"filth are my politics, filth is my life!"

The hastily-booked massage session was a spur-of-the-moment thing. The client, having been overworked all morning, walks in and politely greets their masseuse for their session. They're polite, friendly, and don't make any fuss about their state of undress for the massage. But almost as soon as the massage starts, a certain... problem comes to light. The client won't. Stop. FARTING. Whenever the masseuse gets a bit too into it, the client's ass starts puffing and hissing powerful fumes into the air. Some of them can get really long or loud, but the client is too out of it to care about farting enough to fill the entire massage parlour while their masseuse watches. But the masseuse is actually very, VERY into this. The idea that their gentle touch is so soothing that it can make a client fart this freely is their favourite part of the trade, and when a client is this gassy? Most of the masseuse's time is spent rubbing the client's lower back, thighs, and asscheeks so they can discreetly lean in and get the farts while they're hot and fresh. The client, who couldn't care less about it, doesn't bother with giving any indication even when they can tell the masseuse's head is hovering barely off their ass. The massage doesn't end until the client is thoroughly out of gas and the masseuse has perfectly memorized what their lunch was. When the client finally leaves, they leave their masseuse with a half-dozen putrid towels to remember their ass by until their next appointment. BONUS: The masseuse has also been silently cropdusting their client the entire time, and the smell of their farts is one of the reasons why the client got so relaxed in the first place.