By: FacesittingStoriess
The van rumbled along the dusty highway, the air conditioner blasting cold but doing little to cut the heat building inside me. I was crammed in the backseat, sandwiched between Isabela and Marisol, two of the Latina stars from our porn startup crew. Up front, the other two girls chatted with the driver, oblivious to the tension brewing back here. Isabela's curvy frame pressed against my left side, her huge ass spilling over the seat edge, warm and soft through her tight jeans. Marisol mirrored her on my right, her thick thighs and round cheeks trapping me in place. At 35, I was the brand manager, supposed to be in control, but these women made me sweat just by breathing near me. My button-up shirt clung to my skin, and I shifted uncomfortably, trying to create some space without drawing attention.
Isabela turned her head, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief as she leaned in closer. 'You look so tense, Emilio. Relax, we're just on a road trip.' Her voice was playful, laced with that confident edge that always set my nerves on fire. Marisol giggled, her hand brushing my knee 'accidentally' as she adjusted in her seat. 'Yeah, boss man. Don't be so stiff.' They both grinned wickedly, their full lips curving in unison, and I felt their bodies shift deliberately, pressing their big asses harder against my hips. The scent of their perfumes—sweet vanilla and spicy citrus—filled the space, but underneath it, something earthier lingered, making my stomach twist in anticipation. I swallowed hard, my mind racing with how to steer this back to professional territory. These weren't just models; they were the stars of our niche farting content, but I never imagined it'd spill over like this.
Without warning, Isabela let out a low, rumbling fart right against my thigh. The sound was unmistakable, a deep vibration that traveled through her jeans into my leg, followed by a hot, pungent wave of gas that seeped into the air. It hit me like a punch—rotten eggs mixed with something sour and meaty, thick and invasive. I froze, my face heating up as the stench wrapped around us, inescapable in the confined space. Marisol burst into laughter, her body shaking against mine, and then she joined in, her own fart erupting louder, a sharp burst that made the seat tremble. Hers smelled even worse, like spoiled dairy and garlic, blasting directly toward my face as she angled her hips. 'Oops,' she said, not sounding sorry at all, her eyes locked on mine with cruel delight. 'You gotta breathe it in, Emilio. It's all part of the fun.'
I gagged, the acrid fumes burning my nostrils, making my eyes water. My throat tightened, and I turned my head, pressing my face against the window, but there was no escape. Their asses pinned me, soft flesh yielding just enough to tease the pressure without relief. 'Stop—please, that's disgusting,' I choked out, my voice muffled and desperate. Humiliation burned through me, hot and unrelenting. I was the professional here, the one signing their checks, yet they treated me like a toy, forcing me to endure this degrading assault. Isabela grabbed my chin, turning my face back toward them, her nails digging in lightly. 'Aww, poor baby can't handle a little girl gas? Sniff it up like a good boy.' She released another one, softer but longer, the warm puff seeping through the fabric and straight into my lap. The smell clung to my clothes, marking me, and I felt a wave of nausea mix with the shame twisting in my gut.
Marisol leaned in, her breath hot on my ear as she whispered, 'You're squirming so much. Does it turn you on, smelling us like this? Or are you just our little fart slave now?' Her words stung, degrading me further, and she punctuated them with a quick, wet-sounding fart that vibrated against my side. The odor was overwhelming, a heavy cloud that made my head spin. I begged again, my voice cracking. 'Guys, come on. This isn't funny. Let me out or something.' But they only laughed harder, Isabela's hand patting my cheek mockingly while Marisol's thigh squeezed mine. Tears pricked my eyes from the stench, my body betraying me with involuntary coughs. I wanted to push them away, to assert some control, but their confidence pinned me as much as their bodies did. The front seat girls glanced back briefly, smirking, but said nothing—clearly in on it.
The torture dragged on for what felt like hours, their farts coming in waves, each one more humiliating than the last. Isabela would build up to a big one, holding it until she exploded with a satisfied sigh, forcing the rank air right under my nose. Marisol preferred sneaky ones, releasing them silently but deadly, then watching my reaction with that seductive cruelty. My shirt was damp with sweat, my face flushed, and every breath pulled in more of their essence—foul, intimate, utterly degrading. 'Please,' I whimpered finally, my resolve crumbling. 'I'll do anything. Just stop.'
Isabela's grin widened, triumphant. 'Anything? Like, give us your credit card for some shopping? We deserve a treat after entertaining you.' Marisol nodded, her hand sliding into my pocket teasingly. 'Yeah, boss. Hand it over, or we'll keep gassing you till you pass out.' I hesitated, pride warring with desperation, but another rumble from Isabela's ass decided it. The threat of more stench was too much. With shaking hands, I pulled out my wallet and fished out the card, thrusting it at them. 'Fine, take it. Just... stop.' They snatched it eagerly, high-fiving over my head as the van hit a bump, jostling us closer. Relief washed over me, but the lingering smell promised this road trip was far from over.