TW: Scat, Messing

TW: Scat, Messing

Tbh, I’m really in the mood to sit on someone’s lap and just empty all my gas on them, heating up their lap until I have to shit, and asking them if I can just go right there.

Before they can even respond, I’m already messing myself right on their lap and telling them how good it feels to let it all out, the warmth spreading across their thighs and crotch as the stench wafts up to their poor nose.

the kind of farts that are rancid. that just fucking reek so bad and linger. the ones that come out burning hot and you know they’re about to seep into whatever surface they’re on and make it stink for hours.

there's not enough talk about facial expressions in this kink 😤 the crease of concentration between the brows while forcing out a long fart? the screwed up face through a much needed soda burp? the complete look of disgust through the nastiest, sloppiest rumblers, even as they continue to rip ass? that eye fluttering, jaw dropping look of pleasure once they feel that relief? 🥵

Imagine your fave being constipated and pathetically trying to push a fart out. imagine their poor little legs quaking and their hole making kissing noises as they grunt and strain, squeezing their eyes shut tight and begging for the sweet relief of passing their gas. eventually, they end up pushing hard enough to let out a massive airy fart, and after that, the farts don’t stop, and they just keep on coming out, while your fave’s eyes roll into the back of their head from the relief of it.

scat bonus:

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I wrote a thing, bc @shy-eproctophiliac liked the scenario, @hahahago-away asked, and I had nothing to do today lmao. hope y'all enjoy ✨

A was splayed lazily in their bed, half out of the work clothes they gave up trying to remove. One hand was stuffed behind their head amidst the pillows and the mattress, the other resting on their belly while they watched trashy TV. Exactly where they wanted to be after their exhausting week at work.

Their boss had given everyone a half-day after the big project they had been working on was finally finished. All the employees had been far too tired to even crack smiles of relief. Possibly in an attempt to win back some friends after being a complete pain in the ass for months, their boss had waved everyone away and sent them home. A certainly couldn't get out of there fast enough.

They'd actually come home at a reasonable hour for once and collapsed into bed, ready for some much needed down time. It had been months since they'd actually relaxed.

The sounds of the front door opening caught A's attention, bringing on a smile as they switched the TV off. B was home. A had barely seen B since their job had become such a nightmare, and now they could finally spend some time together. Perhaps they could order take-out and watch a movie, maybe open up some wine—

A loud rumbling like rolling thunder interrupted A's thoughts, echoing from the direction of the front door.

A's mouth dropped open.

"Ohhh, my God." B's voice carried to A's room when the noise tapered off, complete relief in their tone.

B was...? That— Surely not... Had that been...?

Another noise, like furniture dragged slowly along a wooden floor, growing clearer with each second that ticked by. And ticked by. And ticked by.

A was distantly aware of the throbbing of their blood, the arousal between their legs.

It ended with a wet plt.

"Fuck." A billowing sigh, and footsteps finally entering the house.

B was... farting. To such a degree and volume that it seemed to shake the very walls. A had, much to their dismay, never heard B fart in all their time knowing them. It seemed strange for two people to live together and not hear even one accidental rip - A had assumed that B was just extremely cautious of that kind of thing. It wasn't as though A could just ask. At least, not without blushing.

One, two, three farts in quick succession, matching the footsteps on the tiles as B walked into the lounge - then a fourth, longer, and far more bubbly, and A's mouth watered at the image of B pausing with a leg bent to rid themselves of their pesky gas. Their face pinched in strain. Their bloated stomach deflating from what must've been agonising amounts of trapped wind.

Another wet finish, and what could only be described as a moan. "Ohh, fuck. There we go." The couch creaked as B settled down on it and A's hand was already shoved between their legs and rubbing furiously.

They did their best to last, faced as they were with the hottest wanking material they'd ever come across, but they were doomed from the start. Every subsequent fart B cut loose (muffled and bubbling as they were sitting on the couch, their couch, oh fuck—) threatened to pitch them over the edge.

It was a bubbling fart so bassy it was nearly inaudible that A came to, their free hand clamped over their mouth to quieten themselves through their mind-blowing orgasm. Panting in the aftermath, still hearing occasional farts and sighs of contentment, A dizzily wonders if they would ever get to experience a situation so hot like this again. Then, thoughts turning over as they blink at the ceiling, they consider how they might ask their boss for different hours at work.

imagine your fav has a teddy bear or sort of stuffed animal that they deem their designated fart cushion. and everyday at the end of work, when they’ve had gas churning and brewing inside their stomach … they dump their clothes to the floor and just hump the poor plushie to oblivion. with every movement comes bubbling, rancid streams of farts as your fav releases all that nasty, pent up gas into the stuffed animal, blasting it with swampy, warm wet farts and thick, hot hisses that smell of eggs and shit. imagine your fav not only having this session once a day, but every time they need to let one rip. its squashed beneath their rumbling ass as they watch tv, they squat right over it during sweaty workouts as BRRRMPPTS rip out of them with every exertion - every night in bed, the plushie is always snug against their crotch, ready to go as they rip nasty ass gas under the covers all throughout the night. and obviously, it’s never washed either- it constantly stinks of your favs rank stench, drilled with stale (and not so stale) farts that permeate it permanently.

bonus: you cuddle with the limp stuffed bear like it’s normal, nuzzling your face into it and inhaling the aftermath of your favs raunchy gas.