By: Areturned
The cell was dark and cramped. It held only a small bed and a toilet, and there were no windows. There was a light fixture on the ceiling, but the switch was outside, so he couldn’t control it himself. Instead he relied on the faint glow bleeding through the edges of his cell door to see.
Smith lay staring at the ceiling, calmly awaiting his interrogation. It was unfortunate that the enemy had discovered him, but not entirely unexpected. As a spy you had to be prepared for any eventuality.
His mission now was very simple: endure whatever tortures the enemy had to throw at him, and tell them nothing.
Suddenly the door hissed open. Light flooded the room, blinding after the long hours of darkness. An imposing silhouette appeared in the doorway.
“Good morning, Mr. Spy!”
He blinked. As his eyes adjusted, he took in his new visitor. She was large, easily over six feet with a wide, thick frame. She wore a black latex bodysuit that squeezed her tight all over, particularly around her chest, thighs and buttocks, where the suit looked like it was threatening to burst. The only exposed skin was above her neck. She had a pretty face, bright blue eyes, and blonde hair that fell loosely around her shoulders.
“My name is Tiffany, and I’m going to be your torturer!”
She introduced herself in a friendly tone, the way a waitress might greet you at a family restaurant. She stepped inside and the door slid shut behind her. The already cramped room became positively claustrophobic with her inside; the mini-giantess was big enough to touch two opposing walls if she stretched her arms out.
“Okay, so I’m supposed to find out your real name, who you’re working for, what your mission is, what you know about us… um…” She ticked the questions off on her fingers. “Basically anything you might not want me to know. We’re not exactly in a rush, so I’m gonna relax and take my time with it. Oh – but if you want, you could just tell me everything now instead, and I can skip the torture altogether!” She smiled at him expectantly.
Smith almost had to laugh. He had only two words to say to her. “Fuck you.”
She nodded, unbothered. “Yep! I pretty much expected that. In that case we can get started, but remember that’s an open offer for future sessions if you ever decide you want the torture to stop, okay? Okay~!”
Tiffany began preparing him for the session. There were straps on the side of the bed he hadn’t noticed that she used to restrain his limbs, so that he lay face-up with his head resting at the very edge of the mattress. Smith didn’t bother to resist, knowing it was pointless.
Tiffany hummed happily as she worked, laying a strip of tape over his mouth. He couldn’t talk now – not that he’d been planning to anyway – but more importantly he couldn’t breathe, except through his nose. What was she planning? Suffocation? Waterboarding? Whatever it was, he was determined it wouldn’t work. He’d been trained to resist all those kinds of techniques.
“All set!” Tiffany declared. She stood and walked to the end of the bed, hovering above him. When Smith looked up, two gigantic beach-ball sized butt cheeks covered half his vision. Then, without warning – they came crashing down right on his face!
He let out a low grunt as he disappeared into her crack, her weight bearing down on him as they sank together into the mattress. The latex rubbed against his skin, squeaking noisily. His nose was compressed heavily and he had to suck in hard to get any air at all.
“Oh, whoops! I totally forgot.”
She bent forward slightly and reached back. Her hand appeared, fishing around her crack for a small metal zipper. She pulled it, opening a small hole in the suit… and immediately, a putrid, rotten smell leaked out.
“It’d be kinda hard to breathe down there without this, huh?” said Tiffany. “I mean, it’ll still be hard to breathe, but… you know what I mean.”
She sat back down again, this time guiding herself so that Smith’s nose poked right up into the suit hole. He was nestled deep between her ass-cheeks, he realised, feeling the warmth of her body heat and inhaling the rancid stink of trapped farts and sweat. He took a sniff and his body lurched involuntarily.
“Yeah, pretty ripe, huh? This suit really seals in the flavour. Still, at least you get a nice breeze to enjoy!” She giggled.
Smith heard her stomach gurgle, and realised at once what she meant. For the first time he felt afraid. But there was nothing he could do except lie there and take it.
Bbbbrrraaappp!
The fart rushed straight up his nostrils, filling him with the stink of pure shit. It was unbelievably bad – he could even taste it somehow, his tongue curling up in disgust. He felt the urge to spit, but with his mouth taped he could only suck down the hot gas and breathe in some more.
“How’s it going down there? Ready for another one?” Tiffany asked. She didn’t wait for an answer.
Bbbbrrooooorrp!
This one was even worse, somehow. He could actually taste the eggs. He groaned miserably and flexed his arms, momentarily forgetting he was restrained. All he knew was he had to get away from this smell.
“Aw, sorry, Mr. Spy. No escaping for you!” Tiffany bounced playfully on top of him. “You’re staying right there until you’ve sniffed up alllll my farts. And I had a pretty big breakfast, so… get comfy!”
They continued this way for some time, Smith laying helpless, smothered beneath Tiffany’s butt as she pumped him with a constant stream of ass-gas. Occasionally his torturer would laugh, or jiggle slightly, or make a little comment after an especially pungent release.
Brroot!
“Eww, stinky.” Like she could even smell it. The suit had only one opening, and it was firmly plugged by Smith’s nose. Her farts had nowhere else to go.
Eventually, after what had to have been a solid hour of stink, the torture came to an end. The giant girl finally ran out of gas, and after squeezing out one last weak “blpt” she sighed, wiggled her hips and hopped off his face.
“Okay then, I’m all done for today!” She announced. She stuck a hand underneath herself to zip the seat of her suit back up; her ass was so big she seemed to struggle to reach it. “We made a good first start here, huh?”
He glared at her, face covered in ass-sweat and reeking of her morning gas. She giggled, pulling the tape off his mouth and removing his arm restraints.
“No need to be grumpy! Like I said, you can end the torture whenever you want – just say the word and you can kiss my big butt goodbye. But until then, we’d better get used to each other! So I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Don’t go anywhere! Ha ha! Bye-bye now!”
She stood waving at him until the door slid fully closed, leaving him on his own again.
He started to rise, then sat back, exhausted after the long session. He lay down and closed his eyes, letting sleep take him. There wasn’t much else to do in his cell anyway.
*
Smith started awake at the sound of his door hissing open. He sat upright, instantly alert, and saw once more a tall feminine figure silhouetted against the light flooding into the room.
Tiffany again? Had he slept through an entire day already? No, it couldn’t have been that long. As his eyes adjusted, he realised this was somebody new.
“Get up, prisoner.” She commanded in a cold, harsh voice. “My name is Alexa. I’ll be handling your afternoon torture sessions.”
Like Tiffany, Alexa was tall, strong and beautiful, and she wore a similar latex bodysuit. She was slimmer around the waist than his morning torturer had been, however. Her hair was black, pulled back in a tight ponytail, and she had pale skin where Tiffany had been quite tan. Everything about her seemed hard and cruel.
“Get up,” she repeated. “Unless you want to start this session with a broken limb.”
Smith rose quickly. There wasn’t even enough space for them both to stand without brushing up against each other; he stared up at her, face practically inside her bulging cleavage, and awaited further instruction.
Alexa smirked. “You stink, prisoner. Tiffany must have given you a decent introduction. I’d better make sure I’m not outdone.” The smile vanished. “Now, hands up.”
On the ceiling was a plastic cord that, like his bed straps, Smith hadn’t noticed until now. With his hands upraised, Alexa tied the cord around his wrists, forcing them together. When he lowered his arms again the cord extended, with some minor resistance.
“On your knees,” the dominatrix commanded. Smith obeyed, feeling the cord pull tighter; there wasn’t much length left in it. He was left kneeling, staring up at Alexa, his hands clasped upright as if in prayer while he waited for her next orders.
She gave the cord a sharp tug to test its strength. Satisfied, she looked down at him. “You probably know what happens now. I have some questions, you have the answers. But assuming you have anything to say, it’ll have to wait. After all,” she taped his mouth shut, “chairs don’t talk.”
With that she sat down hard on Smith’s upturned face. The crushing weight of her booty shoved him downwards, but only a few inches – then the cord snapped taut, his arms were yanked as far out as they could go, and his body was forced all at once to bear the full brunt of her impressive weight.
The pressure on his neck was incredible, the weight literally pile-driving his head up her ass. Like Tiffany’s, this latex suit had a hole in the seat for his nose to enter; but with the added force he was driven far deeper into Alexa’s crack, to the point he could practically feel her asshole tickling his nose. The stench was just as bad, shitty, tangy and bitter. The unmistakable scent of sweat and stale gas.
“How’s the smell down there?” Alexa’s mocking voice filtered down to him. “Enjoy it while you can. You know what comes next.”
Fpppoorrrrrppptptt!
Hot, thick gas flooded his lungs, laced with the scent of rotting vegetables. He instinctively tried jerking his head to one side, desperate to get away, but with the sheer force bearing down on him he couldn’t so much as flinch. He could only face her asshole head-on, and keep sniffing.
“My, you sucked that up quickly. Have another.”
Ggggrruuurrrbbtt!
This fart bubbled angrily, and burned so hot Smith could practically feel it singe his nose hairs. He swallowed it with a shudder, tasting the spoiled dairy in the back of his throat.
Alexa seemed to sense his disgust. “I hope you didn’t think that was a bad one, prisoner, because we’re just getting started. I had a big bowl of cheese and broccoli for lunch. I don’t even like the stuff.” He felt her cheeks tense around his ears. “But you’re going to like it even less.”
The session dragged on for what felt like an eternity. Sniffing farts was bad enough, but forced to take them while being used as a human seat, the weight of a mini-giantess crushing down on him – that was another level of torture.
Within minutes his knees and neck were aching, and his wrists and spine soon joined them. As a further act of cruelty, Alexa would occasionally jump up and down on his face to “get more comfortable”. Each heavy blow was agony on his joints, and ground his nose deeper and deeper inside her ass.
Blllppttptptp!
Smith grimaced as he inhaled yet another gurgling cheddary fart, muscles aching, his every breath toxic and foul. A strange thought crossed his mind. Alexa’s methods were so brutal, he almost missed being under Tiffany.
Just when he was sure he could take no more, the session finally, mercifully ended. Alexa stood up, her cheeks sliding off of his face with a soft schlpt, and Smith was free to breathe fresh air again. Wordlessly his torturer began releasing his bonds, then tore the tape off his mouth in one harsh rip.
“We’re done for now. I’ll see you again tomorrow. Just don’t expect me to go as easy on you as I did today.”
Smith didn’t reply. He remained on the floor, focused on catching his breath and massaging his sore body. Alexa strode to the door, her enormous buttocks heaving with each step. But at the exit she stopped and looked back at him.
“Let me give you some genuine advice, prisoner.” She said. “Give up now. Cast your worthless pride aside and tell us what we want to know. You’ll be saving us a lot of work, and yourself an incredible amount of pain, disgust, and humiliation. Because you will break eventually.” She smirked. “I guarantee it.”
Then she was gone, leaving him alone once more in the dark.
Smith took a few minutes to sit back up. His head spun, woozy from inhaling so much methane. He clawed at his face, trying and failing to wipe away the lingering stink of ass. Not that there was much point – he’d be getting a fresh coating tomorrow morning.
Still, if this was the worst they had to throw at him? He’d be just fine. The gas might stink, and the face-sitting was painful, but he could take it. This was a… unique form of torture, but he’d been trained to resist far worse.
Smith chuckled to himself, remembering Alexa’s parting words. “I will break, huh?” He muttered. “Bring it on. I’ll take as much as you can dish out.” In the end, they’d see who got the last laugh.
PART 2
It was a normal afternoon for Smith. Which, in his new daily routine, meant kneeling on the hard floor of his tiny prison cell, wrists tied to the ceiling by a plastic cord. And having his face used a seat by an enormous, cruel, beautiful dominatrix, who delighted in pumping him full of her toxic farts.
Blllppppttptptp!
“Ugh, so greasy. That one burned coming out.” Alexa complained, grinding her latex-clad ass down harder on his head. “I blame you for this, you know. I only ate that chilli for the rancid gas it gives me.”
Beneath her, Smith groaned. His mouth was gagged, his nose poking into the small hole in the bottom of her bodysuit that forced him to inhale squarely from her unwashed asshole. It wasn’t hard to see who was suffering more. But she already knew that.
Sbbllpptt!
Another rancid, bubbling fart burst against his nostrils, filling them with the scent of beans and cheese, and to his disgust Smith felt something wet mark the tip of his nose.
“Oops. Alright, we’re done here.” Alexa rose off his face, flexing her glutes in front of him. “If I push any harder I’ll end up giving you more than just gas, and I don’t think you’re ready for solids.” She turned, smirking. “Yet.”
Smith waited for her to untie his wrists, allowing him to relax at last; this forced kneeling position was agony on his knees and back, and especially his neck.
“You can remove the gag yourself. I don’t want to touch your filthy face.” Alexa declared, already walking away. “If you have anything to say, you can tell it to Tiffany in the morning. But I expect I’ll be seeing you again, same time tomorrow. Disgusting pervert.”
With that she was gone, the door to his cell hissing closed behind her.
Smith picked himself off the ground, his entire body aching. He sat on his bed and peeled the tape gingerly off his mouth, letting out an exhausted sigh. “Done for another day,” he muttered. That was the hard part over, at least. Tomorrow morning he had Tiffany’s session to look forward to.
“No,” he frowned. That was a weird way of phrasing it. He definitely wasn’t “looking forward” to the blonde bimbo’s turn to choke him with her flatulence. It was just that by comparison, hers were by far the easier sessions of the two.
Tiffany used the bed, for example, which meant less weight crushing his body – it was a lot less painful than Alexa’s human chair method, which he supposed was the point. She wasn’t openly insulting like Alexa, either. In general the blonde was softer, gentler, more pleasant to be around.
“Both are wasting their time, though,” he chuckled to himself. It didn’t matter how cruel or kind either of them were, how rancid their farts smelled. It hadn’t broken him after a week, and it wouldn’t break him, no matter how long it continued. He’d been trained to resist torture by electrocution.
A few bad smells were nothing.
*
The same routine continued. Smith slept, and woke, and sniffed farts.
His days began with a taste of Tiffany’s morning gas, and he suffered through Alexa’s post-lunch wind in the afternoon. In between sessions, meals were pushed through a slot in the bottom of his cell door. The food was tasteless, some kind of bland grey sludge, though Smith was grateful for that. All the gas he inhaled made him so nauseous he doubted he could stomach anything with actual flavour.
Days turned to weeks. Maybe even months – Smith lost count early on. He’d swallowed hundreds of farts. He was more familiar with his two torturers than any friend or lover he’d ever known. When he closed his eyes at night he could still see them, turning to lower their huge asses onto his face.
“Get ready, Mr. Spy! Here comes a big one!”
Ffrrrorrppuurummppbbt!
“Sniff deep, prisoner. I’m going to make you puke today.”
Ssbbrrruuutttttrrrrlllppbbtlb!
Throughout it all, Smith endured. He remained as committed as ever that no matter how nasty, he wouldn’t give in and agree to talk just to end the torture. But over time, something strange started to happen.
As the days dragged on, he found himself dreading Alexa’s sessions more and more. That was no real shock – they were painful, and demeaning. But at the same time, Tiffany’s sessions were becoming more… tolerable. Not just the better option by comparison. It was something more.
Her farts still stank, obviously. Her asshole reeked like an open sewage line, and he hated every second he spent choking on the foul gas it spewed. But every afternoon, when Alexa came to punish his nose, he found himself wishing more and more that he was under the giggling blonde instead.
More time passed, and the feeling only grew stronger. To Smith’s horror, his preference for Tiffany’s sessions was slowly becoming actual desire. He wanted to sniff her farts. He wanted to experience their awful odour. Her gas was nauseating, but at the same time it satisfied some craving, some itch he couldn’t explain.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” He muttered to himself, alone in the dark. “I can’t let either of them find out about this.”
Then, one morning, it happened. Tiffany was just coming to the end of their session. She hopped off Smith’s face, happily humming a little tune as she bent down to remove his gag and bindings.
“There we go! All done.” She smiled. Then her stomach gave an audible growl. “Ooh. Maybe not all done. I might have one last little stinker in me.”
Her ass still hovered, mere inches from Smith’s face. His pulse quickened as he watched her enormous, round buttocks jiggle and grind against each other, that rancid stench continuing to leak out between them.
“Maybe if you’re a very good boy, Mr. Spy, I’ll give you one more fart to smell,” she giggled. “What do you say? Do you want one more? Be a good boy and give my big fat butt a kiss, and maybe you’ll get a tasty treat~! Come on, pucker up! Who’s my good boy?”
It wasn’t on purpose. Smith didn’t even realise he was moving. But before he knew it, his lips were pursed and pressed against Tiffany’s left cheek.
His torturer paused. She looked down at him, a look of surprise on her face. Then she smiled.
“Hey! When did you get so well-behaved? Well, a promise is a promise!”
She sat down again, guiding his nose back up into the hole of her suit.
Brrraaaaarrrrrrrraapp!
This was a nasty one. The warm, rumbling fart flooded Smith’s nostrils, filling him with the scent of eggs and sour milk, as well as a deep sense of shame. It was so awful… so why had he literally asked for it?
“Ahh. Okay, now we really are done. But I’m proud of you, my new goodest boy!” Tiffany blew a kiss over her shoulder as she walked to the door. “Keep up this best behaviour, and I’ll see you real soon, okay? Buh-bye!”
The moment she left, Smith sat up and put his head in his hands. “Am I going crazy?” He asked himself. That was an unbelievable slip-up for a spy of his calibre. Still, he thought he might just have gotten away with it; he’d know for sure when he saw Tiffany again tomorrow.
Alexa’s gassing that afternoon felt like the longest and most brutal of his entire stay. But he survived it, motivated by the knowledge he’d be smelling Tiffany’s farts again soon. Smith barely slept that night, and when the cell hissed open the next morning he sat up at once, eager to begin the session.
But when his torturer appeared in the doorway, his heart sank. “You?”
“Me,” replied Alexa, stifling a yawn. “Get up and get ready fast. I’ll warn you, I’m not as nice a person this early in the morning.”
He didn’t move. His heart was pounding. “B-but what, uh,” he swallowed and tried to sound casual. “What happened to the other one? Tina, or whatever it was? Did you swap shifts?”
Alexa looked at him, her expression unreadable. “Tiffany is taking some time off,” she said. “I’ll be covering her sessions for a while. So you’ve got me twice a day. Lucky you.”
Smith felt sick. No. No, this couldn’t be happening!
“Now, I’ve told you once already. Hurry up and get into position.” The dominatrix snapped. “This coffee is going right through me.”
*
The daily routine had been torture before. Now, it was hell.
Smith hadn’t realised how dependent he’d become on Tiffany’s sessions. Now he only had Alexa to deal with, there was no reprieve from her brutal methods – no ‘good’ farts to look forward to, to carry him through the misery of her torturous toots.
“Come on, prisoner.” Alexa mocked. “This is pathetic, even for you.”
Sbbllaaapppttpt!
Smith groaned into his gag, thrashing his head wildly to try and free his nose from the rich stink simmering in Alexa’s crack. The aroma was evil, like injecting pure shit up his nostrils. He couldn’t believe a fart could smell so bad.
“Settle down, I said.” Alexa stressed the word as she squeezed his neck between her thighs. “Honestly, you’ve turned into such a baby recently. If you want all this to end, you already know what you have to do.”
He did. But still, Smith refused. Even now with Tiffany gone, and the – fart withdrawal, or whatever the hell it was – making Alexa’s gas seem ten times worse, he was determined not to give in.
“I can take it,” he thought, sweat dripping down his face. “I don’t care how bad it stinks. I’ll never talk!”
For another week he endured the double dose of Alexa. The constant back-breaking pain, the nightmarish stench, and his desperate urge to see Tiffany again were almost more than he could bear. He was at his absolute limit.
And then, one morning, it all changed. Smith sat on his bed and watched his cell hiss open, as it always did. But for the first time, there were two women silhouetted in the doorway.
“Hello Mr Spy! Did you miss me?”
Smith almost fell over. His eyes drank in the soft, jiggling curves of the smiling blonde. She was back! Tiffany was back! He gasped and scrambled immediately to stand up.
“Hold it, prisoner. You stay on the bed. This is going to be a tight enough squeeze as it is.”
Behind her, Alexa was also forcing her way into the room. As predicted, the tiny cell could barely contain both huge, busty women; they bumped and ground against each other, latex suits squeaking noisily, until eventually Tiffany managed to make it to the far side of the room. She sat on the lidded toilet and inspected her nails while Alexa stood beside the bed, looking down on Smith.
“It’s time.” She said. “Today is the day you tell us everything.”
Smith swallowed dryly. His eyes flicked between the two dominatrixes.
“Let’s start simple,” Alexa continued. “Tell us your name. Your real name.”
He remained quiet. Alexa stared at him for a moment, then looked over at Tiffany and nodded. The other torturer gave a cheerful thumbs up and leaned to one side, lifting one heavy cheek off the toilet lid.
Frrrruuuooooorrrrrppppt!
A long, low-pitched fart shattered the silence of the cell. Smith’s eyes widened at the sound, so bassy and deep; his body twitched involuntarily, desperate for a taste. Alexa noticed his reaction and smirked.
“Take a look,” she ordered, pointing at the blonde’s butt. Nestled deep in her crack was the familiar glint of the zipper that exposed her naked ass. Only now, it was sealed shut.
“These suits are skin-tight, remember?” Tiffany smiled at him. “And air-tight. That means all that hot gas is still trapped in here, behind this zipper.”
“You want to smell it, don’t you?” Alexa chuckled softly. “There’s no point trying to hide it. See, this newfound appreciation for Tiffany’s scent you’ve been so worried about keeping secret didn’t just happen by accident. We’ve been conditioning your mind from day one. All that time with your nose buried up our asses, the thousands of farts you’ve sniffed... our stink has been seeping slowly into your brain for months, associating her gas with pleasure and mine with disgust. And now you’re finally ready. One last little push, and you’ll be transformed permanently into our perfect, obedient, hopelessly fart-addicted slave.”
“No,” Smith gasped.
Alexa grinned. “I told you at the start, it was in your own interests to give up quickly. You should have taken my advice.”
Smith’s heart pounded. He shook his head, refusing to accept what he was hearing. “I don’t care! I’ll never talk!”
“So you still want to do things the hard way? Fine by me.”
The sadistic torturer turned, presenting him with her enormous rear. Her zipper was already open. With one hand she grabbed the back of his head, forcing him between her cheeks and holding him there.
Spprrraaarrrrpppptt!
A burning, sputtering fart sprayed him in the face, reeking of rotten onions. Alexa’s hand held him firm as he struggled to pull away. Only when he’d fully sniffed it up did she wrench him out, forcefully twisting his head to make him look at Tiffany.
“Over here, Mr Spy!” She called. The blonde was now kneeling on the toilet seat, aiming her huge, round ass toward him.
Brooooooorrrrrffff!
She ripped another airy-sounding blast, the sound muffled by the latex. Smith could actually see the bubble of gas shifting around within her suit.
“Eww, so warm and smelly. Just the way you like them~”
“Give us a name, prisoner. And they’re all yours.” Alexa promised.
Smith’s resolve was weakening. “No… I…”
Fffparrtttttt!
Alexa didn’t even wait for him to finish before jamming him back into her crack for another toxic fart, the smell so intense it brought tears to his eyes. Then suddenly he was back out again and staring at Tiffany. The scent he craved so close, yet so far.
Bllaarrrttt!
“Come on… you know you want to!” She wiggled her bulging hips.
Sbbblaarrrffft!
“Your name, worm!” Alexa snarled.
And finally, he broke.
“My name… is… Smith!” He cried out.
The room went silent. The two dominatrixes looked at each other, before Alexa turned to face him again, keeping her grip on his head.
“Smith.” She repeated slowly. Then she smiled. “Was that so hard?”
“Such a good boy!” Tiffany squealed, digging into her crack to find the zipper. “Now come get your reward!”
The instant Alexa released him, Smith slid down to the floor and onto his knees. He scrabbled forward, too fixated to care how depraved he must look, and practically jumped to plant his face between Tiffany’s humongous, cushiony cheeks. He buried his nose in the hole of her suit and took a long, drawn-out sniff.
Fffppaaaaaaarrrrffff!
Tiffany timed his inhale with a moist, bubbly fart so thick, it was like sucking down a milkshake. The overwhelming eggy smell flooded his nose, torturing his nostrils as his brain cried out for more. It was one of the most disgusting things he’d ever smelled, and he couldn’t get enough of it.
“Aww! He did miss me, after all.”
“Look what we’ve done to him,” said Alexa, watching with morbid fascination. “Huffing away at your asshole like a hungry pig. I almost feel bad.”
Smith wasn’t listening to what the two women were saying. He barely even registered their words. All he cared about was the awful, rancid, delicious scent he was swimming around in. He fought the urge to vomit even as he took more desperate sniffs.
Alexa stepped forward. “That’s enough for now.” She yanked his head backwards, cutting him off from his supply. “You still have a lot to tell us, Mr Smith.”
“But don’t worry! I’ll keep the gas flowing, as long as you cooperate.” Tiffany smiled brightly.
“And once you’ve given us everything we need, who knows? Maybe you’ll switch sides completely. Work as a spy for our organisation, instead. If we can keep your lungs filled with farts often enough to maintain your addiction, you could prove very useful to us.”
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small part of Smith was horrified by what he was hearing. A tiny voice was crying out for him to resist, to rebel, insisting it still wasn’t too late to save himself. But then Tiffany shifted her hips, those wide, jiggling cheeks bouncing before his eyes. A soft, almost silent fart squeaked out from between them. And with one taste, that tiny voice was smothered out forever.
“Now then. We’ll continue this conversation somewhere more comfortable.” Alexa commanded, wrinkling her nose. “It stinks in here.”
The two dominatrixes walked through the door and into the light outside. And without a moment’s hesitation, their new slave crawled along behind them.