts are nothing.
Boys who fart. Boys who toot. Boys who rip ass. Boys who lift one of their plump cheeks off of their seat and fire off a reverberating bassy note. Boys who bend over and jut out their fat ass before firing off an explosive bubbly ripper. Boys who dare their other guys friends to pull their finger before erupting like a human whoopee cushion. Boys who cropdust public spaces without even an ounce of shame, smirking smugly when they hear people begin to cough and complain. Boys who sit their hefty caboose on their friend’s chest, jokingly teasing about how they can’t hold it any longer as said friends tries to shove them off and yells at them to get up between laughs. Boys who FART.
high femme princess with an image to uphold. she's prim, proper, and well-mannered. her stone butch knight, loyal and devoted, is always by her side.
as the princess's personal knight, they have special permission to enter her bedchamber. they rouse her in the morning, where she gives them a little sleepy smirk. "good morrow, sir," she greets as she rolls onto her front, dragging her sleeping gown up as she brings one knee up to her stomach. her knight assumes the position they take daily, leaning down and pressing their face against her snugly-fitted pantalettes, eagerly huffing her loud, bassy morning gas.
at midday, she studies in the royal library. her knight sits obediently on their knees under the table, chin resting on the wooden seat of the chair, the princess's thighs caging their head on both sides, and her long gown draped over them. keeping them comfortably trapped under multiple layers of velvety fabric. they inhale the consistent musk emanating from her crotch and any raunchy, potent farts that bubble from her, all of the odors mixing and marinating in the trapped space.
in the afternoon, the princess goes riding on her horse. after a lunch of pork and bean pie, an almond, fig, and cheese platter, and a glass of wine, her guts are complaining that it has fermented in her long enough. alone in the stables after she returns from her ride, she orders her knight to their knees in the corner of a stall, hiking up her riding gown to press her sweat-soaked ass into their face, letting them muffle and absorb the sheer amount of long, sputtering farts that ease out of her ass in a magnitude that put her horses to shame.
after a luxurious multicourse dinner and stuffing herself beyond carrying capacity, the princess has to attend citizen hearings. her external face was impeccable, perfectly trained into an amiably neutral expression, but her dearest knight could spot the smallest discrepancies. faint crows feet when she winces uncomfortably, lip pulling back just slightly, brows briefly furrowing. they knew what she had eaten, how much, and just how furiously it was disagreeing with her stomach. like their princess, they keep a controlled face as they stand guard, but something swirls in their loins at what they knew would come.
when she stands up and respectfully bows after the last hearing, she heads straight towards her knight and grips their hand, squeezing a little tighter than usual, before whisking them off towards a discreet alcove down a vacant passageway. her knight makes quick work unlacing her corset behind her to ease her bloat before dropping to their knees.
"oh, thank the lords for you, sir," she sighs, airy with relief. "but who else would be so eager to be my cushion but you?"
"most women in the queendom i wager, your majesty," they jest before hiking her skirts up, her undergarments swampy and smelling staunchly of musk from the day's activities, the fabric clinging in between her crack. the princess sighs and leans forward, and her knight takes that at their cue to nudge their face into her princess's ass.
she unleashes the fermentation that had been brewing in her gut since supper, burbling out hot and loud into her knight's face. they shuck off their gloves and bring their calloused hands up to massage and fondle the princess's cheeks enveloping their face, moaning quietly after every deep, shuddering inhale through their nose. the cleavage of her ass warbles with seemingly endless pungent and humid farts, rumbling hotly against their face, making their salivary glands gush and their thighs rub together. the princess groans with relief, letting her guts deflate freely with the confidence her most beloved knight will be there to sniff every last bit of gas that bubbles out of her
It wasn't often that things went this well, Jasmine's always had bad luck with men.
Dates usually ended on her terms, usually around the time it came to paying and the self-proclaimed gentleman realized covering the bill meant he'd be paying for the food—just the food—and nothing else.
But today seemed to be pleasantly different.
He was kind, courteous, funny. Avoiding awkward stalls in conversation with a kind of charm that made her order another meal just to hear him talk a bit more. She wanted to prolong tonight.
Which is why, when the waiter brought her a steaming plate of fettuccine Alfredo, her heart stopped a little.
Dairy was a big no-no, especially for someone who planned to get laid for maybe the first time in forever.
But before she could say something the waiter had already moved on, and he'd already asked her another question and anyways her shyness always kicked in at the worst of times.
She was halfway through the plate when she began shifting in her seat.
Her stomach had started to bloat considerably, stretching out the already too-tight dress, and she prayed he couldn't hear it rumbling.
She tried to cover it with laughter, but was hit with immediate regret when it forced the first bubble of gas out—prrblll… her whole body tensing up to keep in the bulk of it in. Yeah, tonight would not be happening.
"Are you okay?" he asks, and she smiles a little too big when she answers "Y-yeah, perfect. It's just- it's getting a bit late."
"Oh" his smile fades a bit, and she feels like an ass for it. Wishes her body wasn't betraying her right now. "Alright, um. Can I at least give you a ride?"
Oh you sweet, sweet, way too kind man. That's a death sentence, she thinks, but doesn't say it. She didn't need to make him feel any worse.
"Sure." she nods instead, waiting for him to get up and lead the way so he wouldn't hear whatever may come out of her when she stands from her seat.
The car ride had none of the smoothness of their dinner.
It was tense and awkward, especially with the way she was clenching her legs together to keep the onslaught of her gas back.
"I had a lot of fun tonight," he tries to ease the air, not knowing how close she was to stinking it up. Her stomach gives another low brrrr and she answers tightly "Mhm."
Her mind wasn't on the date at all anymore. She was counting the stop signs, the red lights, the seconds she could still hold it in. They were getting fewer and fewer.
She was so lost in her desperation to get home that she almost jumps out of her skin when his hand lays itself on her thigh.
"You don't have to, obviously. But if you'd like…" he smiles and looks over from the wheel, undoubtedly seeing her flushed face and wide eyes "my place isn't far, either."
"I…" she bites her lip, shifting in her seat again to cross her legs. God, please no. Not now.
She tries to make up some excuse, but it barely registers anymore as she feels another bubble making its way out, her cheeks clenching hard to keep it in.
"You're lovely. Really lovely. I'm just- I think I'm just-" but kind as he was, he was already shaking his head, turning back to the road "Don't worry about it. That's not what tonight was about."
She nods sharpy, glad for his acceptance as she stares forward at the road again with the kind of laser focus not even her driver had. Two more rights. Two more rights and she'd be home. She can hold it for two more.
And she did.
They'd just arrived at the parking lot to her apartment complex, and she almost felt relief…until they hit the speed bump just a little too fast.
BRRFFFPPPT.
All the blood drains from her face before moving back there so fast she feels like fainting.
Oh fuck. Oh no. No no no no.
She only knows that he's looking at her from the way his head shifts in her peripheral because she cannot bring herself to meet his eyes anymore.
"I-I…I'm so sorry-" she feels her stomach rumbling again, brewing for the next wave of her embarrassment, and clutches her middle as if that would contain it.
He laughs, actually laughs, but what he doesn't know is that this isn't just some funny slip-up to be brushed over and forgotten. She genuinely doesn't think she can exit this car anymore. Doesn't think she can move at all without letting it all out.
"Is that what you were so tense about? Happens to the best of us." he tries to assure her, but she's already got tears pricking at the edges of her eyes from how hard she was cramping up. He had no idea.
"I mean, come on. I'm a guy. I can handle a bit of gas."
"Y-yeah, well I'm…s-shit…" she winces as her stomach gives another loud gurgle. She'll see how much he can truly handle soon enough.
"It's okay, I promise you can let it out" he chuckles, trying to brush some hair out of her face which just adds to her embarrassment.
"I won't judg—"
….pppprrrffffffrrPLLLLRP.
The fart she lets out is long and hot between her cheeks, hands coming up to cover her face as a few soft blp-blp-blp's bubble out right after.
"Damn…" is all he can say, and she feels like disappearing.
working an office job and sharing a cubicle with a butch. they work on their laptop with headphones on, chomping their way through two breakfast burritos. it doesnt take long for their bubbling guts to reach carrying capacity within their stomach and they tilt to one side, letting a deep, sputtering fart burble out. you politely try to ignore it, but the potent stench starts to persistently cloy at your nose and the sound replays in your head.
you squirm, but try to shift your focus on your work. again, another loud, bubbling rip fills your cubicle and your eyes flicker down to the way their pants hug their ass snugly, unable to prevent the invading vision of what your face would look like nuzzled up in between those cheeks. they dont seem to notice your staring, preoccupied with their own work and headphones on. taking a risk, you push your swivel chair behind them and lean down, inhaling a shuddering gulp of warm, fetid air as they push out a particularly long fart, burbling steamy and rancid. you shiver and sigh at the smell.
the sound of a coworker's footsteps has you flailing to roll back to your space, trying to act like youre not turned on out of your mind. another butch enters, and your cubicle mate greets them before mentioning something about the printer. broken, it seems, and they both stand in front of it, slightly bent over to look inside. you dont even bother to hide your staring now -- theyre both facing away, anyway -- at the four fat cheeks in a row, dress pants form-fitting and leaving nothing to the imagination. your cubicle mate, in lieu of their behavior all morning, rips short, bassy ass despite the new company. your coworker chuckles with an declaration of, "those burritos HR sent out getting to you, too?" before letting out a long bubbler themselves. now physically unable to restrain yourself, you scootch your swivel chair behind the two fat-bottomed butches, your face nearly ass-high, biting your lip as they both push out muggy, meaty farts, huffing like your life depended on it.
suddenly, one takes a step back and bumps you in the face with their rear. both of their heads turn to look down at you, expressions mixed with confusion and amusement. "oh my," your coworker croons. "and whats your friend here doing?"
"looks like she likes it." your cubicle mate teases. "hey, since those burritos arent agreeing with either of us, why dont we go let off steam elsewhere? and bring a little cushion with us?"
and now youre on your knees in the corner of the supply closet, both your cubicle mate and your coworker's plush, swampy asses pressed against your face. you moan as you feel their cracks rumble against your face with nonstop farts, one hand working between your legs as you sniff and sniff and sniff. the cramped space of the closet locks the stench in, their farts building on top of each other until the air was thick and humid and heady. you finally reach your crescendo as they reach back, pressing your head as close to their asses as possible, and both push out long, raunchy, bubbly farts simultaneously that vibrate your skull and send your olfactory nerve into overdrive
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