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We are a mostly UDTR focused multi-kink server
Won't list all the channels here but some of the highlights include:
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A whole category for sharing information about ocs!
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Be nice and respectful, treat this space like you would any other kink space.
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No Fart November 2025: “It’s a Deal”, An Original Month-Long Narrative
For a full introduction about this story, check out the first post!
Read below for Day 6, in which Didi shares some fun facts about gas giants.
FIRST | <- PREV | NEXT ->
“These pictures from the Hubble Space telescope demonstrate the magnificent view we have of our universe, even if our technology is limited compared to the grand scale of –”
Didi froze as a deep groan rattled through him. Fortunately, the crowds of the natural history museum were always large enough to overpower, or at least disguise, any strange noises; his students must have assumed he had just trailed off for no reason.
“Of, erm. Everything.”
Didi strolled to the next photograph of the exhibit. He wouldn’t have been taking his time under normal circumstances, students be damned – all of Didi’s students knew that you either kept up with him or floundered – but his larger body created very different circumstances, indeed.
Despite there now being no risk in standing downwind of him, Didi’s students followed him very carefully, and at a small distance. He supposed no one wanted to show direct involvement with him in this state; his butt and thighs had started growing along with his stomach, giving him bodily proportions closer to Ziggy’s. Granted, everyone seemed to be throwing themselves at Ziggy’s feet regardless, even in spite of the fact that the man was in a steady relationship of his own (why couldn’t Didi have a normal, sexually repressed friend group where every couple jealously kept to themselves?), so what the fuck did Didi know?
“Even the planets of our own solar system would have remained more of a mystery without the benefit of photographs like these. For example, Saturn.” Didi paused next to the gorgeous display of Saturn, its photograph shining in all its high-quality glory, and looked down to read from the grubby informational display below. “We can not only see the details of its signature rings, but also how it b –”
Didi paused. As if in response to what he read, a furious bubbling started deep in his gut.
“… b-belches… clouds of ammonia ice crystals. From deep…”
Instinctively, Didi’s hand went to his stomach. He could feel the gas moving underneath his skin. He could feel the stretchof his skin.
“Moving on. Here we have…”
Oh, fuck.
“… Uranus,” Didi muttered. He was able to save at least some face by pronouncing it “YUR-uh-nuss.” “It may have an unusual orbit from rolling on its side, and a moon with a surface only a mother could love, but we can still admire how the planet’s surface is a beautiful pastel blue-green. Although even that beauty comes from unlikely sources: an eternally stormy atmosphere and a thick… m-methane… haze.”
If only there was methane pumping out of Uranus. If only Didi could flood the whole wing of this museum with a methane haze, GOD just get some of this OUT –
“Sp-speaking of methane!” Didi staggered to the next planet. “Neptune! Frigid. Cold. And surrounding its gas-slush core are some of the fast…”
Didi glared at the informational plaque. He almost wished its letters would rearrange to say, “Fuck you, Didi,” because at least then, he’d know for sure the world was out to get him.
“… some of the fastest winds in the solar system.”
Suddenly, there was a tug deep within him. Didi shut his eyes and breathed, in and out. It wasn’t pain, never pain, but the stretch, the ever-growing stretch…
“I need the restroom.”
The words tumbled out of him as he turned his back on his students, rushing to the nearest bathroom sign. At least there was one small mercy for Didi that day: he was close to a single “family” bathroom, and it was vacant.
Didi didn’t have to go, but he sat on the toilet anyway. He cradled his stomach as it rumbled and moaned, processing gas from an overpriced crummy lunch in the food court. Didi could pinpoint that feeling, the stretch, and knew that he would be outgrowing his new jacket by tomorrow. He couldn’t even try to belch himself smaller, as he had used up his allowed deflation that morning.
Didi wished he needed the bathroom. He wished it was like the old days, where he sought out the museum’s single-occupancy bathrooms to put their air fresheners to the test against farts fueled by coffee, museum cafeteria-grade lentil soup, and good old emotional bitterness. He even missed getting caught short and being forced to crop dust an exhibit, knowing that the crowds would never be able to pin the blame on him. He was willing to be the newest source of the fastest winds in the solar system, anything to let him stop being such a…
… a gas giant.
In the silence of the bathroom, Didi let out a whimper. Six days. A fifth of the month had passed, and he was already almost too big for a toilet. He knew he’d survive to the end of the month. What he didn’t know was how.
As Didi led his students through more of the museum that afternoon, he paused on their way past the museum’s grand, life-sized sculpture of a blue whale. He was grateful that, at least for now, there was still something out there that could make him feel so small.
Usually I just leave my thoughts in the tags, but I need to go off about this right on the post.
Characters being unintentionally tormented by word choices is my FAVORITE TROPE ON EARTH. Mixing it with desperation is doing to my brain what eating the cheese and the berry did to Remy in ratatouille.
Poor Didi. Just. Poor Didi man. Part of me wonders if he'll be granted any sort of relief beyond the occasional burp. Another part of me is enjoying watching him suffer.
Just. Amazing work Biscuit, amazing fucking work. The fact that this doesn't have a million notes is tragic.
No Fart November 2025: “It’s a Deal”, An Original Month-Long Narrative
For a full introduction about this story, check out the first post!
Read below for Day 5, in which Didi gets a gassy visitor.
FIRST | <- PREV | NEXT ->
Day 5
Despite what people on the street typically assumed when they saw Didi’s new bulk, he hadn’t gained much weight during the past few days. He had gained some weight; even gas had mass, and Didi suspected that the magical expansion of his body was adding more mass as needed so that he wouldn’t literally get stretched too thin. A few experiments on his bathroom scale (with some gleeful help from Argo; Didi stopped being able to see his own toes, much less the scale’s readout) showed that the weight gain was minimal. It was at least far less than the multitude of pounds Didi would’ve been carrying if his inflated figure actually had fat behind it.
That didn’t make getting up and moving any easier, though. When the doorbell started ringing – and kept ringing – Didi swore when he got up from the couch, his overfilled beach ball of a gut swaying as he stood.
“Co-” Didi’s call slipped into a burp, which he bitterly bit off. “Coming.”
Once he had completed his short walk – Didi ignored the fact that it was turning into more of a waddle – to the door, he took a moment to glare at it. Obviously, since the visitor hadn’t buzzed in through the intercom, they were either let in by someone else or already a resident. Didi wasn’t expecting a package, nor a visitor, and the only neighbor he had who was prone to making house calls was…
“Oh no.”
Didi leaned as close to the peephole as he could (cursing his obstacle of a stomach) and saw a big, dopey smile.
“Oh no.”
From behind the door, a cheery voice sang “I can hear you!”
Crap. Didi stuttered, dragged his hand down his face, and settled on, “I’m not feeling well! Goodbye!”
“That’s why I’m here! C’moooon, let me in!”
Didi had already started walking back to his sulking couch. That was his first mistake; he soon heard the dreaded click of his door unlocking.
Didi knew that Argo was too tired to teleport, so he had no clue how the imp had appeared to greet their guest so suddenly. It was a good thing their neighbor already knew about Argo’s devilish little secret, as Argo didn’t even have the energy to manifest his human disguise.
“Come right in, Ziggy!” Argo held out a hand to welcome him, the little shit.
And here came Ziggy himself, the big lug. He was a little taller than average, but the “big” came from his huge, home-grown stomach, and with an ass to boot. Before Didi’s stupid deal, Ziggy certainly could have claimed the title of the apartment building’s largest guest. The only thing larger – and, for Didi, more insufferable – than Ziggy’s body was his sentimentality.
“Thank you, Gogo,” Ziggy chirped. He walked in and took off his shoes. Didi was too pissed off to appreciate the good manners, although he could always find reasons to be irritated about Ziggy’s presence. “Hiya, Didi!”
Didi was only willing to mutter a “Siegfried” in return.
“Gosh, Gogo, what happened to you? You look like you’ve been hit by a bus. A hell bus.” He mimed a steering wheel and a horn. “Beep beep.”
Argo’s grin grew weaker. “Oh. Just, um.” He rubbed his temple, as if he had a migraine. Hell, that might’ve been real. “Been working hard. You know?”
“Working? You? Are times that hard?” Ziggy held out his big arms. “C’mon, bring it in.”
“Don’t you dare – ” Didi began.
But it was no use. Argo let himself be enveloped in a hug that could’ve won national prizes. Most people (who weren’t Didi) agreed that Ziggy was the master of the bear hug. Argo grinned at Didi over Ziggy’s shoulder, then squeezed Ziggy’s midsection with the rest of his remaining strength.
BrrrRRRRBRRrrrRRRRBT
Like always, Ziggy had to show he didn’t just have an ass that didn’t quit, but a stomach as well. And like always, despite his best efforts, Didi had to be standing behind him when it happened.
“Fuck!” Didi stumbled out of the way of the thick, brassy fart that rumbled from those overloaded cheeks.
Ziggy let out a satisfied sigh and a couple short blasts before he broke away from the hug. “Sorry, but you know a hug ain’t a hug unless it squeezes the farts out of you. And your boyfriend is a good hugger.”
“Oh, you,” said Argo, with an appropriately limp-wristed little wave.
“And by the looks of things,” Ziggy said, fully turning to Didi, “it seems like you’re in need of a hug most of all.”
“What? Wait. No, no, no, no – ”
Ziggy might have been big, but boy, could he be fast. Didi was instantly scooped up in those big, strong arms and given a firm squeeze. He wasn’t a hugger at the best of times, but now… oh God, all his synapses flooded with confusion and panic. Instead of his organs getting squished, Ziggy was compressing all the air that Didi had accumulated. Didi belched for a second, but that was the end of his relief allotment for the day. With nowhere to go, the remaining air bulged around his body and put pressure in all sorts of places. Even without pain, even knowing that he was capable of stretching so much larger, Didi’s subconscious screamed at him that at any moment, he was going to burst.
“Stop, stop, stop!”
More air was the last thing Didi needed, but he still found himself gulping it in once he was released. What the fuck was that about? He couldn’t remember the last time something like blind terror had struck his heart like that. As for encounters with Ziggy, that was somehow almost worse than the time Ziggy drunkenly sat on top of him and violated him with sleep farts for an hour.
“Gee, I’m sorry.” To his credit, Ziggy was sincerely repentant. “I didn’t know it was this bad.”
“Why. Are you here.”
“I saw you across the street yesterday and was surprised by your… you know.”
Ziggy did a little “all of this” gesture over Didi’s body.
“I know I hadn’t seen you in a week,” he continued, “but that’s not long enough for this to all be weight. No, I know a bad bloat when I see one, and I knew I needed to come to the rescue.”
The sofa dipped and groaned as Ziggy took a seat and began rummaging through a tote bag that Didi only now realized had been slung over his shoulder the whole time.
“Really? This just looks like a bad bloat to you?”
“You’re a mad scientist and your boyfriend’s a demon. Anything is possible.”
“Mad scientist? Why do you think I’m –”
“I brought all my best bloat remedies.” Ziggy pulled a box of tea out of his bag. “This is my favorite tummy tea. Ginger, chamomile, and mint combined are the most soothing way to get farts flowing.” He took out a much slimmer cardboard box that rattled as it moved. “These are some gas pills if the buildup’s really stubborn. Not as nice as drinking tea, but they do the trick.” He lifted another box of tablets. “I know milk can upset you, so I found some lactase enzyme pills in my kitchen. Someone gave them to me a few months ago, but I didn’t have the heart to tell them I wasn’t lactose intolerant; everything just makes me fart.” Finally, he lifted up a little booklet with what appeared to be stick figures. “And this was supposed to be your guys’ anniversary present: an illustrated guide to gas-relieving poses! Look, I even drew your faces on the example guys.”
Argo walked over and squinted at an exposed page. “Is that pose from the Kama Sutra?”
“Some of them are. Like I said, this was supposed to be an anniversary present.” Ziggy looked up at Didi with a troublingly eager look. “And, of course, there’s always massage.”
The sight of Ziggy making little grabby motions with his hands was the last straw.
“OK!” Didi went to the front door so quickly that not even his bloat waddle slowed him down. “Thank you very much. The gesture is appreciated, but unneeded. Feel free to take it all back, book included. Please leave.”
Ziggy watched Didi open the door and point outwards with the saddest puppy-eyes.
“But you’re hurting.”
“I’ll be better after some rest,” said Didi. “And privacy.”
“Didi, I know you’re a private guy, but that!” Again, Ziggy gestured to the new wonder-of-the-world-in-progress that was Didi’s bloat. “The only reason I’m not doubled over with cramps every day is because I fart whenever I need to! You must be in agony. You gotta let it out.”
“Don’t you think I want to…” Didi sputtered to a halt and changed tactics. “I’m not… that is… you don’t have to worry about…”
Didi groaned and shut the door. “You know what? Fine.” He turned to Argo. “I don’t suppose there’s anything in the contract against telling people?”
The imp shook his head, then reached out to gently take one of Ziggy’s hands. “Here’s what’s been going on…”
*
One fetishistic explanation later…
“Woah.”
Ziggy stared off into space, his hands cupped around a mug of tea. Desperate for an excuse to leave the room and not be reminded of the whole story behind his current ordeal, Didi had made everybody some of the “tummy tea,” even himself. Despite the tea being unable to do its job for him, Didi had to admit that it at least tasted nice.
Finally, Ziggy squinted at Didi, who was sitting across from him in his own armchair, despite it being more cramped than the sofa. As grateful as Didi was for the tea, he was not in the mood to sit on the same piece of furniture as a man who could vibrate an entire bed with what came out of his ass.
“Why would you do something like that?”
“I know, I should’ve expected a catch, I just – ”
“Farting,” Ziggy continued, “is one of life’s pleasures. Taking it away for a whole month… that’s madness.”
Didi gave up and drank more of his tea.
“I’d like to say I’ve been teaching him a lesson,” said Argo, “but I’ve also put myself in way over my head. I’ve been so tired maintaining everything that I keep forgetting I’m not dreaming. No joke, when you first arrived, I was eager to let you in because I thought this was a wet dream and you were here to smother me in your ass.”
Didi choked on his last sip of tea. “Ahem.”
“While you watched,” Argo added, as if that solved anything.
“Aw, flatterer,” said Ziggy. “But gosh, I’m so sorry for both of you. Listen, if there’s anything I can do to help you guys during all this, you just give me a call, OK?”
Something flashed behind Argo’s eyes. “You know, I just might do that.”
“What?” Didi couldn’t afford to trust that look anymore. “What are you planning?”
“Nothing, dear. I’d need to check if it’s possible, anyway.” Argo winked at Ziggy. “You’ll know when I’ve figured it out.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” Ziggy got to his feet. “Thanks for having me, but I better get – ooh.”
A long gurgle came from the depths of Ziggy’s stomach. Didi had listened to too many of those noises recently to not know what it meant, but he didn’t know what to do about it; it would take him at least half a minute to get up and leave the room.
“Oh, that tea’s really working.”
“Don’t you dare point that thing at me!” Didi blurted out.
“Noted,” Ziggy said with a grin.
Ziggy swung his large ass around, aiming it squarely at Argo, who was lounging in such a way for his head to be at precise ass-height. Didi had enough time to wonder if Argo had always been sitting that way before the air was filled with the sounds and smells of Ziggy’s vegetarian lifestyle.
fffFFRRrrrRRBBBBRRT! BrrRRRT-BBRRRRrrrrAAARRRT!
Argo leaned so closely toward the source of the farts that a few curls of his dark hair waved in the breeze. His mouth was open, for God’s sake, savoring the experience, and yet Didi was the one who started coughing. He hated that he could tell Ziggy must have eaten a big, tomato-heavy stew recently; he wouldn’t be able to think about eating something like that for weeks. He definitely didn’t appreciate that his boyfriend was only inches away from plunging his face into another man’s ass (he knew Argo wouldn’t cheat on him, nor would Ziggy allow it to happen; it was the principle of the thing that bothered him).
But most of all, Didi resented that this brazen cheek-flapping made him jealous. At that moment, he would have given anything to fart louder, longer, and more pungently than Ziggy ever could, just so that he could return to even half the size he was now.
With his tea-fueled gas at an end, Ziggy let out a low, contented sigh.
“One of life’s pleasures.”
“It’s definitely one of mine,” said Argo.
Ziggy finally noticed Didi glaring daggers at him. “Sorry, Didi. Guess I should’ve asked. Are we cool?”
Didi opened his mouth to say that wasn’t even what he was angry about, but then something caught his eye. “We might’ve been if you hadn’t gotten hard from it.”
Ziggy looked down with a little blush. “Oops. If it makes you feel better, that’s not because I farted on your boyfriend specifically. That’s just from my fetish.”
“Get out.”
“Will do.”
Ziggy cheerfully, if awkwardly, exited the apartment.
“Bye, guys!” he called out behind him. “Good luck with your no farting!”
Once the door closed, Argo slipped a hand in his pants.
“You mind if I jerk off to that?”
“I would, actually.”
“Eh, I’m still doing it.”
Didi rolled his eyes. Again, he wasn’t truly upset by everything that happened regarding his boyfriend’s horniness – Didi’s personal relationships were so fucking weird now – but he definitely needed a little alone time to recover from it.
“I’m going to lay down somewhere that doesn’t smell like ass.”
“Still smells better than what you put out.”
“If you love his farts so much, then remember to undo the spell before you leave me for him.” Didi said this flippantly, not meaning a word of it, but it still came out a little harsh.
Argo smiled sweetly at Didi, even with his fingers hard at work on himself. “I didn’t say I like his more than yours.”
With one final groan of frustration, Didi marched out of the room. On the sofa, Argo jerked himself off slowly, luxuriously, until he fell asleep before he could even come. He finally reached his climax during a wet dream where Didi’s ass was open once more and let out a fart that put Ziggy’s to shame.
No Fart November 2025: “It’s a Deal”, An Original Month-Long Narrative
For a full introduction about this story, check out the first post!
Read below for Day 4, in which Didi’s situation gets even more distressing.
FIRST | <- PREV | NEXT ->
Day 4
“Argo!!!”
Argo’s eyelids blearily slid open one at a time. Even after a full eight hours of sleep, his senses were fuzzy and slow. Maintaining a month-long spell this advanced turned every night into an all-nighter. It was a relief he wasn’t mortal, or he’d really be screwed.
Argo shut his eyes again and tried grasping the warm, weighted blanket of slumber.
“Argo, you get your God-damned ass in here this instant!”
Ah, fuck it.
Argo was still mid-yawn when he plodded into the bathroom. “What’s got your panties in a- woah.”
Didi had stripped down to just his boxers, which were currently shoved under a gut that was massive enough to model as someone pregnant with octuplets. What had stopped Argo in his tracks, though, was a newer form of stretched skin.
Didi’s arm swung out, his fist stopping just short of Argo’s head. The imp’s exhaustion meant that his flinch came a second too late, but it wasn’t needed. Didi was only showing off the arm itself.
“What,” he spat, “is this?”
“Oh, honey.” Argo took ahold of Didi’s arm and started to squeeze it. “You’re finally bulking up.”
Didi yanked his arm back. Being a lanky man, his limbs had always been thin. Now, though, they were centimeters larger in diameter. Perhaps a stranger wouldn’t have noticed the difference, but to Argo – and especially Didi – it looked like Didi had finally started lifting something other than papers. Or, for a glass half empty perspective, like Didi had been stung by wasps and was swelling up without the redness or hives.
“Why is it in my arms,” he hissed. “The stomach, I can understand. That’s where the gas is. It’s not supposed to be in my limbs!”
“Well, I’m sorry your infernal deal isn’t following logic, Mr. Scientist.”
Didi poked Argo firmly in the chest. He tried to hide a shiver; touching things with semi-inflated fingers was weird, like he could tell that his muscles and fat weren’t properly aligned.
“You give me an answer right now, or so help me God, I will get my meals blessed by a priest for the rest of the month, so that when I do let all this gas out, I will lock this apartment’s doors and windows and fumigate you.”
Argo groaned. “Fuuuuck. There’s no way I’m missing that. Just… hang on.”
Argo walked to the tub, turned the cold tap, and plunged his head underneath the faucet for five full seconds. Then, he turned off the water and vigorously shook his head.
“Whoo! OK, I’m good now.” Argo wiped himself off with Didi’s pajama top and tossed it aside. “All right, so. I knew you were gonna inflate like a Thanksgiving Day parade float. But then I wondered: what would that look like if only your stomach swole up? You’d just have, like, teeny, little twig arms and legs sticking out your huge bulbous gut. That’d look a little weird, right? Kinda hot. But weird. And I thought you’d want to avoid such an awkward picture, if necessary. Sooo I let the spell divert a little gas, even things out a bit more.”
Didi furrowed his brow. “So… my whole body will grow proportionately larger?”
“Oh no, not really. You’re still gonna get some of that ‘little arms and legs sticking out’ stuff eventually. But you’ll grow larger overall instead of staying, like, a regular guy lugging around a hyper-gut. And you now have some leeway where you’ll still look like a human getting larger in the usual fashion.”
Argo reached out and squeezed a swollen bicep. “If you flex right, you could make people think you’re just becoming a gym bro. Love you.”
After a quick kiss (and nip) on the cheek, Argo sauntered back to bed to sleep in til noon.
A sudden growl echoed from the depths of Didi’s gut. Panicking, clutching his forearms, Didi forced out as many deep, crude belches as he could. Once he reached as much relief as he was allowed, he noticed that the arms felt, if not back to normal, then more familiar. Small blessings, although he probably wouldn’t be able to return to this point tomorrow. Hell, he’d be lucky if his arms could stay like this until dinnertime.
Didi stood in the bathroom for a few moments afterwards, looking himself over in the mirror and hearing those words echo in his head:
No Fart November 2025: “It’s a Deal”, An Original Month-Long Narrative
For a full introduction about this story, check out the first post!
Read below for Day 3, in which Didi gets embarrassed at work.
FIRST | <- PREV | NEXT ->
Day 3
As if Didi needed another reason to hate the library ID scanners.
Like most universities, the one at which Didi taught used an ID card system for security measures. Almost every entrance for the university buildings required students and staff alike to use their ID cards to go through automatic turnstiles (the kind with metal arms that swung outward). It was an inconvenience, but small enough for Didi to overlook. He was a scientist, not a security guard, so he trusted that the system was doing its job.
What he couldn’t overlook, though, was how the university library – which didn’t have its own building – required another card scan. You already had to use your card to enter the university’s east building. The fact that you had to use your ID card again just to enter the library – which everyone had to do at some point – was idiotic. To make matters worse, the library turnstiles were even thinner and more cramped than the main entrance ones, but that had never posed a problem to Didi.
Until today.
“Are you… all right, professor?”
“I’m fine,” Didi hissed through gritted teeth.
He really wasn’t. After scanning his card, Didi had instinctively turned to accommodate for his messenger bag in the cramped space. He had forgotten to also accommodate his larger body – which had only grown larger since having chicken and broccoli for lunch – and now both he and his messenger bag were uncomfortably – publicly – wedged tight.
The student continued looking him over, obviously fighting the urge to pull out her phone. Other students didn’t have the same problem.
“I could call a security officer- ”
“No!” Didi twisted, grunting against the non-painful tightness that increased with each movement. “I have everything. Under. Cont- ”
A huge belch cut him off, large enough so that in the next moment, his gut lost the millimeters needed for him to stumble through the turnstile.
Didi took in the wide-eyed stares surrounding him, bowed his head, and marched through the library. He had recognized a few of those faces; he wondered how much extra credit he could bribe those students with to never speak of this incident to anymore. Sadly, he suspected that there would never be enough. From now on, he was triple checking that he let out all the gas he could before he left the house.
For now, Didi focused on getting the books he needed and then getting the hell out while he could still fit. In fact, he might as well check out anything he would need for the month and have a student return it when he was done. Part of surviving this month would be avoiding the library at all costs, as well as reducing his gas production in any way he could. No more careless, celebratory meals.
… but he’d still get his coffee. After all, he thought as he rubbed his growing gut, a man still deserved some pleasures.
No Fart November 2025: “It’s a Deal”, An Original Month-Long Narrative
For a full introduction about this story, check out the first post
Read below for Day 2, in which Didi learns a little more about the deal he made.
FIRST | <- PREV | NEXT ->
*
Day 2
The next day dawned. Didi blinked, sat up in bed, opened his mouth wide for a yawn…
… and belched.
His hands clasped over his mouth like a man who had sworn in church (although Didi wouldn’t have cared about a thing like that, being a particularly acerbic atheist). Didi sat, frozen, the sound still ringing in his ears. He couldn’t pretend he had never belched before, but he had never let out something so loud.
At his side, Argo rolled over and put a pillow over his head. “Five more minutes…”
Blushing, Didi’s hands moved to his stomach, resting on it like a shelf. It took him a moment to register that he had a large enough stomach to do this with in the first place.
The size of his belly had easily doubled. Before, it had looked like Didi was just noticeably bloated; he could have gotten the same effect by intentionally sticking out his gut after a full meal. Now, his stomach was large enough to strain against the buttons of his pajama shirt. He had heard of a person being so bloated that they looked pregnant, but this was the first time that he was seeing it in the flesh. He hadn’t expected it to be his flesh.
Slowly, Didi stood up, his gut bouncing as he righted himself. Like the day before, there was no pain, no cramps, just… tightness. Although now there was a new rush of air surging up, dislodged by the sudden jolt, and Didi could only hold it back for a moment before a new belch erupted from him. He tried closing his mouth, but the force of the gas was too great, and he belched again for at least three seconds before the worst of it passed.
“Well, cock-a-doodle-doo.”
Didi turned. There was Argo, finally up and grinning wide enough to show off all his fangs.
“Did you have something to do with this?” Didi snapped.
“Judging from the notes of sweet potato,” Argo said as he stood up, “I think our dinner had something to do with that. Although I’d also blame however much coffee you drank yesterday.”
Another gurgle came from Didi’s stomach. He instinctively put a hand on it again. “You said I wouldn’t have to worry about gas.”
Argo cocked his head. “I said you didn’t have to worry about farting. The gas is still there, all bottled up. And when one door closes, you can’t blame some of it from forcing open a window.”
Didi opened his mouth, but stopped short as another burp started to form. He was finally awake enough to muster his polite instincts, biting back the gas and swallowing it down. His stomach let out another growl, this one louder and more distressed, but it remained plump and painless.
“So that’s the catch?” muttered Didi. “I won’t have to worry about farting because I’ll just burp everything out?”
Argo snickered. Slowly, it turned into a laugh, loud and high, the kind that made Didi’s blood run cold.
“Oh, baby,” he sighed, “you will never be able to burp out all of it.”
As Argo strode to the bedroom door, his arm whipped out and whacked Didi hard on the back, forcing out a disjointed belch.
“Better get out what you can before work, professor.”
Didi stayed where he was, staring at the ground. His breathing was sharp, quick. He felt hot all over – he wasn’t going to cry, but he felt the shame and anger of a child who was seconds away from tears.
Of course there was a catch. Of course this couldn’t be perfect. He would still need deal with his gas after all, and all while inflating like a damn balloon. Didi wasn’t stupid enough to think this was the end of it, either. There was never just one catch in deals like this. When this was all over, Argo was going to get it.
But for now, he had work.
*
As Didi finished getting dressed, he realized that while his belt still had more notches leftover, the pants themselves were their own problem. He could pull them on just enough, but they were painful to close (or at least, pretty damn uncomfortable; the spell’s “lack of pain” was really screwing with his head), with each movement making his belt buckle and fly cut into his stomach.
After a moment’s thought, Didi looked around. He was alone in the bathroom, obviously. No imp in sight.
He cursed under his breath, then concentrated. He braced his hands against his stomach, pressed down, and let out a belch that roared. He went against all instinct to hold it back and followed it up with as many smaller burps as he could, until he couldn’t let out anything anymore.
Despite the lack of pain during his bloating, Didi realized that losing gas still gave him relief. He felt better, lighter. And with another tug, he finally got his pants on with only a minor struggle.
The sense of accomplishment was short-lived. Didi might’ve gotten his pants on, and he might’ve let out enough gas to make the bathroom noticeably muggier, but his stomach was still slightly larger than it was yesterday. He rubbed and concentrated, but even though he was keeping that window wide open, there wasn’t any gas that wanted to use it.
Argo’s laugh rang in Didi’s ears. A line from the contract danced behind his eyes.
Though the client will grow larger with each passing day of this year’s November, no harm shall befall him.
“Will” grow larger. Not “may” or “can.” Will.
His growing larger was inevitable. That’s why he couldn’t burp everything out. No matter what, the spell would make sure that he began each day at least a little larger than the next. On the bright side, that meant he could get his needed eructations done in the morning, in private. As for the downside…
Didi fingered the notches on his belt. He’d stop at the department store after work to stock up on new clothes. Larger work clothes, stretchy loungewear, anything he’d need. He may not be able to stop this, but he could face it head-on.
Didi glimpsed his profile in the bathroom’s full-body mirror. If he wore a facemask and hid his masculine jawline, he wouldn’t be surprised if strangers asked how far along he was. As he walked out to face the day, he hoped that by the end of the month, he would still look human.
No Fart November 2025: “It’s a Deal”, An Original Month-Long Narrative
What this is: I had an idea for a horny No Fart November story and wanted to write for it daily, while using a prompt list as a guide. After trying (and failing) to find a 2025-specific No Fart November prompt list, I decided to use one from 2024 and/or just wing it.
I have no word limit to reach, I just write until I feel the prompt has been fulfilled. This means that some entries will be super long, while others will be brief.
Interestingly, this story doesn't totally align with where my fetishes lie! While some farting will happen, this story is about how the protagonist won’t fart for a month. It’s also about him slowly inflating due to said no-farting, and I’m not even into inflation. That’s just how inspiration works, I guess.
Finally, while I am trying to complete prompts daily, I will not be posting them daily. I want time to give my writing at LEAST one round of editing/proof-reading, so I will be uploading my “chapters" in batches.
For this original story, I’ll sprinkle details in when necessary, but I won’t give huge exposition dumps. All you need to know is that the main characters are Didi (Vladimir), a super grumpy and standoffish genius-type who is just under 30 and already a college professor, and Argo, an imp (demon) from Hell who is just under 300 years old and has tricked his bosses down below that he is using a slow-burn plan to steal Didi’s soul and influence him into spreading Hell’s agenda. In reality, Argo is Didi’s boyfriend and has been living with him for a short while. Didi thinks farting is gross, but often gets super windy regardless. Argo is an utter fart freak who loves making his boyfriend gassy and embarrassed.
Without further ado, here’s the opening installment.
FIRST | NEXT ->
*
Day 1
“It’s impossible.”
Didi had barely finished saying it before he turned back to his papers. He felt the presence behind him vanish and sighed, looking forward to a nice evening alone grading essays. The feeling lasted for about three seconds.
Before his eyes, ink that had been used for a meandering sentence on the rarity of neon un-dried, swirled together, and formed a miniature image of his boyfriend.
“Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you’re not curious.”
“Go away, Argo.”
Didi cupped his left hand over the ink blot. The imp swirled away and reformed near the header of the page, laying seductively across the title.
“I won’t be able to offer this again! Not for a good, long while.”
“I have ten more of these to finish.”
“We won’t do it now. We just need to start the process at midnight. Then, you’ll have the whole month to look forward to.”
Didi huffed through his nose. “Even if your asinine idea was possible – ”
“Which it is.”
“Which it isn’t, I’d be able to enjoy my month fine without your – owch!”
PffffLRRRBT
Didi was as unable to hold back his gas as he was his exclamation of pain. He couldn’t stop himself from flushing a deep red, despite being the only person in the room feeling the remotest bit of shame.
Argo, the little shit, put down the doodled bow he had conjured to shoot a splinter-sized arrow from the page. The arrow in question vanished as soon as it had pricked Didi’s finger, but that hadn’t stopped it from hurting like hell.
“Sounded like you enjoyed that, that’s for sure.” Argo snickered and waved a hand in front of his face. “Yeesh. What was that? Three coffees for two hours of work? I wonder if your students know you fart more than a horse while you grade their work –”
Didi slammed a textbook on top of the essay. He sighed, stood up, and walked right into Argo’s chest.
“Ow.”
Didi spat out a curse and looked around his study. Despite himself, the offer was still bouncing around his head. Didi tried to remind himself that he knew better. He had two PhDs, and three years’ experience of dating Argo on top of that. He knew that no good could come from an imp’s bargain. He had the scars and humiliation of Argo’s past tricks to prove it.
And yet…
Didi growled and looked into Argo’s amber eyes.
“How?”
Argo snapped his clawed fingers, and when Didi next opened his eyes, they were both lounging on the study’s sofa with martini glasses in their hands. Didi’s held an espresso martini, of course, while Argo’s swirled with a slush mix made of void and mezcal.
“Due to a recent increase in the sheer immorality of politics, there have been some… cracks between our world and Hell. Like, imagine if Hell was literally underground. Some big booms have made a fissure in the Earth, and a lot more infernal energy has been leaking out because of it.”
Didi calmly took a sip of his martini. Other demons would have demanded a soul for it; he knew Argo would settle for head.
“Is that dangerous?” Didi asked. He sounded like he was inquiring about the risk of rain, not damnation.
“Eh.” Argo gulped down his drink, then took a bite out of the glass. “Some people are probably gonna sin more. We might get a new mass murderer or two. Nothing you’ll have to worry about.”
“Isn’t the fissure close to us?”
“Nothing to worry about,” Argo repeated. “Especially if I use up a lot of that energy first.”
Argo leaned forward, his eyes glowing especially bright.
“As an imp, I can harness it – use it – as long as that fissure is open, and it ain’t gonna close for one whole month. And because it’s straight from Hell, it can be a strong spell, one that’s reliably sustained for the entire 30-day period. No failures, no wavering. No mistakes.”
Didi’s tongue reached out to catch a speck of martini foam on his upper lip. He saw Argo’s gaze flicker down to it. Even during a deal, Didi could distract him.
Didi put his glass on a side table. “So, this is an unmissable opportunity of immense power for you. And you want to use it to stop me from… farting?”
Argo hooked a clawed finger under Didi’s chin, so that when his human swallowed, he could feel every bit of it. “Of course. Anything to help my sweetheart. I know how much your highness hates it.”
Didi gently put Argo’s arm down. “I can deal with it.”
“Really? We can still smell how you’ve been dealing with it. It’s a good thing I’m used to breathing in brimstone.”
It would’ve been easier to argue if it wasn’t true. Their teleportation to the sofa had left Didi’s coffee-heavy funk on the other side of the room, but it had still managed to travel over on its own.
“Even I hear the rumors, you know,” Argo continued. “Your coworkers avoiding the teacher’s lounge after you’ve been in there alone. Your students complaining about a stench that must be coming from the nearby bathroom. That you have those cushions on all your work chairs to muffle – ”
“Your point?” Didi snapped.
“I just want to help you with what you’re already trying to do: hold everything in.”
Argo signed something in the air, quick and dizzying, with his right hand. A scroll appeared; he let it unfurl to reveal paragraphs of text written in deep red glitter pen.
“I already whipped up a contract.” He winked. “Can’t break my training. You know how it is.”
This wasn’t Didi’s first time dealing with one of Argo’s contracts. Once he was sure Argo wasn’t going to steal his immortal soul, Didi had been more than willing to experiment with little agreements (for research purposes, of course). Fortunately – or not, depending on how you looked at it – Argo filled any soul-stealing habits with more manageable forms of torment. Their previous deals had resulted in Didi losing aspects of his self-worth, dignity, and overall willingness to show his face in public for short periods of time.
Yet, here Didi was, still alive and well. And even if Argo had a dark pit for a heart, Didi knew the imp loved him.
Didi snatched the contract and began speed-reading. He asked questions at the same rate that he read their answers, but Argo answered him all the same.
“You won’t deform me?”
“Of course not! The spell will only make sure your pretty hole stays closed. The hole itself will be untouched.”
“How can my body hold a month’s worth of gas? Won’t I be in pain? Won’t something rupture?”
“Never! Your entire body will be treated to a spell of elasticity. You’ll stretch as much as you need with no risk of wear or tear. As long as we get rid of your gas before the spell ends, your body will be able to return to normal with no issue. And that elasticity comes with… well, not numbness. You’ll feel a sensation during bloating. But it won’t be pain, I guarantee you that.”
Didi narrowed his eyes. Imps were tricky, but they always told the truth. Technically. That was the tricky part.
The contract was key. Imps always followed a contract’s wording, even – and especially – in ways that felt like they were just doing whatever they wanted regardless. But this contract’s wording seemed definite. There, backing up Argo’s claims in glittering script:
Though the client will grow larger with each passing day of this year’s November, no harm shall befall him.
“What about solid waste? Won’t gas escape then?”
“You’re almost thirty, you can say ‘shit.’”
“Argo.”
“That’s part of what makes the spell so intense. All of your ‘solid waste’ will be converted into pure gas. So, you won’t have to deal with that unpleasantness either!”
Didi wiped some sweat off his brow. This was getting serious. He was actually being swayed.
“But it’s waste. Gas is also waste. The body wants it out for a reason. Won’t I poison myself? Make myself sick? What if I get sick and my body can’t flush it out of my system because of this? Why have me bottle it up and not just… I don’t know, transport everything everywhere else? Why – ”
Clawed hands gently cupped Didi’s face. He looked into eyes that frightened him, once upon a time. Now, he only saw sweetness.
“I can’t make things easier,” said Argo. “Not without a challenge. This was the best I could do. But I promise, on my wicked heart, that your health won’t be in danger.”
After a moment, Didi put his own hands over Argo’s.
“I’ve heard that before,” he muttered, though not harshly. “I know you. Even if you keep me safe, at some point, you’ll play another little trick that makes things harder.”
Argo grinned, lifted the contract, and tapped the last paragraph. Didi scanned it, paused, then read the whole paragraph through, twice.
“You won’t be able to cast anything else?”
Argo shrugged. “The spell is too big. The constant elasticity, the waste transforming, the detoxifying, the pain removal… all of it requires my total concentration. I can do it, but I won’t be able to play any more tricks because of it.”
“For a month?”
“For as long as this spell lasts.”
“An entire month?”
Argo checked the contact. “Yup, the full thirty days.”
Rolling his eyes, Didi finally mentioned one of the most embarrassing parts of their relationship.
“But you like my… farts. Why would you work so hard on this?”
Argo’s lips curled into a terrible grin before he held out a hand. “Go ahead and find out.”
There it was: the static on the back of Didi’s neck, the rush of his own pulse in his ear, the feeling that something big was going to happen and wasn’t he so lucky to be the person it happened to? Temptation. No imp could do it better.
Didi sighed and clasped the imp’s hand.
“Deal.”
A few seconds passed. The contract lay in Didi’s lap, unsigned.
“Should… I get a pen?”
“Please, we have until midnight to start. First…”
Argo leapt so swiftly that Didi was already on his back before he realized what was going on. He groaned at the pinpricks of claws gripping his ass and pulling his cheeks apart.
BLLRRRT! PrrRRRmmpt-ppprrART
“… let’s get all this out.”
“Argo!”
Didi lost his words the moment Argo’s fangs found his neck. Hickeys had always been Didi’s weak point. Even as he tried to clench, Didi was unable to hold back even more sputters of gas.
“Please,” Argo whined around his pale neck. “You’re holding in so much. At least let me enjoy it…”
Didi growled, both from frustration and the fact that he was already half-hard. A sudden rumbling in his lower intestines pushed him towards an answer.
“Fine, just make it quick.”
In a few more serpentine movements, Argo clambered over Didi so that his rear was hovering over his human’s face, and his own face was able to plunge nose-first into Didi’s fragrant ass. At some point, both their pairs of pants had vanished, and Didi gasped at how suddenly he felt flesh snuffling among the hair around his hole.
BrrMMT-BRRrrrBRRRbbbrt
No plume of Didi’s next thick fart could escape Argo’s nose. The imp took everything with nary a cough nor a complaint, only moans.
One of the perks of dating a shapeshifter – even a demonic one – was that you could never expect the type of body you would be fucking next. Didi watched as the crotch that hovered above him shifted into a vulva, already wet and desperate to be touched.
“Now how about you pay me back for that drink?” Argo purred before he put his tongue to better use.
Didi didn’t have time to answer before Argo plopped himself onto Didi’s face. Didi spent the rest of the evening pleasuring his boyfriend proudly with one end and sheepishly with the other.
It was a miracle Didi still had time to grade his essays before midnight, even as he couldn’t stop wondering what he’d just gotten himself into.
*
When Didi awoke the next morning, he had nearly forgotten last night’s deal. It was only when he saw his boyfriend lying next to him – still deep in an exhausted sleep – that he remembered the deal, and the midnight ritual that followed.
Didi didn’t often suffer from morning thunder. He hadn’t had a particularly “volatile” supper last night, and he had gotten his coffee gas out before midnight. So he was somewhat surprised to realize, upon sitting up, that his stomach was a little larger than usual.
It was definitely a bloat belly – that was easy to tell with his slim figure. But aside from a light feeling of tightness – both internally and under Didi’s fingers when he caressed himself – he didn’t feel a stomachache. There wasn’t pain or the sense that he needed to rush to the toilet.
The toilet. That’s right, according to the agreement, any solid waste would turn into its pure gas equivalent, and in the mornings – usually not long after his morning cup of coffee – Didi always needed some… waste disposal. Obviously, the middleman had been cut out and he was now left with a stomach full of air.
Against all his etiquette and sense of pride – and only after looking behind him to make sure Argo was still fast asleep – Didi leaned over, bore down, and tried to fart.
Nothing. The gas stayed firmly in his gut, and if loose lips sank ships, his anus could guard a fleet. He couldn’t fart if he tried.
A loose, breathy laugh escaped Didi’s lips. This was really happening. For one month, there would be no worrying about crop dusting the university halls, or having to clench with all his might during exams. He could drink as much coffee as he wanted, or not consider what to eat before going out in public. He could cheat and eat fast food or instant ramen for dinner without worrying about the disaster it would become on the way out. Hell, he could even eat anything that gave him the runs and not even consider the consequences.
For the first time in years, Didi greeted the day with pure merriment.
*
The day passed like a dream.
Didi started the day by going to a coffee shop and getting the largest cup he could find, along with an espresso shot, milk, whipped cream, and dark chocolate drizzle. He usually didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but today, he didn’t care.
Lunch was a delight. At the private faculty cafeteria, he had another coffee, along with a heavily spiced lentil-and-rice dish with leafy greens on the side. Even with his stomach slowly growing larger, the spell’s effects didn’t put a damper on his appetite (perhaps it was another effect of the stretching?), and he cleared his whole plate. In the restroom, where Didi only had to worry about peeing, he realized he had to shift his belt to another notch. Didi was happy to do it. After all, it was a small price to pay for his pleasure, and he had still had a few belt notches to go.
Didi heard the buzzing of his students as he lectured, catching a word here or there about how uncharacteristically upbeat he was today. He didn’t rain down discipline, even when he heard someone wondering if this was because was getting laid more at home. Didi couldn’t be too mad at that guess; after all, he had that penciled in for the evening.
Didi struck while Argo was blearily washing dishes after a dinner of home-cooked steaks with a side of roast sweet potatoes. A half-scrubbed plate clattered back into the sink as Didi pinned Argo against the counter. Even with a full stomach, Didi kissed him hungrily.
“What’s gotten into you?” Argo could barely manage the words through Didi’s lips.
“I just wanted to thank you.” Didi pressed himself against Argo, squeezing his dome of a stomach between them. “For being so sweet.”
Argo had been sluggish all day. There were even bags under his eyes – a dark purple against the light crimson of his skin. But as Didi’s firm, bloated self pressed him harder against the sink, Argo couldn’t help but buck his hips in delight.
“You know,” Argo said, tracing a finger down Didi’s ass, “with the spell in place, I won’t be able to fuck you. Nothing goes in or out.”
Didi hummed. “I know. But that won’t stop me from fucking you.”
Argo could feel that Didi meant it, firm against his thigh.
“Oh my… well, I have to warn you…” Argo theatrically put a hand to his forehead. “The strength of the spell… I won’t be able to do too much.”
Didi leaned to whisper in Argo’s ear. “Then it’s a good thing you’ll only have to lie there and take it.”
Didi knew that if Argo hadn’t been so tired, he’d have used his powers to transport both of them to the bed then and there, already fully nude and lubed. But as their romp that night proved, a little scrambling, fumbling, and tearing off clothes wasn’t a bad thing at all.
The day ended as it began: with Argo sleeping deeply (and, judging from all the noise he had made, happily) and with Didi basking in an optimistic glow. The spell had made everything better. Even the sex was magnificent; it wasn’t complicated or kinky, but Didi thrusted so much harder when he wasn’t worried about holding back farts. He didn’t even mind navigating around a bloated stomach; without pain, it made him feel larger, more powerful, and since it was mostly air, it didn’t weigh him down. And Argo certainly loved it, which was a plus.
As Didi fell asleep himself, his hands thoughtfully rubbing his rumbling gut, he smirked at how he might’ve stumbled upon the one deal with a devil that he wouldn’t regret.
fuck it im hitting tenna with the feminization beam because i can do whatever i want o(≧∀≦)o
T3NN@ HOUSEWIFE-IFICATION BEAMM!!!!!!!!!
[not much feminization...just a bit of body worship and t3nna being a little shy over his body pretty much being worshipped.]
i really like to think sp@m really likes filming a lot of his and t3nna's more intimate, sexy moments. he just strikes me as a guy who likes to go back and jerk off to videos he has recorded. t3nna doesn't mind it at all,,, he loves being a star, no matter what the reason for it being.
there's a lot of close up shots of t3nna's bloated tummy after being stuffed to the brim. [just thinking about him in a robe and his underwear,,, his tummy is very visible.] t3nna leaves sp@m to the nearest couch, sitting down in front of him. sp@m uses his free hand to gently rub his tummy, giving it a few squeezes. t3nna keeps his hand close to sp@m's, feeling something in his throat before he lets out a really loud burp. sp@m starts kneading his tummy too, setting the camera down he can could get a few more burps out of him.
sp@m kneels in front of t3nna, planting kisses on his tummy. t3nna points out that you can hear his stomach gurgling and groaning, squirming around because his tummy feels so tight and full. sp@m's lips tickle so much and he starts blushing about the feeling. sp@m's hands work their way down to t3nna's lower stomach, pushing down to see if he can push anything out. the fart that came out was really quiet and short,,, but the smell alone told sp@mmy there was more in there– he just needs a little bit of pushing.
t3nna turns around, gripping the back of the sofa. he pointed his ass in sp@m's direction, letting his tail way to mention his partner to get closer to him. sp@m eagerly came up behind him, letting his nose rest above t3nna's hole, despite the underwear in the way. t3nna can feel his bloated tummy press against the couch, pushing him to let out another. this time, it was a lot louder. he could feel sp@m eagerly sniffing up pretty much every molecule of his gas. as much as sp@m likes to use t3nna as a cushion, it's a nice change of pace for it to be the other way around.
t3nna wraps his tail around sp@m's head, following behind with his hand to really wedge his partner in there. he pushes his tummy against the pillow actually, feeling himself rip another fart. sp@m, out of reflex, tries to pull away for just a second but he literally CANNOT get out. it's hot as fuck and he's rock solid already but he was a little embarrassed that he couldn't pull away. t3nna seems to be enjoying him,,, and it feels so good to let his gas out on a nice little cushion.
unspecified ideas that i'm too tired to actually loop into this idea:
⟡ t3nna gets so flustered over farting on sp@m without underwear on. the amount of times he has wanted sp@m to put his nose right IN his ass so he can just mercilessly rip onto it.
⟡ sp@m's tail won't stop wagging the entire time. he's exactly where he wants to be and he will happily suffocate in his partner's fault.
⟡ i really like to think t3nna gets chatty anytime the camera is on him. he asks sp@mmy if he likes the smell, called his a dirty boy for liking it, and saying that he is so full of gas that they were going to be on that couch for a while. i need him to get more degrading...it's so hot to imagine him taunting and teasing sp@m for "not being able to run away from the scent."
⟡ t3nna takes the camera from the side table sp@m puts it on to show "everyone" sp@m being such a good cushion for him and he gets close so you can hear the tummy grumbles and the farts from up close. his camerawork could get a lot of work but, as long as sp@m can hear t3nna ripping ass and burping, he's okay...
⟡ i'm still stuck on t3nna either wearing a nice, pretty red robe and his underwear or imagining him in a cute outfit,,, i need him in short white shorts,,, i need them tight enough to hug all of his curves,,, im too indecisive.
i hope this all is somewhat readable. i have one eye open and i can feel myself falling asleep
I GENUINELY GENUINELY HAVE NO WORDS TO EXPLAIN HOW FUCKING INSANELY HOT THIS ASK IS I AM GOING TO BE THINKING ABOUT THIS SHIT FOR WEEK JUST TAKE THIS REACTION IMAGE HOOHGH MY GOD
Tenna’s guts had been roiling since his business partner had treated him to a spicy lunch, but he had opted to power through it and go on with the show. He had done a good job of holding it in, and hiding his discomfort from the crowd, up to the very end, that is…
“You have been enjoying Spamton and Tenna’s TV Time!” he said with a singsongy tone. “Isn’t that right, my fantastical friend?” Tenna motioned to Spamton, who stood by his side.
Spamton was cheered on by the crowd as he waved and nodded. “And I couldn’t do it without my bosom buddy, Tenna!” he gestured back to Tenna.The crowd roared with cheers, and a rose fell at Tenna’s feet.
At that moment, he ignored the ominous warnings coming from his bloated midsection, and he bent down to pick up the rose.
BBBLRBPHHT
Tenna straightened back up almost immediately, display flushing a deep crimson. The smell spread through the stage and the front row, dousing everyone nearby in an eggy miasma. Tenna was mortified to see some of the crowd members covering their noses and attempting in vain to fan away the smell by waving their hands.
Tenna turned to Spamton, and he was looking at Tenna with an…interesting expression. The mailman’s face was a mixture of fascination and secondhand humiliation. Tenna took note of the way his large glasses and powdery makeup hid the reddening of his cheeks.
Then Tenna looked back to the audience. The smell had dissipated, but the cause had been obvious.
