I Imagine Very Few Things Are Better Than Having Someone Whos Gassy And Constipated Lying Over Your Thighs.

I imagine very few things are better than having someone who’s gassy and constipated lying over your thighs. Whenever they need help going, they approach you naked while you’re sitting on the couch reading or whatever and sheepishly ask if they can use you to get relief. You scoot to the edge of the seat and allow them to drape themselves over your thighs. It puts them in the perfect position for a bit of spanking or fingering.

With all that pressure, the farts are loud and forceful. You vary the sounds of their gas by playing with their cheeks. Hold them open for airy, gushing bursts while they grind their gut into your legs. Clamp their cheeks together and make them squeak out.

And when the first log starts to stretch their hole, you rub their back and coo lovingly to them as they whimper. Maybe run your fingers gently through their hair or along their scalp. The thick turd thumps onto the floor and you can feel their belly tensing and pushing against you as they squeeze out the next one. It crackles as it slides out with little pops of gas. They sigh as it drops.

Rocking against your legs, they try to coax the rest out and are rewarded with a warbling fart that comes to a sudden end when it launches another log part way out of their hole, plugging any room for gas to escape. They groan as they strain and gravity draws out a long shit that only breaks off once the tip touches the floor. Just when you think there couldn’t possibly be anything left inside, gas loudly shifts around their belly and thunders out.

There’s a sheen of sweat on their trembling body and they lay there, catching their breath and basking in relief. It’s an exhausting ordeal, and you’re not going to let them clean up alone. You tear off some tissue and lovingly wipe between their cheeks for them.

They gingerly raise themselves off you, looking a lot less pregnant, and when you’re done disposing of the mess, you cuddle on the couch and praise them for how well they did.

Or maybe it’s less lovey-dovey, and the person who needs relief is a slob that basically burps in your face then says, “Alright, bud, time to help me shit. Hold still now.” They grind their gut into your legs, grunt out a mound of shit, tell you to start wiping and then leave you in a stench filled room with a mess to clean up.

damn what if u sat on my lap and let me feed u a lot of gross greasy gassy food and then u burped and farted on me all night and i kept feeding u until u shart on my lap would that be crazy hahahahaha could you imagine hahahahahah

Your fat, goth roommate had some problems with ripping ass while he slept. You never talked to him about it, but jeez, he could be gassy. It was like as soon as he hit pillow, loud, booming farts blasted from his fat rear, adding a heavy, pungent stink to the air.

You might've pretended to be grossed out by it, but secretly you loved it. He was a perfect fat slob. He was a deep sleeper too, so sometimes, when he was out cold, you'd peel down his black, sweaty underwear off his massive, swampy ass, listening to him blasting more rancid gas, before you couldn't resist anymore and plunge your face into his deep ass between his fat cheeks, letting his rip ass directly in your face, deeply inhaling his acrid stench. Everything about him was just irresistible, you couldn't get enough.

wanna sit backwards in someone’s lap while they rub and jiggle my overfed tummy

squirming as much as my fat body and stuffed belly will allow until the pressure gets to be too much and i release several loud, rumbling, sloppy farts in rapid succession right onto their crotch and feeling them grow more and more turned on with each one, their grip on my belly tightening as they try to work more pressure out 💕🐽

last night i decided to eat a ton of wendys, about 40 nuggets and 2 large fries over an hour and topped it off with some vanilla ice cream! i woke up extremely bloated this morning around 6 am and spent a long time in bed rubbing my tight round gut and belching and farting out a little of the pressure. im still pretty bloated 7 hours later, and not much gas is coming out 🥴 send belly rubs

mm that sounds so delightful 🥴 immediately waking up to that pressure and spending some time deflating... 🤤

Thank God It's Friday

finally another fic, featuring Matt the Slob 😏

CW: eprocto, eructo, sharts, mentions of piss, and slobby behaviour 🥴

Living with Matt feels like the world's worst cosmic joke and you don't like it.

You don't. You don't.

You don't like that his consistent BO is becoming bizarrely familiar or that you can tell what he had for lunch based on the stench of his burps. You don't like that you wake up early because his morning flatulence practically shakes the walls or that the shower tile is slowly turning yellow from how often he pisses into the corner. You don't like that there are strange and questionable stains on the fabric of the couch, that the toilet always needs plunging, that you inexplicably find bottles filled with urine all over the place because he's too lazy to head to the bathroom, and you especially don't like that he's something of a casual nudist that has no shame being completely naked in front of you while he relaxes. It's a terrible problem for which you hold no blame, and it's completely, entirely unavoidable how you always, always end up spending the evening watching movies together every Friday night with a huge meal and a few drinks.

You tell yourself it's because you want to spend the night in instead of out with your friends (who are blowing up your phone) and it's a wholly unfortunate coincidence that Matt happens to have Friday nights off.

Definitely unfortunate. Definitely unavoidable.

Tonight you're watching an old alien horror movie with bad special effects and even worse acting. You're tucked into your preferred armchair beneath a blanket, and Matt is lying in his usual way along the entire couch. He laughs and points out one plot hole or another, but you haven't been able to focus on the content of the movie since the opening credits.

If there's one thing that gets Matt gassy above all else (and there's definitely at least two dozen things) it's pizza. Specifically, the meat deluxe pizza with extra onion from your usual take away place. Between the onion, the grease, and Matt's refusal to acknowledge his intolerance of dairy, he's been letting out monstrous belches and noxious farts all evening with an utter lack of shame. His flatulence is often loud enough to drown out the TV entirely, but this isn't quite what has you distracted. Nor is it the fact that he's utterly naked, unashamed of his nude body in front of you. If anything, listening to a naked Matt rip ass while you try to watch a movie is astonishingly routine.

No, the problem this evening is that Matt clearly needs to take a dump, and seems prefer tempting fate than walking the 10 feet to the bathroom.

You spot the slightest twitch of his leg from the corner of your eye, like he's deciding if he wants to part his legs further or not. Lying on the cushions, arm beneath head, one leg bent at the knee and the other hooked over the low back of the couch, Matt doesn't seem to care that his entire crotch and ass is open to your gaze. His soft cock flops gently to the side as he scratches beneath his balls, letting out a little grunt of relief as he does, and you can't help but watch every pass of his fingers against the thick hair at his taint. It's a brazen act that you shouldn't look at, shouldn't watch, but your eyes are glued to his shameless indulgence.

His fingers pause, halfway through a thorough scratch of his scrotum, and you know what's coming even before you see his asshole twitch open within the thicket of hair. A short, loud ppllorrrrft of gas escapes him, and you spot a flash of something brown within his rectum before it retreats.

"Ugh." Matt shifts his hips up to push out a longer, sloppier fart while you try to ignore the hot flush crawling across your face. The fluttering gape of his hole reveals the dark tip of a buried log that's really far too close to coming out. It ends with a soft bffllrrt and a wink. "Ah, fuck. That cheese is wrecking my guts," he says with a chuckle, taking a moment to sniff his fingers before reaching back down to continue scratching. "Oh man, that stinks."

You're too overwhelmed by the show he's giving you to form a proper sentence, so you make some kind of noise of acknowledgement and try to drag your eyes back to the movie.

Matt makes it hard, though. He shifts from scratching himself to massaging his bloated gut for a while, pressing down beneath his navel with a gentle palm and dragging his hand up around one side of his abdomen and back again. He works up a few low belches that he releases with a sigh, but nothing from the other end. He seems to be empty for now, at least. Or maybe just clogged up.

You glance between his legs again, and can't believe what you see. The thick, hard tip of a turd is openly visible, tucked just within his asshole. You can see just how massive the log is, wide enough to stretch open Matt's tired hole without coming out; it remains unmoving, stuck at the final ring of muscle and unwilling to go further.

You're hot from head to toe (from embarrassment, probably) and you can't look away. His hole twitches and bulges with the strain of the massive load that's ready to come out, and yet Matt remains fixated on the TV.

"Hey," you say, fighting to keep your voice level as Matt glances at you. "Do you, uh. Do you wanna go to the bathroom?"

There's no way to misinterpret what you're saying, or why you're saying it. Matt's increasingly stretching hole is literally in your line of sight.

But Matt shrugs and looks back at the screen. "Nah, I'm good," he says, rubbing his hand over his gut again. His asshole flares and shifts, and a revoltingly muffled fart rumbles around the bulging log, poking it out a little before it recedes once more. "Mmm. I don't wanna get up just yet."

You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. There's no way you'll convince him to get up before he wants to, and you're confident he won't actually take a dump on the couch cushions. Fairly confident. Somewhat.

You force yourself to watch the movie, attempting to distract yourself from the turtleheading log just out of your vision. Matt continues to rub his stomach and vent his gas, at some point during the film turning onto his side to clamp his cheeks together. This only makes his farts louder and bubblier, but you can tell by the way his cheeks clench that he's struggling to hold back what must be an urgently massive load.

Near the end of the movie, you hear a grunt and glance over to see Matt's leg lift a little to push out a truly sloppy, gooey sounding fart that bubbles so forcefully though his asscheeks that you can see them ripple with the vibration. Worse is the final burble that shoots out a marble-sized chunk of shit right between his cheeks.

"Ooh," Matt sighs, panting with the exertion of expelling his stuck gas. He chuckles after a moment, patting his belly with one hand. "Think I sharted on that one. Felt good though." He grunts and rolls over a little, pulling aside one hairy cheek to give you a better view of the mess currently smushed between his cheeks. "Can you check? Did I leave a stain?"

You clear your throat and try to find your voice, eyes glued to the smear of brown along his crack. "Not on the couch," you manage to say. You have no idea if that's actually true.

"Oh. Great," he replies, readjusting the pillow he stuffed under his head to better see the TV at his new angle. He makes no move to rise from the couch and take care of his now dirty ass. "Thanks, roomie."

You nod faintly and return your eyes to the screen, pretending to watch the movie and desperately trying to ignore the smell. There's a quiet, whining fart from Matt's dirty ass, and despite the stench and the disgust and the embarrassment, you can't help but wonder if you could order extra cheese on the pizza next week.