Sexy Men And Hot Farts

Jacob was excited to join AKO and party through college, having no idea how evil the frat bros were...

...

The senior brothers of the Alpha Kappa Omega fraternity were gathered in their house basement. It stunk of old beer and weed, and kneeling on the ground in front of them were dozens of pledges crowded against each other. They were commanded to keep quiet and pay attention.

AKO was a notorious frat. On the one hand, they had some of the best parties, got the most funding from the school, attracted a lot of star athletes, and the kinds of connections being in AKO gives you meant that, no matter what you wanted to do out of school, you were wet for life. Many AKO alumni own their own companies, on boards of directors, politicians, among other industries. If you got into AKO, you’re getting girls, money, and booze/drug parties for life.

On the other hand, they were notorious for their hazing and immaturity. Younger brothers go through a lot of sophomoric humiliation, but they grin and bear it. For pledges, every week was hell week, and hell week was an inferno.

For the past fifteen minutes, pledges were called up one by one to spin a giant carnival wheel set up in the middle of the room. The Fraternity President, Tristan Grosse, stared down with cold blue eyes and a masochistic smile. While girls thought his sandy hair, athletic body, and dreamy jawline made him one of the hottest guys on campus, they probably didn’t know that he loved bullying ‘losers’. Especially here at AKO, where the philosophy was that young brothers need to go through hell to become Alpha Men. 

“Alright, pledge, kneel before the Wheel of Fate.”

The pledge at the front of the line, Jacob Klein, crawled away from the others toward the center of the room. His heart was pounding in his ears. Around him the other brothers were smiling in anticipation.

The wheel was numbered 1-100, scattered around. 98 of the slots were job titles that would dictate what the pledge would do for the rest of the year if he is chosen. Many of them, mercifully for the pledges who’s spin falls on those numbers, were typical chores around the frat house; dishwasher, laundryboy, kitchenboy…those were the luckiest ones to get.

(of course, these jobs had an official uniform; lacy French maid dress costumes with fishnets.)

Many other options were worse; jockboy would have to clean up after practices, and while he takes care of their dirty laundry, the player dubbed with having the sweatiest, rankest ballsack, would strip his jock first and pull it over Jockboy’s face. He’d spend the next hour smelling all of their old musky jocks while breathing through a filter of moist balls.

Servantboy would bring them food, beer, and act as footrests or chairs for the brothers. Their sweaty socks digging into the pledge’s back, or feeling their bodies strain their spine by letting them sit on their backs. Servantboy would have to stay on all fours while the frat brother on top of him was watching the game. Or playing xbox. Or doing homework, whatever. The brother would often fart onto his back like he were sitting on a normal chair.

Smellcheck would be the pledge who had to be ready to sniff any item of clothing, or any bare armpit, before dates. Make sure they smell good. Brothers always made sure to do smell checks when they knew they needed a shower. They loved watching the pledge grimace at the stench of their hairy pits.

The final two numbers were special, and right next to each other, but always covered: 1, and 100. Everyone knew that spot 1 was “Heaven”. No one knows how AKO made sorority girls agree to this, but if a pledge had the luck of picking this card, they would get ‘unlimited blowjobs’ for the rest of the school year. He’d be given the contact numbers for girls who sign up to be on demand blowjob sluts. To the shock and jealousy of the other frats on campus, a surprising number of girls wanted to play out that fantasy. 

100 was Hell. No one fully knew what it is because the brothers swear to secrecy on this, even with other frat members. People talk about it with confusion and disgust. It was every punishment but multiplied. Or it was the polar opposite of unlimited blowjobs. Every frat brother was allowed to mess with you, and you had to take it. But the specifics were hidden.

Because 100 was as likely to be hit as any other number, this special punishment didn’t happen every semester. The last time it was done was when Tristan was a freshman. He, and all the brothers in the room, prayed that they would get a chance to do it again this year.

Jacob smiled to himself. In high school, he was always at the right time and place. Any time the school organized a student raffle, or a lottery, or a giveaway, he almost always won it. So often that students insisted the games were rigged somehow. No one could be that lucky!

If he knows the answer to a radio show quiz, he never rushes to call the number. With a calm face, he dials, and he almost always was the Lucky Caller. He’d won a few small vacations off of this. 

He met his first girlfriend by accident, literally running into her in the halls before hitting it off. He got accepted to this university, the highest ranking in the state, because he’d mindlessly applied at the encouragement of his parents to try and be ambitious, only to be offered a new scholarship! 

So when Tristan started to spin the wheel, Jacob already knew he would get unlimited blowjobs. More likely, he would get a very mild job, or a softer humiliation. But a feeling in his gut told him he was getting the blowjobs. No hell week, no pledge torture, all the fun of being in a frat without the pain, and all the sex he was going to have! 

The wheel slowed on one of two cards that were turned around. From the back they looked the same. A gasp came out from everyone in the room. Older brothers were cooing and making noises, laughing with anxiety. 

Jacob wasn’t phased. Even with Tristan moving slow, taunting him, “is this heaven or is this hell?”

Tristan pulled the card off the wheel, looked at it, and his face went blank. Some of the pledges started cheering, while some brothers let out disappointed groans. Jacob was beaming a cocky smirk. After this meeting was done, he was going to look up all the girls on the suck-slut list and see who would be the one to give him his first blowjob of college.

But when Tristan turned the card over to show the room, everyone shut up. His face had his evil wolflike grin again, because the card read 100.

Roars from the brothers. Jacob blinked, going cold. That had to be a mistake. It couldn’t be. This never happens.

“Congratulations, you are the luckiest pledge on campus.” Tristan boomed. 

Immediately, four guys ran up and grabbed Jacob still. He struggled on reaction, but they were too strong. Another brought a chair over. Another had…tape?

Soon, Jacob’s torso, arms, and legs were duct taped to the chair. He stared back at the pledges, who were all wide eyed, afraid of what was going to happen to him next. Though being thankful that it wasn’t any of them.

He still hadn’t processed it all. Tristan was walking in front of him, starting a speech to the group. It should have been 1! Jacob thought, I always win these things! Always!

“Gentlemen, you are about to learn one of the frat’s greatest secrets. It isn’t the Hell Card punishment, but what is behind the Hell Card punishment…”

The pledges were confused. But all the Senior brothers had seen it for themselves, so they leaned forward with excitement.

“For now, we will simply tell you what it is that this very lucky pledge gets to do for this fraternity during the year.” 

The brothers had set up a projector beforehand for parts of their presentations. This time, Tristan gave a red flashdrive to a preppy brother with the laptop to show secret photos to the group.

Laughter started up around him. Jacob was still turned toward the pledges, so he had to watch their eyes in realization. Some were horrified, some started giggling. 

Jacob was turned around and saw what everyone was laughing at. There were pictures from some frat bbq, and in the first photo, a shirtless brother in sunglasses and a baseball cap was bent at the waist, with his thumbs up. And behind him, a pledge was on his knees with his whole face stuffed into the brother’s swimsuit ass. 

Another picture showed the pledge doing the same thing, this time in the middle of a party with his face disappearing into the seat of a brother’s jeans.

“Brothers, pledges, please give a warm welcome to this year’s Fartboy.”

The brothers cheered. The name rang out in Jacob’s head. Fartboy.

“Now, we gotta take Fartboy to the side and get him prepared. I’ll explain to you what is going on, in the mean time.”

What is going on?! Jacob was blindfolded from behind, and his chair was lifted and carried away. The pictures were still fresh in his mind. Fuck, he realized, they want me to sniff farts on command? 

His disgust and horror were still mixed in with confusion. How could he have lost? How could he have lost so badly?! 

They were carrying the chair up the cellar stairs and outside. It was the middle of the night, so the air was cold and the only sounds were coming from the busy streets far off. It was likely that no one would see them, except maybe a student who would know this is just another frat activity.

Jacob felt the cold air, and heard the boys chuckling to themselves. The reality was hitting him faster and faster. Farts, Fartboy, he would be expected to put his face into their asses?! All year? 

But why were they blindfolding him? Where were they taking him?

Another door opening. Then descending stairs. Somewhere on campus? Off campus? Jacob shivered. Eventually they dropped the chair. Then, silence. As if they’d left him alone there. He was still blinded, so he moved his head around trying to hear footsteps, whispers, giggling, anything. But instead the room was silent. “Hello?” his voice echoed.

Out of the shadows, Tristan’s hands landed on my shoulders, making me yelp an embarrassingly feminine sound. He whispered into my ears, “Good evening, Fartboy.”

Then the others’ laughter echoed in his ears, and the blindfold was yanked off.

A bright light shone into Jacob’s eyes, stinging at first, but soon he adjusted, and stared straight at it. Some geometric patterns were shifting in the light, making him a little dizzy, calmer…he watched the figures, mesmerized. He couldn’t think about what it was, or why it was shone at him, he kept staring, and staring, and…

…

“Is he under?” asked Kyle Bower, a tall athletic senior brother.

Tristan waved his hand in front of the pledge’s vacant eyes. He stared forward without an expression. 

“Looks like it.” Tristan put a pair of headphones over the pledge’s ears, and walked toward a desk with a microphone. The technology was a sophisticated secret. Developed during the Cold War, it was a prototype for true hypnosis. Unlike the kind one would experience at a magic show, this machine helped shape the psychological framework of the listener to compel them to the speaker’s whim. Many Soviets were turned into spies using this machine. Its dangerous implications led the CIA to destroy it. However…brothers of the Alpha Kappa Omega secretly restored the machine and kept it hidden away safe for their personal use. They would leave it up to Fate to decide who it was used on, to keep them from hypnotizing all of the pledges they recruit.

Jacob was lucky enough to experience this mysterious device.

“Good morning, Fartboy. That is your name. Your name is Fartboy. For this semester, that is how we will refer to you.”

Jacob didn’t respond. He sat like a statue staring at the lights. The other brothers had hands over their mouths, holding back laughter.

“Your duty to the Alpha Kappa Omega fraternity is to be our personal fart sniffer. Real men let their gas out whenever they need to, but sometimes we can’t; classrooms, parties, dates, too public,...that’s where you come in! Whenever a brother has gas and needs to let rip, you will, without hesitation, get your nose between his cheeks and deeply sniff up whatever he lets out. You love smelling farts, so this job will make you happy, satisfied, and fulfilled. Once you vacuumed up his fart, you will show him gratitude with at least a dozen kisses on his ass. You will be happy to do so, because the ass of an AKO brother makes you feel happy. No matter what state the asses are in, you will love having your face in close proximity to them.”

The other brothers were excited, thinking back to when they watched the last Fartboy go to town on everyone’s asses. They were already planning on how they would use their new Fartboy, better now that they were seniors…

“You will do your job with enthusiasm and respect, with a smile and enjoyment in your voice. Now fart sniffing is only one job, your most important one, and your favorite one, but you will be given requests for other tasks. You will give the same enthusiasm and readiness for any job a frat brother assigns you, no matter what.”

The lights faded, and over them pictures were projected on a screen. Old shots of previous Fartboys, one on his knees with his face stuffed into the back of some swim trunks, another with his tongue out eager to dive into the hairy cheeks in front of him, and of an infamous ‘Fart Bukakke’, where the Fartboy was on his knees surrounded by naked asses, and he had the largest smile on his face.

“Fartboy loves farts. Always remember that as your top priority in life. The worse they stink, the better. Same goes for asses. If a brother ever offers to shower before you sniff, always assure them you love smelling the shitholes of superior men”

“Now, tell me who you are pledge.”

Jacob’s voice was empty and monotone, “My name is Fartboy. My job is to be the AKO fraternity’s fart sniffer. I will press my nose into a brother’s asshole and sniff his farts, because I love the way they smell and they make me happy. I will always kiss a brother’s ass to show him how happy and thankful I am for getting to smell his superior alpha gas. On top of that, I will do anything else a brother asks of me”

“Enjoy your semester, Fartboy. It’s gonna be fun!”

…

While Jacob had been tied up and carried away, Tristan explained to the group that they make sure to give new Fartboys an ultimatum. The connections of the AKO frat are so deep, that secrets you try to hide could be easily dug up. In order to make sure the pledge does has Fate had chosen him to do, the blackmail makes sure Fartboy sniffs with a smile.

The pledges were horrified at the thought, again thankful that none of them had been this unlucky. The senior brothers knew the truth of course, the blackmail story is useful to explain why a potential Fartboy wouldn’t drop out of rushing the frat. 

Many brothers were excited because they were older brothers at home, and loved terrorizing their siblings with gas growing up. They couldn’t wait to rip directly on Jacob’s nose.

…

A stink woke him up. The harsh stink of ass that you’d only get if you rubbed your finger on your own for a sniff. Or, up close and personal.

Jacob’s head was pounding and his eyes were groggily opening. Before he could process what was going on, and what he could remember from the night before, the sight of the naked ass in front of him made his body go rigid and alert. Horrible intrusive thoughts came up that Jacob didn’t want to think about, like “how does his hole smell up close?” and “I hope he lets out a nasty fart”

Jacob didn’t even know who ‘he’ was. He tried to look, but…he couldn’t! His eyes were frozen in spot, staring at the asshole in front of him. His cheeks were pretty smooth, but his crack was hairy, especially around the hole. The unknown brother looked over his shoulder and saw Jacob was awake. He slowly spread his cheeks, seeing how Jacob’s eyes were fixating on his hole.

“Good morning, Fartboy,” he said softly in a mocking singsong voice

PRRRRPRPRRRPP

The disgusting sight of his farting asshole made Jacob wince and ready to jump away from the stink cloud. Instead, he jumped forward. In the confusion of his body disobeying himself, Jacob couldn’t register the fact that his hands landed on the brother’s waist, and pulled him up. His face disappeared between the round cheeks, nose lost in crack hair and pressing firmly against the asshole. Jacob’s body started taking in deep, slow sniffs against his control.

In that instant, getting overwhelmed by the rank stink up close, and begging his body to snap out of it and get away from this awful stench…he remembered fragments from the other night. Tristan telling him his job. The card. The lights. 

He tried to remember what happened, tried to focus, but his mind was getting more alert and focused on the smells coming from this frat brother’s ass. The fart was eggy made Jacob gag more as his nose took in the last of it. The ass crack hair tickled and scratched his face. It was revolting! 

After one final sniff soaking up the fumes, Jacob’s body finally pulled back. But then his voice spoke without him trying, or even thinking about the words that were said, “Thank you, sir. That was a stinker!” And to Jacob’s shocked mind, his lips pursed up, and he started planting kisses over the brother’s naked cheeks.

“I got an early class, so I wake up before the others. I wanted to be the first to fart on you. Do you want my ass to be your alarm clock tomorrow too?”

“Alarm clock?” Jacob blinked, “Thank you sir, that would be helpful. In fact, your ass can be my alarm clock every day.”

What? What the fuck was Jacob saying? What was he doing?!

The brother smiled, “Perfect. Nose back in, I got some more.”

Fuck, no! Without hesitation, Jacob plopped back into his ass, and his nose again found the asshole against his will. He couldn’t pull away. He couldn’t move at all, except to grab his hips tighter, and he felt the asshole vibrate against his nose as he pushed another fart out.

PRPTRPTPRPTRPTPPPP

Jacob’s nose took it in slowly, and his brain started focusing on the different layers of stink. It was making him nauseous, but no matter how often he gagged, he didn’t move his nose once. He couldn’t no matter how much he tried.

Warning: gay fart fetish and hypnosis kink (?)

...

It was well past midnight when Danny stumbled out of the bar with his friends. Every other Saturday they’d get together at the neighborhood bar, fill up on beer after beer, and laugh at jokes and stories well into the night. Danny, a young guy with dark brown hair and eyes that got girls to drop their panties. Danny, who was first to challenge a guy to an arm wrestle, who had no problem pissing in public and flashing his cock [it was impressive. Not like a horse cock or anything but one that girls drooled over]. Danny, always getting into fights at the bar, always needing one of his buddies to pull him back before the fists start flying. Loud joker, loud lover, puffing his chest and flexing his arms ready to show up, working out to show off, trying to let everyone know he was a tough guy.

Danny had no idea that this night would be the last night of life as he knew it, and would be the beginning of a completely new one. But how could he have known?

So it was the five of them, drunk and staggering and laughing and hollering, one guy tossed a rock at the side of a house. Then five became four, and then three, and so on as the gang split up their respective streets. Danny was alone. Two blocks away from his apartment. And the world was hazy around him. He was lit on eight beers, and his eyes felt glassy, and he felt sleepy, and he knew he’d probably have a bad hangover tomorrow but it was worth it. His only plan would be to collapse into bed, pass out, and sleep the pain away tomorrow.

Had he not been drinking he would have noticed that his door was unlocked. He fumbled for the keys, pushed them in, and twisted. No sound was made but the door swung open. Had he not been drinking he would have noticed the floor mat was a bit off, and maybe he’d feel that sixth sense of someone watching him.

He shut the door, and leaning against the wall behind Danny was a taller man, buff, his face hidden under a balaclava and a nice black leather jacket over. In his gloved hand, he held a syringe.

Catlike, the man stepped forward without making a sound, one hand covered Danny’s mouth, and just as Danny let out a shocked yelp, but before he could scream out, the man stuck the syringe into his neck and injected the fluid. As if Danny weren’t numb enough, he felt his legs collapse under him, his body went into a paralysis and he lost consciousness. The man was there to catch his fall so his weight didn’t thud against the floor.

“Shh, shh,” He guided the body to an open bag he had left near the wall, “There we go.”

Smooth as he always does it, the man laid Danny on his back, and he closed the zipper over his limp body. The bottom of the bag had wheels. The man put a cork over the syringe tip, put the contraption back in a case, and put that case in his backpack. He fixed the floor mat. And he dusted any surface he came in contact with, just in case. Because you can’t be too careful. But like with the others, they were onto their new lives within a day or two, so it isn’t as if he would be going off the grid for long. There wasn’t any need for police investigation. And the man’s boss had the money to pay them off anyway. There was no stress at all. That lack of stress was probably why the man had made so many mistakes like leaving the door unlocked.

The man picked up the bag and rolled it out of the apartment, locking the door behind him with Danny’s key. He’d removed the balaclava and replaced it with a blue baseball cap. The cameras wouldn’t get a look of his face. And anyone who glanced would think he was carrying luggage, since the body sunk a bit and was bulging at odd angles in the bag.

He took the back elevator and brought the bag to the van that was waiting for them. The driver looked over when he got into the passenger's seat and said “no problems?”

“No problems.”

The driver looked back at the bag, “Poor guy.”

“From what I understand they’re all happy.” The man couldn’t hold back laughter.

The driver didn’t say anything. He drove.

…

A few hours later, Danny woke up with a pounding headache. The room he was in was too bright and it hurt his eyes. He groaned. He lifted his head. He was strapped down in a chair. In front of him was a table. He tried to scream, but his mouth was gagged. His eyes darted around. There was some machines next to him, and tubes that looked like IVs were strung up near him. He was shaking, trying with all his strength to break out of the chair, but he couldn’t budge.

The door opened in front of him, “Happy you’re awake,” Said a man who looked vaguely familiar. Very light blonde hair, glasses, and thanks to his pale skin Danny could make out a few red pimples on his forehead from afar.

“I don’t know if you remember me or not,” He said lazily, resting his hands on the table, his face a giant smile, “Maybe I can give you a hint…high school gym class?”

Danny’s eyes widened a bit. He did remember now, thinking of the man’s younger face. He was one of the dozens of dweebs he used to bully. Mark something or other, and he did remember the one day after gym when he got his friends to corner and hold down the loser, and then…

“You remember now?” He asked Danny, “How funny you thought it was when you farted on my face with your bare ass?” He was laughing. Danny felt sick. What was going on. Why was this happening.

“So many guys made high school the worst years of my life,” Mark went on, “shoving me into lockers, shoving my head down toilets, yanking at my underwear, touching my things with their balls and then rubbing them in my face, using my face as a chair,” With that last one his eyes shot venom at Danny. “But it’s ok now, I have been correcting that problem one person at a time.”

Danny didn’t like the sound of that. He tried pulling at the straps but it was useless.

“Don’t worry you won’t be able to escape,” Mark sighed, “There’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop what I’m about to do to you. So while your mind is still functioning like normal, I want to brag you know? Help this soak into you…”

What the hell did that mean? Mind still functioning like normal? Danny was now fighting at the restraints. Again, pointless. Mark walked closer to the chair, and Danny flinched. Mark chuckled, grabbed the back of the chair, and spun it so Danny was facing a long mirror. Mark pressed a button, and the mirror vanished, now this was a window into a small room that looked like a boring waiting room for a dentist. Mark spoke into a walkie talkie, “Ok you can let them in,” then he leaned in to Danny, “We can see them, but they can’t see us,”

And the door to the waiting room opened and two guys were guided in. Both sat down, a few chairs away from each other. They seemed to be strangers to each other. One guy had red hair and was nervously playing with his finger nails. The other was a blond guy with a tight shirt and jeans. The blond turned to the redhead and said, “How long you think they’re gonna keep us here for?”

The redhead laughed, “Yeah, first have us sit for an hour out there, now have us here for two hours,” He looked around, “All this for a survey, you’d think we could just do this online instead.”

“Pay’s good at least,” The blond shrugged, “What else would I do on a Sunday.”

Mark spoke into Danny’s ear, “Pay close attention to the ginger,”

The redhead shrugged with a little laugh. Then, the sound of a fart. His eyes completely changed, his face dropped blank, and his head jerked to face the blond. The blond giggled, “Sorry dude, bad gas right now.”

“No, it’s fine,” The redhead let out a little laugh but it sounded fake. He looked like he wasn’t fully there.

“Yeah I’ve been holding it all in since I got here. Starting to get uncomfortable. Don’t know where the bathroom is though,” The blond had a little smile on his face.

“I mean, if it’s bad,” The redhead shrugged, “You can let them out haha,”

“Really? You don’t mind?”

“No, go for it,”

So the blond leaned back in his chair and let out another fart, kind of small, but loud enough for Danny to hear over the intercom.

PRRRRT

The blond let out a vulgar sigh, “Wish I was at home I could just rip ass and no one would care, I mean I’m not letting it all out right now I don’t want you to suffer haha,”

“I don’t mind,” The redhead was looking a little nervous, his leg twitching, “I mean, you can fart all you want right now we aren’t that close,” He kept letting out nervous laughs.

“We aren’t close now but if we were you’d smell how bad it was.” The blond waved his hand in front of his face.

“I still wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh yeah?” The blond raised an eyebrow, “Come closer.”

Without hesitating, the redhead’s face dropped all expression and he got up, took a few steps, and was standing right next to the blond, looking down at him.

“Yeah that kind of does stink,” The redhead smiled, chuckled again.

Danny was confused. What the hell was he watching? Two guys talking about farts? This entire situation was insane. He was kidnapped by a guy he used to bully? What place was this? And why were they spying on two guys talking about farts of all things?

The blond asked, “Would you mind if I farted again right now, when you’re standing next to me?”

“If you need to fart dude, you can,” The redhead’s hands were grabbing at his jeans.

The blond kept his eyes locked on the redhead, and he lifted a leg, and

Prrrrprrrrt

Another fart. After a few seconds, “Ah yeah that stinks. Smell it?”

The redhead took a sniff, “Yeah that’s bad.”

“But you don’t mind?”

“No dude, whatever you want,” His face was turning pink.

“Would you mind if I farted like a foot away from your face?” The blond raised an eyebrow.

“I, uh, well no if you need to,”

‘Get on your knees.”

The redhead fell to his knees immediately, he looked like he was trembling. The blond laughed, stood up, and turned around, facing his butt at the redhead. His butt was well defined in his tight blue jeans. Again, he grunted and,

PRRRRT

“Ah,” he sighed, “How does that smell?”

The redhead leaned in just a little and sniffed the air, “Oh, damn that’s bad haha,”

“Yeah? Ok,” He bent over a little and said, “Listen very carefully, so we all know what’s about to happen,” He glanced at the window, as if he knew it was a false mirror, “Would you mind if I grabbed the back of your head, shoved your face into my ass, and then farted?”

The redhead looked like his heart had stopped for a second. If Danny hadn’t been tied up, he would have found this funnier.

“No, I wouldn’t mind,” The redhead gulped.

“Just so we are clear,” The blond spoke loudly, “I am going to grab your head, push your face against my ass, making sure your nose is between my cheeks, and then I’m going to fart directly up your nose. Do you want me to do this?”

“Yes,” The redhead sounded like he was dreaming.

“Ok,” With a huge smile, the blond grabbed the back of the guy’s head, and shoved the guy’s face into the seat of his jeans. With a loud grunt,

PRRRRPRRPRPRPRPRPTTTT

He let out a huge sigh, and his face had a goofy grin, and the redhead was nose first in that ass sniffing and sniffing, gagging and coughing, and the both of them were laughing.

“How does it smell?”

“Really bad,” But he didn’t pull away.

“Keep sniffing. I got some more farts for you.”

The redhead nuzzled his face against his butt. Danny stared in shock and confusion.

Mark spoke into Danny’s ear, “And that’s after just an hour of hypnosis.”

Danny’s eyes widened. That had to be a joke. This all had to be some kind of joke. Hypnosis wasn’t real it was just carnival tricks. But still, he watched as the redhead was gagging and laughing and talking about how bad those farts stink, and yet he kept his nose in the seat of the blond guy’s pants. He was sniffing with a wide grin on his face. No one in their right mind would do that. Unless they were actors. But why?

“My company has been spending years on this secret project.” Mark went on, “Looking into the neurotransmitters of the brain, what triggers the mind to react to different stimuli. After so many years, we’ve found the right formula, the exact combination of chemicals and physical sensations to condition the mind to react a specific way to a specific stimuli.” he turned Danny, was leaning over with his face very close, “That day in the locker room, when you sat on my face and farted, and everyone laughed and took turns doing that to me…that was the worst day of my life. But now? All your debts will be paid.”

He gestured toward the mirror, which had changed back to being blank, “That man? My test subject? We’ve been observing him closely after the treatment. Every interaction he’s had with another man has involved him bringing up farts. And most of them end with him eventually trying to find a way to get his face in a farting ass. Here we saw him being talked into it, but in others we’ve seen him actively try to convince the other to fart on him. With one guy, he ended up making a bet where the loser had to sniff the winner’s farts, and he lost on purpose. In another, we had him sleep in a room of six actors, all of them in on the subject. And in the middle of the night, he would creep around sniffing their asses while they slept. Any time I had an actor insist on no, the test subject would start to beg, and then he’d start offering money. That was my favorite part. Listening him list prices he’s willing to pay for sniffing farts…This is the fate that will happen to all of your friends. I will put them under this level of treatment and they will constantly seek out farts. But you? I’ve got something better.”

He stood up, “I’m going to double your dosage. If the calculations are correct, you are going to drop all pretenses. You will beg for farts. You’ll be in complete distress unless your face is in another man’s ass. Your brain will turn to mush and you’ll become a mindless fart sniffing zombie. You’ll no longer be a respectable member of society so I will have your living arrangements shifted around so you never have to stop huffing farts. Now that you have an idea of what will happen, we can start the treatment.”

Danny was screaming in his gag, thrashing around in his chair. His eyes were full of anger and fear. This couldn’t be happening to him. This couldn’t be real. Mark spoke a few words in his walkie talkie and about a minute later, the far doors opened. Three men walked in, two were nurses, and the third was a taller burly looking man in a white robe. His face was covered in a scruffy brown beard and his hair was also a mess.

Danny kept thrashing. One nurse walked over to the equipment, took the IV, and slowly put it into his arm. The other had reached between Danny’s legs. Danny didn’t even notice he was only in a t-shirt and underwear. The nurse had pulled off the underwear and took Danny’s dick and fit some device around it. The other nurse was then attacking a few wires with little suction cups on different parts of Danny’s head and under his shirt. Tears were running down his face. Finally, Danny felt something touch his anus. He yelped a bit, and the nurses were telling him to relax, as a dildo slowly slid up into him.

Without knowing why, Danny was starting to feel calmer, and he was getting aroused.

“The drugs going into you right now will turn you on while also putting you into a subconscious state,” Mark explained, “The electric impulses will soothe your nerves, the penis pump and dildo will relieve you, and finally,” The man in the bathrobe stepped forward, “This is Andy. Andy is your new master. I’m going to strap your face into his ass and you’re going to fall in love with everything his asshole has to offer. Understand?”

Danny couldn’t respond. His mind was already going blank.

Andy said, “They gave me a bunch of chicken wings, so, sorry dude.”

“Don’t apologize,” Mark laughed, “Pretty soon he’ll beg for more.”

He watched as Andy stripped off the robe. Andy was a little more stocky than he’d expected, but not much. Broad shoulders, a body covered in hair, and his ass was huge. He got on all fours on the table, facing away from Danny, so Danny could get a good look at the giant globes covered in thick hair. Andy was in a jock strap so his cock and balls were covered.

Danny felt some harness being put over his head. The ass was just inches away, he could smell the strong musk. Andy spread his cheeks, and Danny was staring directly at his tight pink asshole surrounded by hair.

“Welcome to your new life,” Mark whispered with malice into Danny’s ear, before putting headphones on him that gave off soft music. Danny’s eyes were hazy, and he felt his head being pushed forward, and his nose pressed into Andy’s asshole. The straps went tight, so tight he could barely breathe. The stink of Andy’s ass was strong. Danny nodded off, soothed by a warm wave going through his body.

PRTPRTPRTPRTRPPRTPRTP

Danny passed out.

….. ….. ….. ….. …..

Danny didn’t know where he was or what was going on. He had no thoughts, except about ass. All he knew was that his face was completely smothered by a man’s ass. It was sweaty, hairy, sticky, and stinky, and he loved it. He loved the warmth, and he loved the stink, and he loved how the hairs were scratching and tickling his face. He loved feeling the man’s asshole flex over his nose from time to time.

He didn’t like the farts at first. In about 15 or 20 minutes of real time [to Danny time wasn’t moving in any direction] the farts were too strong and disgusting. But after about half an hour, they had become a mild annoyance. At 45 minutes, he didn’t mind them. And at 60, he liked them, and started wanting more. And at 75 minutes, he had loved them.

It also helped that he was cumming a lot. Not only was he feeling warm and safe and happy, but he felt very horny, and the build up was slow until a powerful release. He had cum about four times, and each time he felt more and more in love with the ass that had become his new home. He had never wanted to leave, he wanted his nose to be up a man’s asshole forever.

….. ….. ….. ….. …..

In the lab, the two nurses were monitoring the machines, making sure the IV flow was slow and steady. One of them cleaned up after Danny’s orgasms, and was setting the penis pump to treat his dick more delicately each time, since it was red and they didn’t want it to get too sore. His own ass was completely relaxed, being fucked by the warm dildo. The electric impulses through the wires, penis pump, and dildo were all helping to keep his nerves relaxed and in a state of complete comfort and bliss. Danny would moan every so often into Andy’s ass.

Andy had a blanket over his naked body, his ass was exposed of course. He was watching TV on an iPad in front of him to pass the time. They’d also gave him a plate of cheese curds, onion rings, and ranch, just to make sure he doesn’t run out of gas.

“Oh, got another,” He glanced around, grunted, and

PTRPTRPRRPRRRRR

He sighed and started laughing, feeling and hearing Danny suck it up in deep sniffs. Danny’s cock had gotten hard again. The nurse’s cracked wide smiles, looking at each other for a moment. This was the funniest job they’d ever had.

Reunion & reliving old dynamics

18+

The man of my dreams, the object of my fantasy, the President of my spank bank.

He stands in front of me, looking similar to the version of him in my head, yet also very different.

His light brown hair is cut in a shaggy style, longer than the buzz cut he frequented in high school. Where at first only a few whiskers grew, there is now a beard, not wild but neat.

His body is entirely different, half of him gone. Dylan was 270 back in senior year. Now, he's probably around 200, his extra weight hardened into bulk. He isn't grossly musculed, a healthy balance between fat and muscular.

I can't check to see if he still has a big, wide ass.

Looking at him, in the darkened cafeteria dressed up like a school dance, I'm propelled back to those difficult, cringe teenage days.

The root of my obsession with Dylan was my first secret obsession: flatulence. I've heard and smelled Dylan's farts more times than I can count.

He was one of the popular guys, and his personality changed depending on who was around him. Only one thing never changed about him, though: his tendency to fart anywhere and everywhere, no matter who was around.

My favorite is the time he kept farting in the locker room after gym class, so bad it made my stomach turn. It was incredible, a physical presence in my nose and lungs...

The other great one is the night of our graduation campout. I'd hung out with him and the popular guys, passing around a J in a small tent. Dylan kept farting, until everyone left the tent but me and him.

Unfortunately, nothing happened but more farts. I loved his farts, though. I love all farts from attractive men.

I wonder why he's approached me. We were never really close, only hung out and had conversations a few times. We had plenty of classes together, but that was it.

"Hey, Adam." Dylan shakes my hand and pulls me in to put his other arm around me, a bro hug. "Haven't seen you since school. You missed the last reunion."

I hadn't been in a good enough place to go to my 10 year reunion, so I made sure to go to this one, the 15th. I didn't have many close friends in my graduating class, most older or younger.

"Nice to see you, Dylan." It is, even though he was treating me like we were best friends. I spot several of his popular guy friends in the crowd; why is he choosing to talk to me? "You look really good."

I try not to come across too gay or flirty. He squeezes the back of my neck with a wide, calloused hand, and I fight not to shiver. "Yeah, you too. Uh, you smoke? I could use some fresh air, if you wanna come with."

I can't believe he's asking me to hang out with him, but I stay calm and cool. "Yeah, sure. Lead the way."

"Awesome." Dylan turns to start getting through throngs of our former classmates. My eyes drop to his ass as I follow. It's not as big as it had been back then, but it's still bigger than the asses of most men. I've always wanted to squeeze it as he farted on my hands.

We leave the cafeteria, entering the corridor between it and the gym. The ceiling is high, with a skylight, making all sounds echo.

"Oh, I tried to wait but..." Dylan stops and directs me to his side instead of behind him, his warm hands on my arms. He rips a deep, growling, rolling fart that echoes back at us.

The smell is noxious, incredible, just as eggy and skunky as I remember, except turned up to a new high intensity.

"Well, some things haven't changed." I chuckle as I continue walking forward, pushing an outside door open.

"I did fart a lot in school, didn't I?" He smirks and lets a quiet, dark laugh. Dylan trails me into the open air.

I already miss the smell of his fart. We each light a cigarette and blow out smoke. Dylan glances at me, then holds his breath and bends his knees. A fart of bubbly, loud, powerful gas tears out of him for seven seconds. The sound is so satisfying, the smell hanging thickly even in the open air.

"Ah!" Dylan sighs and hits his cigarette. "Yeah, I guess I still kinda fart a lot."

"No judgment here," I say. His fart lingers. I love it. "Can I ask, though, why me? We weren't really the closest."

Here I was, on my knees, underneath a desk setting up a computer in the new Sargent's office. Nothing abnormal, until I felt a hand slap my ass and give a squeeze.

I audibly yelp and immediately turn to see Officer Vanover giving me a shit eating grin. "Whoa man, I don't know you like that." I eventually get out and he laughs in response.

"Not yet." He gives me a wink.

Officer Vanover is an attractive guy and all, but there is a small problem: As far as I'm aware, he's a married man. When I Facebook stalked him, there were clearly tons of photos with him and his wife, ranging from their wedding to vacation photos. So, this was more of a hazing thing more likely than a sexual thing, I decide.

Now, here's my problem. Officer Vanover is hot. I hate to admit that, but it's true. At minimum he's 6 foot 1, has an ass that won't quit, fit as hell and his face card and ginger beard are to die for. And his uniform pants hug his ass so tight that you can see the lines of his boxer briefs. It's so fucking erotic and half the times I'm around him, I have to rush to get away before I do something I regret. Thoughts of him throwing my 5 foot 5 self around plague my mind way too much when I'm around him.

My interactions with Officer Vanover started the first week I started in February.

February 12 -

When I start messing with the printer, he came over and just stood next to my left. Not say anything at first, just hovered. It's odd, but not necessarily anything new. After a few minutes of not finding anything wrong with the printer, I finally say "Do you know what's wrong with the printer? It looks fine to me."

He gives me an expression that he's thinking, but shakes his head no. I sigh and get ready to go to the Police Lieutenant to see if he can tell me what exactly the issue is when Officer Vanover hikes his right leg up and rips ass directly at me. "Oops." He says with that shit-eating grin. It's gross, but it doesn't smell like anything.

"Get outta here man." Half-laughing as I plug my nose. He keeps laughing, but he does go back to one of the Patrol Desks. I keep working away, Officer Vanover keeps farting and eventually Officer Hanford shows up.

"Jeezus it reeks. Brandon, what the fuck are you eating."

"How you know it's me. Could be the IT guy."

"Hey!" I yell from the other room.

"Because it always stinks when you're here." Officer Hanford groans before taking another desk.

I step out into the room to say something, but Officer Vanover is straining his face when a loud fart rings out in the Patrol Room.

"Fuck this, I'm working in my car." Officer Hanford gets up almost as quickly as he sat down. "Sorry new guy." He says to me as he leaves.

Officer Vanover gives me a wink, and another ringing fart before I go back to the printer.

Another 15 minutes of his farting and getting no where on the printer before I determine there's nothing wrong and printing is working fine. I say my goodbyes to Officer Vanover and let the Lieutenant know that the printer is working. I found out from him that Officer Vanover was the one who reported the issue though. I found it strange he reported the issue but didn't tell me that when I was working on it.

February 16 -

I get called down to the Patrol Room again, and once again, just Officer Vanover. He gives me a smile, I ignore the way that it makes my heart beat quicken. This time there is an issue on his computer. "Officer Vanover, we need to stop meeting like this." I try to joke, and he laughs, but there's a feeling in my gut that this isn't going a normal interaction.

"You can call me Brandon." He shows me the issue and it leads me to having to go under his desk to mess with the cabling. As I'm trying to make sense of the cabling, I see him scoot his chair in and block me under the desk.

"Hey, whatcha doing?" I say as his legs force me against the cubicle wall. It's still workable, just uncomfortable.

"Just keep working and I'll keep working on my document." His keyboard does start to clack.

"Why don't you use a different desk. There's not enough-" I was beginning to argue when he man spreads. And there's his bulge, right there where I can admire it. "Actually, I think I can work like this."

"What I thought fag." That's what I thought he said, but that couldn't be right. I didn't press him about that.

I found the issue with the cables pretty quickly as well. It was clear that someone, most likely Officer Vanover, er Brandon, had pulled the ethernet cable. I plugged it back in, but I didn't say anything yet, as I was still admiring his bulge. Actually it was more than just a bulge, he had a fucking hard on now. His fat (holy fucking shit) cock was straining and he put he grabbed it and shook it.

"Oh my god. Are you-" And before I can finish, he grabs my head and pulls it hard against the seat of his chair and his ass.

PBRBRBFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

A loud fart echos from Brandon's seat and I'm forced to inhale his gas. And this time, it stunk bad. I start coughing and gagging "Fuck! Let go!"

PBRBRBRBR PRBBFBFBFBRBRBR

I'm don't know how many farts just came from his ass, but it was wet and disgusting. The smell was eggy and I gagged hard. I pull away from Brandon's hand. He's laughing hard as he backs his chair up from me.

"Sorry, gotta make sure the new guy is welcomed." He says, boner still pressed against the fabric of his pants. He makes a show of adjusting himself, giving me a wink, and then stands up from the chair to leave.

PFFFBBRBRFFFFFFTTTTTT

"For the road." He says at the entryway.

I'm sitting on the floor, stuck, not sure what to do. I mean this was a line that got crossed professionally. Do I go to the L-T and let him know what just occurred? Do I just leave it alone?

Ultimately, I finish what I'm doing and hide back in my office. But I don't stop thinking about what happened. I'm not into all the farting stuff, but dude, that fat dong has me salivating. The thought of being back under the desk sucking on that hog (pun intended) makes it difficult to focus.

February 23 -

There had been a few run ins with Brandon over the couple past days, but nothing of note. That changed though on the 23rd.

The lieutenant asked me to assist with getting new equipment setup in a side office for a new Sargent that would be starting soon. Not an abnormal request, so I do my thing.

That's where I feel the hand on my ass. Brandon is there giving me that shit-eating grin again.

"Whoa man, I don't know you like that."

"Not yet." He gives me a wink. "But now that I'm Sargent, I'm sure you'll be getting to know me pretty well."

"Wait, is this going to be your office."

"Yup." He pops the P loudly and I can't help but watch the way he licks his lips. Fuck I need to get out of here.

"Well, congrats man. I'm going to keep working, so if you don't mind removing your hand." He removes his hand and walks away. I can't help the sigh of relief that leaves my lips, but then I hear the door close and the lock latch. I turn my head quickly to see the blinds closing as well. He makes eye contact with me and points to the black sofa. "Wha?"

"Sit down." He says impatiently. And I don't know if it's his tone or the arousal in my brain, but I do as I'm told. "Look, you're a fag, you can't help that. But, you need to keep those eyes of yours to yourself."

"What? You just grabbed my ass."

"I'm not a fag though."

"That's kind of fag behavior though." I don't stop myself. "What game are you playing here?" I say angrily.

"Watch your tone. I'm a man, fags don't get to talk to men like that." Who the hell is this guy?

"Fuck you man, I'm going to L-T." I get up from the sofa, but immediately Brandon grabs me and moves my hands behind my back and puts me in cuffs. "What the hell man?" He pushes me back to the sofa where I land face first.

"You have the right to remain silent." He puts his knee on my back, preventing me from moving. I can feel him shifting and adjusting behind me. When he grabs me and flips me to my back, I can see that he's shirtless. And of course he has an awesome body. I try to ignore that fact but then his hands go to his belt and he drops his pants. His fat dong, already fully erect in his cobalt blue boxer briefs.

"I-" I lose the words as I see him pump his cock through the boxers.

"We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Your pick fag."

"What does that even mean? Brandon, what are we doing here." I go to stand back up, but he pushes me back down.

"Don't get up unless I tell you to." He says as his hand is forcefully pushing my chest into the sofa. He's towering above me and I'm trying to keep eye contact, but my eyes move back to his cock. "Fag, can't even help yourself. Eyes up here fag."

"I-I-Can I suck you off?" It catches both of us off guard. He examines my face for a moment and then laughs.

"Oh you thought this was for you." He jiggles his cock in his hand. "Nah, that's not how this is going." He grabs my shirt, and adjusts my position on the couch where my head is positioned in between the crack of the cushions. He turns around and his boxer clad ass is positioned over my face. He drops his ass hard and slams me into the sofa.

I'm stuck in the sofa, and Brandon's ass is covering my face. Immediately I can smell how musky Brandon is today and my face is already starting to feel damp.

PFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTT

Oh no, not this again. Warm air hits my face and the smell hits like a freight train at this distance. I cough and strain against the cuffs on my hands, but I can't move. I scream help hoping anyone can hear me, but I know it's useless from Brandon's laugh. "Oh shut up."

PBRBBRFTTT PBRBRBFFFFFFT

A whine escapes from me as the new farts hit my nose. The smell is like sewage and there's no escaping. "Oh god someone help!" I yell, but it only gets drowned out from Brandon slamming his ass down on my face again.

"I said shut up." He drops again and I'm feeling slightly concussed. "I want to hear you sniffing this one."

"No!" I whine.

"Sniff or I'm shoving a baton up your ass." I reluctantly take a large inhale.

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTT

A sigh of relief leaves Brandon as I'm forced to inhale the full brunt of the noxious fumes. Everything starts to feel distant as more sewage is inhaled to my lungs. Fuck things are really starting to spin.

"Good boy." He briefly stands up and gives my head a pat and I can't help but lean into the pat. "Alright, that's enough." He slams his ass back down. "Get back to sniffing." I whine in protest. "Sniff now." Again, I begin to inhale.

PFFFFFFFFBBRBRRRFFFFFFBRBRBRFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTT

"Ah fuck." Brandon sighs as I gag down the gas. "Yeah fucking smell that shit." He grinds his ass down against my face. "I bet you're lovin' this shit fag." I whine, but he just lifts up and slams down again. "Yeah you like it when my fat ass destroys your face."

PFFFFFFFFBBFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTT

He times this slam with the fart. In that moment, tears start to fall down my face. It's all too much, I'm having a hard time keeping a coherent thought.

"Open your mouth." It's like I became sober in an instant. Immediately I lock my lips so that they can't be forced open. When Brandon checks me and sees that I'm refusing. "If you open your mouth, my dick can get in easier." I know my eyes widened just as much as my mouth did. He laughed so hard before slamming his ass back down over my mouth. "Sike!"

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

With no time to react, I swallow down the disgusting, long fart and make a horrified noise. Brandon's whole body is shaking as he's laughing. "I can't believe you fell for that." He keeps farting as he laughs and I keep just swallowing down the disgusting butt bombs. My mouth is overwhelmed by the taste of ass and my brain is having a hard time processing any of this.

PFFFFFFBBRBRFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTT PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTT PFFFFBBRBRBFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTT

"Please stop." I try to get out, but Brandon's farting is louder than I can manage. I gag against his warm ass. "Mercy."

"Fuck. I knew when I made that shake this morning it was going to hit hard, but not this hard." Brandon wiggles his ass again on my face. "Alright, I got shit to do, lets get to the finale." He gets off of me fully and turns around. He makes eye contact as I watch his hand slide under his waistband and pulls his boxers off. His cock is fully erect and standing straight. He leans down, right hand on his cock and slaps my face over and over again with his cock as he laughs. "This is what you want right? My slab of man meat." He strokes himself over and over as all I can do is watch.

"Please?" I say despite the state of myself.

"Pathetic." He starts to lower his cock towards my mouth. "Even after getting acquainted with my ass, you still want to suck me off. What makes you think you deserve my cock?"

"Please, I'll make you feel so good." I say, not really hearing myself. "I deserve it, I've been a good boy."

He runs a hand through my hair and begins to put his cock in my mouth. "I guess you have." He moves his cock head along my lips. "You did just take all that man gas." He pretends to think and I take the moment to close my lips around his cock head. "Ah-ah-ah" He pulls his cock away. "I didn't say you could do that." From the small taste I got, I knew I needed that cock in my mouth.

Instead though, I got Brandon's naked ass slammed down onto my face with my mouth wide open.

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

My body jolts as the taste is even worse than when he had boxers on. He lifts up and I watch as his hairy hole leaves my face. I feel utterly broken and disgusting as his I watch his hole wink and let out more gas above my face.

"Bet that tasted nice, didn't it fag. You like it when a man takes what's his?"

"You're disgusting." I spit on the ground, partially to get the awful taste off my tongue.

"Ah, you're so sweet." He kneels above me and starts stroking his cock again. "I guess you can have a treat." As he going, I can't help flexing my own cock against my khakis. He moans lightly and continues to fart, thankfully not directly on my face this time. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, I hope you're ready, cause once I start shooting that's all you're getting." I willingly open my mouth again, against my better judgement. This time though, he does start to shoot his load. Barely any makes it into my mouth and instead I can feel him drenching my hair and my face with his cum. By the eighth shot, he's actually aiming for my mouth and I'm flooded with the taste of his salty semen.

Fuck it was delicious.

"Get the fuck out my office." I didn't even realize but he's already pulling his boxers back on.

I go to stand up and that's when I remember I still have hand cuffs on. "Um. Can-"

"I said get the fuck out." The face he gave me told me everything I needed to know. I got out of the office and realized, I have no where to go. Cum on my face and hair, and hand cuffs in the middle of the police department.

I rush into the bathroom, closing the door with my foot and try to come up with a plan. It's ruined when Brandon literally walks into the bathroom. "Dude, get me out of these cuffs."

He gives me a once over before locking the door and going over to the urinal. "Yeah, in a second." He pulls out his sizeable cock, not fully erect this time and starts taking a piss. "Fuck that's nice." He rips ass of course, making me jolt. He catches me, "Heh, yeah my ass has that effect."

"Fuck you." There wasn't heat behind it.

"I don't know. I think you liked it. Liked sniffing my ass like a dirty fag." He flushes the urinal and grabs and turns me around. He bends me over and humps my ass. "I bet this is what you really wanted. My fat cock pushing into your pussy."

"Dude, stop. Get me out of these cuffs." The weight of his bulge pressing against my ass was making my cock start to harden again.

"Fine." He pushes me against the wall. Bulge pressed against my ass the whole time as he unlocks my cuffs. "But don't pretend you didn't like it."

"I didn't."

"We'll see." He burps in my face and takes a finger, swipes it in cum, and pushes it into my mouth. I moan, against my will which gives him that evil grin. He leaves me, without washing his hands, disgusting.

Brazilian guy farts! #5

I asked if I could just pause the tributes, but he got angry and threatened to never speak to me again. I couldn't lose him, he's the only guy who's ever agreed to satisfy my needs. Even if its because hes paid.

Brazilian guy farts! #4

FFFFFFFFFFRRRRRRRAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPPPTTTTTTTTT!

You paused, fork almost to your mouth, as your ears were assaulted by the horrific sound of your flatmate Wilson in the bathroom. You wished that he would warn you before he needed to use the throne, cause then you'd have been able to escape before it was too late. You probably would've left now, if you weren't in the middle of eating.

BBBBBBBBRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPP!

“I know,” I acknowledged, hiking down my shorts, reaching for the lube next to us on the bed table. “I just want to try something.”

The concrete of the parking structure dampened the sounds of the city outside, leaving only the rhythmic slap of Converse and loafers against the oil-stained floor. It was late, past one in the morning, and the fluorescent lights overhead hummed with an intermittent, sickly flicker.

Nico shivered, pulling his oversized sweatshirt around his small frame. He was buzzing with the residue of the concert they had just left, an underground indie-pop band from Oakland that he’d been obsessed with for months. "I’m just saying, Kev, the way the lead synth harmonized with the socio-political commentary in the second verse? It’s basically a deconstruction of late-stage capitalism wrapped in a 4/4 beat."

Kevin smiled. He looked the part of the quintessential academic: tall, slender, with a sharp jawline softened by a thoughtful expression. "It’s valid, Nico. But you have to consider if the medium undermines the message. Can you truly critique the commodification of art while charging forty dollars for a t-shirt?"

"You're such a buzzkill," Nico teased, bumping his hip against Kevin’s thigh. "That’s why I love you. My big, smart, Pol-Sci boyfriend keeping me grounded."

"And you’re my chaotic, leftist gamer keeping me from taking myself too seriously," Kevin replied, reaching down to squeeze Nico’s hand.

They turned the corner toward level C4, where Kevin’s modest sedan was parked. The air in the garage was stale, smelling of exhaust and old dust. It was completely empty, save for a few scattered cars.

Suddenly, tires screeched.

A white cargo van, devoid of any markings or license plates, whipped around the spiral ramp and slammed onto the brakes directly in front of them. It cut off their path to Kevin’s car, the grill aggressive and rusted.

"Whoa!" Kevin instinctively stepped in front of Nico, his protective instinct flaring. "Hey! Watch where you’re going!"

There was no driver visible through the tinted windshield. Before either of them could back away, the side sliding door of the van flew open with a mechanical whoosh.

There was no one inside. No kidnappers, no guys in masks. There was only a screen.

It was massive, filling the entire door frame. Instantly, it flared to life, projecting a blinding luminosity that cut through the dim garage. A spiral. Thick bands of crimson red and stark, blinding white began to rotate. It wasn't just a video; it seemed to possess depth, a tunnel of light that drilled into the eyes.

"What the hell..." Nico muttered, his voice trembling. "Kevin, we need to run."

"I... I can't," Kevin stammered. His analytical mind, usually so sharp at dissecting political theory and rhetoric, hit a wall. He was trying to rationalize the stimuli. Is this a prank? An art installation? A strobe effect?

A low frequency began to emit from the van’s speakers. It was a deep, thrumming bass that vibrated in their chests, syncing with the rotation of the spiral. Wub... Wub... Wub...

Nico’s hand went limp in Kevin’s. The gamer, used to staring at screens for hours, found his gaze locked. The colors were so bright they burned an afterimage into his retinas instantly.

"LOOK," a voice boomed from the van. It wasn't human. It was synthesized, layered, deep and commanding. "LISTEN. SUBMIT."

"No," Kevin whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. "Nico, don't look."

But Kevin opened his eyes. He had to. The curiosity, the need to understand the phenomenon, betrayed him. He looked into the red and white abyss.

The spiral spun faster. The red wasn't just a color anymore; it felt like a temperature. Heat.

“This is a psychological operation. Visual entrainment. They are trying to override the prefrontal cortex using high-frequency flashing. I know this. I read a paper on subliminal messaging in authoritarian regimes. I need to resist. I am Kevin. I am a progressive. I value nuance. I value...” Kevin thought to himself.

The thought trailed off as the sound changed. The bass grew heavier, sounding less like a machine and more like a heartbeat. A very slow, very strong heartbeat.

WUB... WUB...

Kevin felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple. It wasn't a cold sweat of fear anymore. It was hot. His skin felt prickly.

Beside him, Nico let out a soft whimper that slowly morphed into a groan. The small Peruvian boy dropped to his knees, his eyes wide, reflecting the spinning vortex.

"So... bright..." Nico mumbled. "Pretty... colors..."

"WEAKNESS IS LEAVING THE BODY," the voice intoned. "REJECT THE VIRUS. EMBRACE THE STRENGTH."

Kevin felt a cramp in his stomach. A sudden, violent churning. His gut bubbled audibly. The intellectual tension he held in his shoulders, the posture of a student who spent hours hunched over books, began to dissolve. He felt his muscles twitch.

Prrrrt.

A sharp, foul smell hit the air. Nico had passed gas. It wasn't the usual accidental slip; it was loud, brazen.

"Nico?" Kevin tried to look down, but he couldn't tear his eyes from the screen.

"Feels... good..." Nico slurred. His voice sounded deeper, stripping away the high-pitched, excited lilt he usually had. "Stomach... making room."

"PURGE THE SOY. PURGE THE WEAKNESS."

Kevin felt it too. The pressure in his lower abdomen was immense. His body was reacting to the lights, his metabolism shifting into a hyper-aggressive gear. The fear was evaporating, replaced by a strange, aggressive apathy.

Why was I scared? Kevin thought. The complex sentences in his mind were breaking down. Why fear? Fear is for... fear is for pussies.

The word shocked him. He never used that word. It was sexist. It was derogatory.

It’s accurate, the new voice in his head countered. Stop overthinking. Start lifting.

Kevin’s stomach roared. He clenched his fists. The fabric of his slim-fit button-down shirt felt tight. He felt hot, incredibly hot. A thick, musky scent began to rise from his own skin, overpowering his subtle sandalwood deodorant. It smelled like raw onion and testosterone.

BRRRAAAP!

Kevin ripped a massive, thunderous fart. It echoed in the concrete garage, vibrating against his denim. It smelled horrific, like rotten eggs and cheap protein powder.

"Nice one, bro," Nico mumbled.

Kevin froze. Bro? Nico called him babe or Kev. Never bro.

"Thanks," Kevin heard himself say. His voice was dropping an octave, losing the soft, articulated cadence of the debate team. "Needed that. Gut was full of trash."

The spiral shifted. The white bands became stripes. The red became a background. A vague shape of a star began to pulse in the center.

"TRADITION. POWER. HIERARCHY."

Nico was the first to fully crumble. The complex web of his identity, his love for obscure indie games, his advocacy for marginalized communities, his nuanced take on gender politics, was being scrubbed clean. The spiral acted like a magnet, dragging the data off his hard drive and replacing it with a new operating system.

All Nico could think about in his emptying mind was “Leveling up? No. No more games. Games are for kids. I’m a man. Men don’t play. Men conquer. The System is broken. The Left lies. They want me small. They want me weak.”

Nico stood up. His posture changed. He widened his stance, his legs spread apart in a display of dominance. He rolled his neck, cracking it loudly. The oversized denim jacket, which once looked cute and stylish, now looked ridiculous to him. He tore it off, throwing it on the oily ground. Underneath, he wore a vintage band tee. He looked at it with disgust.

"Trash," Nico spat.

He flexed. He wasn't big, he was still short, but he felt huge. He felt like a pitbull.

"WHO IS THE ALPHA? WHO IS THE LEADER?"

"Trump," Kevin whispered.

The word tasted like bile initially, then like honey.

Kevin’s mind was a battlefield, but the resistance was losing. The "Political Science" major was being dismantled.

Nuance is a trap, the spiral told him. Facts don't care about your feelings. Might makes right. Look at you. You’re a man. Act like it.

Kevin felt a surge of aggression. He looked at his hands. They looked bigger. His veins were popping out along his forearms. He felt a phantom pump, as if he’d just done ten sets of heavy bench press. The sweat was pouring off him now, soaking his shirt. The smell in the immediate area was becoming toxic, a mix of aggressive, sour body odor and the lingering clouds of their flatulence.

PHHHHRRRRT.

Nico let out another one, long and wet sounding. He didn't apologize. He didn't blush. He laughed. A deep, guttural, frat-boy chuckle.

"Better out than in, right big guy?" Nico slapped Kevin on the shoulder. The touch wasn't tender; it was firm, a brotherhood check.

"Damn straight," Kevin grunted. He felt the urge to spit. He spat on the floor.

The transformation of their worldview was accelerating.

Climate change? Hoax. Systemic oppression? Excuse for the lazy. The patriarchy? Natural order.

Doers don't need to read between the lines, the voice said.

Kevin squinted. The red spiral was all that mattered.

"YOU ARE PATRIOTS. YOU ARE WARRIORS. YOU LOVE THE FLAG. YOU LOVE THE LEADER."

"I love the leader," Nico chanted, his eyes glazed over with a look of fanatical adoration. "Make it great. Make me great."

"USA," Kevin muttered, the acronym feeling heavy and powerful on his tongue. "USA. USA!"

The intellectual Kevin was gone. In his place was a vessel of raw, unfiltered masculinity and blind loyalty. He didn't want to analyze policy; he wanted to win. He wanted to see liberals cry. He wanted to lift heavy iron and eat steak.

The physical sensation was overwhelming. They were both sweating profusely, their pheromones filling the space between them. It was a locker room smell, multiplied by ten.

BRAAAP! Kevin unleashed another torrent of gas, relieving the pressure of his new gut. "Oh, fuck yeah," he groaned, rubbing his belly. "That’s pure freedom right there."

Nico looked at Kevin. He didn't see his "boyfriend" anymore. He saw a bro. A fellow soldier in the culture war. And he saw that Kevin was no longer the soft, empathetic student. He was becoming a Chad.

"You look huge, bro," Nico said, admiring the way Kevin’s shirt was straining (or seemed to be) against his chest. "You been hitting the gym?"

"Every day, bro," Kevin lied. The memory was false, planted by the spiral, but it felt real. He remembered deadlifting 405 lbs yesterday. He remembered drinking a gallon of raw milk. "Gotta get those gains. Can't be a soy-boy cuck."

"Hell no," Nico agreed, flexing his own small bicep. "We ain't soft."

The Coronation

The spiral on the screen slowed down. The droning bass faded, replaced by the sound of a cheering crowd. It sounded like a rally. Thousands of people screaming in unison.

The screen flashed white one last time, then went dark.

The sliding door of the van remained open. A mechanical tray extended from the darkness of the van’s interior. On the tray sat two objects.

Two bright red hats.

The white embroidery on the front seemed to glow in the dim garage light.

MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN.

Kevin and Nico stared at the hats. It was like staring at the Holy Grail.

"It’s beautiful," Nico whispered.

"It’s time," Kevin said. His voice was deep, devoid of any vocal fry. It was authoritative.

They stepped forward in unison. The hesitation was gone. The fear was gone. The old Kevin and Nico were dead, buried under layers of new, artificial memories and gym-bro instincts.

Kevin reached out and took one. He didn't gently place it on his head; he shoved it down, pulling the brim low. He turned to Nico.

Nico grabbed the other one. He put it on backwards, the snapback strap crossing his forehead, giving him a chaotic, aggressive look.

"How do I look?" Nico asked, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest.

Kevin looked him up and down. "Like a patriot. Like a winner."

"You too, bro. You look like you’re ready to storm the capital," Nico laughed.

"Let's get out of this shithole city," Kevin said, looking around the parking garage with disdain. "Need to get back to the suburbs. Real America."

"Yeah. Too many snowflakes around here," Nico spat.

The Departure

They turned away from the van. The van’s door slid shut, and without a sound, it reversed and drove away, disappearing down the ramp. They didn't even watch it go. They didn't care. They had their orders. They had their identity.

They walked toward Kevin’s car. Their walks had changed. Kevin walked with a wide, lumbering gait, imagining imaginary lats pushing his arms out. Nico bounced on the balls of his feet, full of manic, aggressive energy.

They reached the sedan. Kevin looked at it with a sneer. "Gotta trade this piece of crap in. Need a truck. Lifted. Diesel."

"Yeah, something that rolls coal," Nico agreed, grabbing the door handle. "Piss off the greenies."

They got in. The interior of the car was small and intimate, but the vibe had shifted entirely. It no longer felt like a safe space for two lovers; it felt like a locker room.

Kevin jammed the key into the ignition and revved the engine aggressively, even though it was just a four-cylinder.

"Radio," Kevin commanded.

He jabbed the button, switching off the Bluetooth which had been queued up with an NPR podcast. He scanned the static until he found a classic rock station playing loud, distorted guitars. He cranked the volume up.

"Hell yeah!" Nico shouted, banging his hand on the dashboard.

The enclosed space of the car quickly filled with the smell of their transformation, the heavy, sour sweat of two men who believed they were apex predators.

Kevin looked at Nico. "Hungry?"

"Starving. I could eat a cow," Nico said. "Literally."

"Burger King. Then the gym," Kevin decided.

"Based," Nico nodded.

Kevin shifted the car into reverse. As he looked back, he felt a massive bubble of pressure build up one last time, the final expulsion of the old Kevin.

PPPHHHRRRAAAP-P-P-P!

It was long, loud, and incredibly violent. It vibrated the seat.

Nico didn't miss a beat. He lifted his leg and fired back instantly.

BRRRT!

"Nice," Kevin grilled, slapping the steering wheel. "Let's roll."

"Rip ass and gas, baby!" Nico yelled.

Kevin slammed on the gas, tires screeching as they sped out of the garage, leaving the silence, their old selves, and a cloud of foul air behind them. They were MAGA now, and they had a country to take back.