Youre Lounging On The Couch One Day With Your Fave, Who Is Your Partner. You Have Told Them About Your

You’re lounging on the couch one day with your fave, who is your partner. You have told them about your fetish(es), and they’re okay with it - they’re even willing to indulge you.

When you ask if you can feed them a large bowl of poutine, coated in melted cheese and soaked in gravy, they agree. You give them forkful after forkful, and they’re moaning with every bite. Soon, their belly is showing signs of bloating and your fave is struggling to keep up with the bites, slowing down considerably. You say, “be a good boy/girl/whatever, and have one more bite for me, okay?” With a groan, they oblige.

You’re watching TV - except you’re not, really. You’re more intent on how your fave is reacting to the poutine, how their stomach is bubbling and gurgling, how they’re groaning. They speak up, then.

“I can’t hold it.” Voice timid, they cannot meet your gaze before they are leaning to the side to allow an incredible rumbler to make its way from their rear. For the rest of the day/night, you’re coaxing fart after fart from their bloated belly, all while putting your face right against their ass in order to huff the putrid smells.

BONUS SCAT

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imagine your fave having a night out at a dingy club. they had shots with their friends before leaving their place, more than a few bottles of cheap beer at the pub, a greasy burger and fries to soak up the alcohol at the McDonalds down the street, and a couple more shots since arriving. their stomach is gurgling and churning with its contents and it's starting to affect their ability to have fun. in their drunken stupor their solution is to lean back casually against the felt-covered wall, inch their clothes out of the way, and let rip. it works in a manner of speaking - their bubbly, wet farts are unheard under the throb of the music, and the club is dark enough no one notices their bare ass squished against the wall, but they fail to take into account what else comes out alongside their gas. they fart until they feel much better, uncaring of exactly how wet their gas is becoming, and head happily back into the dancing crowd. they remain blissfully unaware of the long brown stains they left behind.

I can't remember what I ate yesterday, but whatever it was gave me the worst/best case of gas. My farts would come out as low rumbles between my cheeks and would go on for like 15 seconds at a time. I didn't feel bloated at all, I just kept churning a bunch of gurgly farts.

oh my goodness I wish I could have heard them 😳😳 that sounds perfect, endlessly ripping longgg farts omg jealous

having a huge meal, steak, potatoes, bread, everything i love to indulge myself in then having hot, nasty trans sex when we get back to the room.

my rumbly, full tummy’s groans will mix with the noises we make while each of us fuck into each other. stopping periodically to catch my breath since my dinner filled me so much i could barely breathe, ill let out a lone fart or burp here and there, followed by a sigh of relief before getting back into the action. the movement of our fucking will make the gas move itself around, eventually leading to a few urgent farts being released each thrust.

after both of us are satisfied, my tummy will be your pillow as the sound and smell of my nasty gas lulls you to sleep. every so often another bubbly fart will ripple out of my fat cheeks, with my response a chuckle or a smirk. you’ll be able to listen to the build up making its way down my gut, then feel it’s vibrations against the sheets and it’s heat and smell trapped under the covers your head is resting so close to. as you sleep i’ll continue to let out nasty farts, the smell and frequency getting worse as my meal digests and i get closer to needing to find a bathroom.

Written this mind

Warnings- mentions of stuffing, eprocto, scat, voyeurism (?)

Following a night of fooling around with their partner, after a surprisingly large, very rich, somewhat spicy dinner, A rouses just past seven in the morning, shifting drowsily beneath the sheets. It takes a minute, but soon enough, the memories of the previous night wash over them, leaving them with a renewed feeling of euphoria. B had come home with two large bags full of take-out in their arms, and, as they'd eaten, B had let it slip that seeing A the way they had a couple week ago, upon their arrival, had confused them at first, but eventually, confusion had morphed into excitement, and more importantly, admittance. B wanted what they did; to watch them grow steadily, and turn into what B had affectionately called a 'gassy, eating and shitting machine.'

Even with a night spent with B feeding them a variety of foods from a restaurant in the city, with intervals spent with palms wedged into the fluff of their belly, coaxing out rancid gas, A can hardly believe that that the desires they'd harbored in secret aligns with B's. Which is why they've barely questioned it; at least if it by some twisted fate, it is a dream, they'd have made the most of it.

The musings don't last long, for A is soon reminded of what has awoken them this early on a Saturday morning. B is still asleep, cuddling them from behind, with a leg hooked over A's hip and an arm draped lazily over their side, their hand just above the ever-existent swell of A's tummy. And speaking of A's tummy, the gassy gurgles from the night before have returned with vengeance, except, by now, it's journeyed lower and powerful cramps makes their toes curl. Biting their lower lip, A brings a hand to their belly, pressing into the spot right below their navel. The pressure aids in allowing them to push out a deep, rumbling fart that vibrates their fatty cheeks, right against B's crotch.

Sighing uncomfortably, A squirms slightly at the pressure against the sphincter. It isn't abnormal for them to need a trip to the toilet in the morning, it's routine actually, but their tummy is rebelling with an urgency that is usually reserved for only when they absolutely must have relief, without time for delay. A couple of sputtering farts, that sound sort of like raspberries being blown into someone's stomach, accompanied by a watery spray has A whining desperately. Any more and they fear they'll be making a mess all over B.

A strained exhale parts their lips, already, beads on sweat is gathering on their skin. Each pungent toot brings them closer to losing control, causing them to groan inwardly. An especially loud blast rockets out of them, and worried that their control is dwindling, A sits up hastily, consequently waking B.

"Where are you going?" B mumbles, trying to get them back into laying position.

"To the bathroom," A protests, knowing that time is of the essence. Silent gas is seeping from their sweating rear as they speak and the heat in the air makes their stomach churn.

"Mmmm," B sits up, shifting to snake their arms around A's bubbling mid, teasingly pressing into the bloat that serves as their tubby belly, "Why?" They feign ignorance, "Can't you pee a little later?"

"I don't have to pee," A counters, pressing their bum into the mattress, desperate to keep their eager load at bay, "I have to take a fucking shit," they explain trying to shake of B's frim embrace.

Chuckling, B coos tauntingly, "My gassy little pet has to poop," they tease with a chortle, nibbling on the back of A's neck, biting down a little harder when a fart whistles from below A. Truly, they'd always hoped to share their desires with B, and the new teasing is painfully arousing, but that doesn't change the fact that they don't want to ruin their favorite sheets with a messy load.

"I really have to go," they beg, their toes curling in anticipation and their palms griping their knobby knees tightly, knuckles going white, "Please let me go."

B hums contemplatively, "Okay," they permit, but their hold has yet to relent, "But," it feels like they're taking their sweet time to get to words out, and A thinks their doing it on purpose. The fabric beneath them is uncomfortably warm and even if the moisture between their cheeks isn't poop, but A knows that it won't be long before that changes. "I want to watch."

"Done," they agree hastily, standing from the minute B releases them, keeping their hole pinched shut, cradling their belly and padding over to the adjoining bathroom, with B close on their heels.

Neither of them are much too concerned with the door, and from the moment A spots the pristine, porcelain throne, an immense sense of relief washes over them. Though, it's severely short lived when B stops them, rummaging through a neatly packed cabinet below that double sink. Before A can even manage the words, B is explaining, "Not in there silly. Clearly you don't like the toilet," they wink, referring to all the soiled laundry they'd found in the tub upon their return, "So why don't you just go on the floor?"

Still nursing their distended stomach, an electric spark of arousal travels to their crotch as warning toots escape them. But they're also a little self conscious, "Are you sure?" They inquire unsteadily as B lays out the fluffy white towel in front of the tub.

"Very," they reach to lead A over, "Come on baby, I know you're desperate."

"Uh huh," A agrees, lowering their naked frame into a squat. The position is a good one, but they're a little too heavy to support their own weight on just their legs like that, so A leans forward a bit, sticking out their ass and gripping the cool lip of the tub.

Gas hisses out of them, and immediately, their puckered hole yawns open, widening around the first, eager length. Its a bit on the bigger side, but its soft enough to not hurt, easily snaking out of them. Ample cheeks, riddled with the light sheen of old stretch marks, make way for the emerging dark brown, glistening loaf, which coils as it reaches the towel positioned below A. Their stomach contracts gently as A pushes, birthing the beginnings of what they assume to be a sizeable movement.

"Look at that," B muses huskily, from their seat on the floor not too far behind, "How does that feel sweetheart?"

A grunts, wincing at the twist in the pit of their belly, "It burns a little," they pant, "And my tummy hurts." Exertion gathers on their brow, and as the length breaks off with a thud. A's shit-stained lips wink as they bear down a little, feeling another mass descend through their colon, "Oh, here it comes," they announce as a lump rears its head.

A's always been a loud pooper, prone to grunting, moaning and even a little cursing, but having B around encourages them to be even more vocal. "Fuck," they lean further forward, so their heels lift off the floor just about an inch, "B, can you see that?" With the first half of the log cleared, the rest descends with ease, "It feels big," it's just as long as the first too, piling on top of A's initial rope of shit, before breaking of with a gagged edge.

"It is," B agrees, impressed, having to shift slightly to quell their arousal, "Are you done?"

"Nope," A blasts a series of short, nasty toots. It's a lot, sure, but they can still feel some more settled inside them, "I think I've got a bit more."

It takes a couple minutes spent ridding their gut of the gas, but eventually, they're crowning again, that mass wider than the first two, but much softer, rocketing out of A and slopping in a semi-solid mass next to the first lengths. A moans as their tummy groans and gurgles, pushing out greasy blasts, smaller flecks of wet poop accompanying the gas and peppering the white of the towel.

"Does it hurt baby?" B probes, shifting onto their knees to get a clearer view of A's fluttering hole, sucking in a sharp breath when a watery fart vibrate A's butt.

"Yeah," A admits, "But it feels so fucking good too," they rock their hips, "Ngh, it's coming." The poop is slowly snaking through their gaping hole, gathering with the other loaves, snapping off before the last lengths, shorter and far softer than the rest, lands on top of the pile. "Done," they declare after a couple tentative pushes.

"Whew," B whistles, "You shit like a cow baby," They stand, colleting the roll of tissue and then joining A, "So much and so stinky."

A blushes, feeling another spark reach their crotch, "Do you wanna do it?" They offer, "I think I got really dirty," just the mere thought of having B's fingers touching them like that was so erotic to them, cleaning up after them, like they always do. Taking care of them, as they always do.

Without a verbal response, B unrolls a wad of tissue, guiding it to the split of A's ass, starting low and dragging it upwards, fingers lingering upon brushing A's hole. A gasp breaks the air and A jumps slightly, gnawing on their lip.

B is surprisingly gentle. using at least four separate wads, pressing their pointer to A's hole each time they wipe, only stopping when the paper comes back clean. They're still crouched in front of the tub, with A hovering over their little mountain of poop, when B begins; "Now," the pepper kisses on to A's sweat-dampened cheek, "Why don't we go get you some breakfast? It's time to start fattening you up."

Idea: super gassy slob bf who has a select pillow/cushion he always farts into when he's playing video games or on his phone or just doing nothing. Just sitting on it and ripping rank ass for hours, too comfortable to move... sometimes he's not wearing any boxers, sometimes he sharts into the pillow (maybe both), but it always fuckin stinks with his gas. Oh and he'll fart into it in front of you shamelessly ofc -🐺

hhhhhhhhh yessss 🤤 the sound of monstrous farts being ripped deep into the fabric is so bassy it's almost infrasonic, accompanied by the occasional splutter of a shart that makes him grunt in satisfaction... ugghhhh just a slobby nude bf staining a pillow so casually while you get to listen and watch 😳😩