Hansel

Axel was a wealthy businessman, usually very busy attending to the beck and call of whoever wanted to contact the company CEO to answer them immediately.

Thankfully, he managed to procure a few days of vacation, which he happily spent on one of his rural properties far from the busy city.

He stood atop the rolling hills, gazing over his expansive rural property. His eyes swept over the landscape, taking in the unkempt state of the grounds. "Fuck, did I not hire anyone to keep this place up?..."

With a sigh, he ran his hand through his perfectly styled black, silky hair. "This will take ages to sort out."

A thought flickered across his mind, and a smirk tugged at his lips. Why waste time using mundane tools like workers when he had such a unique skill set of his own? Besides, he cant recall the last time he, a "self-made millionaire", had actually done any labor himself.

He wouldn't be actually mowing the lawn, no. God, no.

He had a particular magical ability that he seldom used.

He can transform into any animal he wanted. These kinds of abilities are passed on through ones family genetically, but someone of Axel's social caliber had no reason to be transforming into a pitiful animal, he had a reputation to uphold.

But now he was alone, all alone on his overgrown vacation property..

He got undressed, so as not to ruin his clothes during the transformation, closed his eyes and allowed the shift to take place. Axel felt the power surge through him as muscles rippled and bones realigned.

A moment later, the air was filled with a soft thud followed by the sound of hooves meeting earth. Perfect. Axel took a few cautious steps, sat down, stood up, gave a little test whinny. Of course he couldnt help but notice his shiny silver coat. He liked to consider himself more of a show horse than some filthy farm animal, but Axel supposes horses were utilized by humanity for a reason, and that reason was to do manual labor.

As a horse, Axel relished in the freedom and space his new form afforded him. He lowered his head to the lush grass and began to eat. Deep down, he found guilty pleasure in indulging himself like this. Careless and voracious. He had an excuse, he was tidying up the property.

Though he would never admit it to anybody else, he enjoyed giving into his more primal "unsophisticated" desires.

The hours passed, and Axel was increasingly thankful that he'd skipped breakfast that morning, this land was in desperate need of tending.

This is lowkey kind of nice, being a horse, grazing, the whole floor being a buffet. He made a mental note to remember this feeling next time he needed to donate to some stupid charity for tax benefits.

He always thought those whiny environmentalists were annoying, but as an animal, he can see the appeal of having an abundance of lush flora rather than a concrete parking lot.

Maybe those guys were actually on to something?

...

The sun dipped low in the sky before he finally decided it was enough, the once-overgrown field now resembling a well-manicured lawn. Axel took a satisfied breath. His stomach sloshed a bit as he went to lay down, and it occured to him just now how much he's eaten. Thankfully, he only felt comfortably full at most.

For some reason, leveling the whole property seemed kind of intimidating at first, but he guesses it wasnt all that much after all.

Maybe grass just isn't very filling?

He figures, this is why vegetarians and vegans and all those activists are so grumpy, and have nothing better to do than protest outside his father's company building.

The sun was setting, and he's spent his first of 3 days of his paid vacation as a horse, it was probably time to transform back.

He got up and took a nice canter back to the house, and stood outside the back door.

When he transforms back into a human, it's going to take a while for some of the animal features to catch up and get the memo.

Thats fine, he has 2 days to do jack shit in the privacy of his own property, and all he did was eat some grass, he should be fine and back to normal before he had to go back and face his family and coworkers.

Axel reared up on his hind legs before shifting back into his human form. The transition was smooth, but he hadn't quite anticipated the consequences.

He swayed, suddenly just barely able to keep his balance. Thats.. fine, he just transformed back into a bipedal being, after all. That's to be expected.

His center of balance felt so wrong, though. And just as he realized just how much his stomach ached, he looked down and noticed the reason why.

"S-shit..."

His stomach bulged out obscenely, stretched to its limit. "Oh dear..." Axel muttered, rubbing at his bloated abdomen.

He had to hold the bottom curve of his gut with one hand, afraid that if he let it be naturally weighed down, his skin might rupture.

The sight was comical, yet he couldn't help the panic rising within him. He'd never actually transformed back to being a human while so full as a horse before.

Axel stumbled, the weight of his stomach throwing him off balance. He waddled into the house, each step sending jolts of discomfort shooting through him.

Turns out, the horsie tail and ears that remained were the least of his worries right now.

He immediately rushed to get some kind of clothing on, in the back of his mind he genuinely feared his abdomen would tear open, and he wanted to keep some of his dignity when he has to be seen by whoever ended up finding his body.

He somehow managed to pull on a pair of loose fitting shorts, the material straining against the firmness of his new belly. The t-shirt proved more difficult. He pulled it over his head, it went over his chest, but the fabric refused to fall over his rounded midsection. Grunting and groaning, he eventually succeeded, but the end result was anything but comfortable. The fabric clung tightly, leaving little to the imagination.

A wave of self-consciousness washed over him, and he glanced down at himself. This was definitely not the thin exemplary physique he was used to. In fact, he looked almost...pregnant.

He couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. Him, the big shot businessman, looking like he was about to give birth to a foal.

But laughter quickly turned into a wince as his stomach growled again, reminding him of his predicament. He wasn't sure how he was going to survive two more days like this. He couldn't even sit properly, let alone eat anything else without bursting.

With a pained expression, Axel made his way towards the living room and slowly eased himself into a semi-upright position, leaning against the couch, relying heavily on its sturdy armrest. Every movement sent ripples of pain coursing through him. His once flat stomach now resembled an inflated balloon, taut and swollen underneath his shirt.

Each breath he took came shallowly, fearful of expanding his overstretched torso further. The feeling was indescribable, an unrelenting pressure that left him almost gasping for air. His hands instinctively found their way to his abdomen, very gently and lightly massaging the hard surface, desperate for even the slightest relief.

It felt like his insides were a tangled mess of hay and grass, compacted to the point of near bursting.

He let out a long, low groan. Then he felt something rise in his throat.

*mmbuurrrrp*

Burping provided a fleeting sense of release, but alas, it was merely an echo of his discomfort. The gas trapped deep inside struggled to escape as easily as he would have liked, resulting in a series of pitiful little belches that did little to ease his misery.

His organs havent yet seemed to catch on to the fact that no matter how much they tried, nothing was coming up except air.

Axel's burps were a symphony of agony, *hhgurrlppp* "ohh...", *uuu-uurrrp* "ouuh owwww..."

Painful belches escaped his lips, accompanied by the faint scent of grass that now filled the room.

The gas fought its way out of his system harshly, bringing with it the bitter taste of the recent turf he had consumed.

As a horse, this taste would have been a welcome reminder of his freedom, but now, it just made him feel nauseous.

He gingerly pressed his palm against his distended abdomen, wincing at every slight shift of the mass within. "Ughhh...*hrrrlp*"

The pain was unbearable, a constant reminder of his folly. He had heard somewhere that shifting forms mid-meal was bad, but never had he experienced it firsthand. He thought it was more like those "dont swim in the pool after you've just eaten" warnings.

Now he understood why most equine-partial shifters opted to dine as a human beforehand.

His stomach roiled, threatening to spill its contents, but the compacted mass refused to budge. All he could do was brace himself against the couch, grimacing as another burp erupted forth, *mmmh..brrraaaap*.

He prayed that his body would adjust soon or find some way to deal with the situation before he ended up causing irreparable damage to himself.

...

Night fell upon Axel's rural retreat, casting shadows across the room as he continued to suffer in silence. His human stomach protested the foreign mass inside it, writhing and twisting in an attempt to process the sheer volume of plant matter.

Each passing minute seemed like an eternity as he endured the relentless discomfort. Eventually, the pressure lessened enough for him to carefully shift positions, moving from leaning on the couch to lean forward onto a nearby wooden table. The cool surface of the tabletop pressed against his sore chest, providing a small measure of comfort.

He rested his elbows on the table and cradled his head in his hands, eyes closed as he tried to will away the pain. His breaths came out ragged and shallow, punctuated by the occasional grunt or whimper as a particularly strong cramp shot through him.

He swayed back and forth ever so slightly, hoping the motion might help ease the ache.

Time crawled by, and with each passing moment, Axel grew increasingly frustrated with his situation. Why hadn't he thought of this? Why had he allowed himself to become so caught up in his newfound freedom that he forgot the simple rules of shifting?

The night passed in a blur of pain and discomfort, as he spend his time restlessly groaning as he held on to the table for support, and drifting in an out of sleep by lying flat on his back in the chairs beside it.

As dawn approached, he finally began to feel a semblance of relief. His stomach still ached, but the pressure had decreased significantly, allowing him to straighten up slightly without fear of rupture. He sighed deeply, his body still trembling. Lesson learned.

The morning light cast a soft glow across Axel's face, highlighting the exhaustion etched upon his features.

He slowly pushed himself upright, his now slightly calmer stomach still bulging out noticeably. He cautiously ran his fingers over the rounded mound, amazed by the drastic change. He had never felt so...vulnerable before.

Carefully, he probed the sensitive flesh, wincing at the lingering tenderness. He couldn't deny that there was something oddly intriguing about this new sensation. The firmness beneath his touch, the slight rumble of his still active digestion. He stood, legs apart to accommodate his new form, and took a few experimental steps around the room. Walking required a conscious effort to avoid jostling his midsection too much. He couldn't help but marvel at the way the weight shifted with his movements, pulling him slightly forward. He chuckled to himself, feeling a bit more at ease despite his circumstances. Perhaps, in a strange way, this experience would teach him some sort of empathy relating to greed - a valuable lesson indeed.

He decided to take advantage of his current state, exploring the sensations and limitations of his expanded form. Bending over was still out of the question, but he discovered that by shuffling around carefully, he could accomplish simple tasks. Leaning against door frames and walls became a necessity, the tight fabric of the tshirt only brought more focus to his disproportionately sized gut.. but he found that he rather enjoyed the feeling of his belly pressing against his shirt. It grounded him, in a sense, providing a comforting reminder that he was still here, still real. Also carrying a good amount of the weight from his heavy gut.

Despite everything, Axel couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement.... arousal?... There was something undeniably erotic about this helplessness, this complete lack of control over his own body. And perhaps, once he returned to his normal self, he would find a way to incorporate this newfound fascination into future trysts. But for now, he had a worrying day ahead of him, and a lot of uncomfortable adjusting to do.

..

The main source of discomfort now stemmed from the relentless gurgling and churning of his stomach as it worked tirelessly to break down the immense amount of vegetation.

Every other gurgle was followed by an uncontrollable burp or a quiet yet potent fart, both of which left Axel feeling embarrassed. *Grrrphhhh*, *buuuhurp*, his body released its pent-up gases, echoing softly throughout his secluded cabin.

*grrrrumble* *phfrrrrrt... blrrrrpt*

He couldn't help but flush at the thought of someone hearing him, even though he knew he was miles away from any neighbors.

This wasn't the image he had envisioned for himself, a powerful being capable of taking any form he desired. But here he was, reduced to a gassy mess by his own carelessness. He attempted to stifle the noises with the back of his hand, only to find that doing so caused further discomfort and was more effort than it was worth. So, he resigned himself to letting nature take its course, trying his best to ignore the steady stream of flatulence that escaped him. *blurb*, *pffrrrrrrffft*, *gurrrrglle*, the symphony of bodily functions played on, punctuated by the occasional groan.

Despite the embarrassment, there was something freeing about giving in to these base needs, allowing his body to dictate his actions for once. He shuffled to the kitchen, rubbing his bloated stomach absently as he contemplated what to do next. Maybe a warm tea would help settle things? Or perhaps a nice long soak in the tub? Whatever it was, he knew he needed to take care of himself. After all, he was the architect of his own predicament, and he alone held the key to his eventual recovery. That's what a self-made man does, after all!

As Axel carefully began walking around after leaning on the table for so long, he found himself rummaging through the kitchen, an unwitting victim to his horse instincts that lingered, whispering words of comfort and familiarity.

His mind kept drifting back to the grass, which now made him nauseous. He's never eating anything ever again. He cant imagine anything even appealing to his senses anymore.

Well, now that he gives it some thought, carrots sound pretty good. He can also see himself being partial to oats, for some reason.

When the hell has he ever eaten oats before? In granola bars perhaps. Or like, oatmeal? Hmm. Oatmeal.. ugh. A far cry from the bitter grass that had caused his current predicament.

Despite his stomach's protests, Axel, for some reason couldn't shake the urge to graze. Before he knew it, he had prepared a massive bowl of oatmeal, piled high with honey.

He eyed it greedily, even as his gut roared in protest. His body and mind were in complete opposition right now.

Perhaps, he reasoned, consuming something familiar and easily digestible would help his body adjust. Or maybe it was simply a psychological need, a desire to replace the lingering taste of fermenting grass with something more palatable.

Either way, he couldn't resist the call. He carefully leaned against the table once again, one arm wrapped protectively around his distended abdomen as he scooped up a spoonful of the warm, fragrant mixture.

He savored the taste, allowing the flavor to wash over his tongue before swallowing.

Holy shit, oatmeal tasted so good after eating nothing but a bunch of grass and bitter plant matter.

Axel burped again, the irritating flavor of the property's lawn filling his mouth once more, but the aftertaste hardly lingered, as it was overpowered by the spoonfull of oatmeal he'd just downed.

He couldn't help but groan in satisfaction. *Groannn... ghhggrrrgllrrblr..*

Well, not vocally, his stomach was what was groaning, but he paid it little heed. Instead, he focused on the task at hand, determined to try and enjoy his time off as much as he could.

Taking a few more small bites, Axel quickly realized his error. The oatmeal, as delicious as it tasted, did little to alleviate the crushing pressure within his stomach.

If anything, it seemed to exacerbate the issue, the combination of foods causing his gut to roil and protest violently.

He set the spoon aside with a grimace, his once voracious cravings subsided somewhat, as if it was only really the oatmeal flavor masking his mouth that he needed.

Axel was uncomfortable, but even worse, he was bored.

Too full to move, all he can do is lean against this table for support while he burps and farts like a cow. Or maybe a horse, actually.

"Uhhuhhhuh... it's so tight, it hurts..." he mumbles, feeling a bubbly gurgle in his lower belly.

The gassiness was almost unbearable now, each breath bringing with it another painful bubble that threatened to wreak havoc on his sensitive organs. His lungs still barely had room to expand.

He shifted his weight from leg to leg uncomfortably, trying to find a position that might ease the relentless buildup of air. But no matter how he moved, he couldn't escape the sensation of being stretched beyond capacity.

With a resigned sigh, he allowed himself to rest his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, using the table for support.

His shirt, straining against his heavy, round, bloated middle, rode up slightly, exposing the lower curve of his belly. Thankfully, despite the discomfort, his shirt seemed to hold his heavy gut up, preventing it from sagging painfully with its heavy weight, so he didnt need to worry about anything rupturing for now.

He was able to feel the taut skin quiver with each tiny movement when he rested his hands on it, but even now he can feel each little tremor from the inside.

Every few minutes, a particularly large bubble would suddenly force its way free, resulting in a loud, echoing *BRAAAPPP* that resonated through the otherwise quiet room.

He flushed hotly, mortified at the sheer volume of it all. Never before had he been so aware of his own body's functions, so acutely attuned to each gurgle and rumble. It was maddening, really, but he knew there was no use fighting it.

There was also nothing else to do. He would have to ride this out until his body had processed the mass of foliage he'd consumed. Until then, he was a sorry prisoner to his own biology.

Trapped by his own bloated form, Axel felt every movement as his body waged a war against itself.

Each rumble, each twinge, each gurgle and growl reverberated throughout his midsection, a constant reminder of the foliage slop that lay within. He tried to daydream to distract himself, but the subtle undulations of his distended gut were a constant reminder of his situation.

Slowly but surely, the pressure mounted. It built from deep inside, starting low, like a distant earthquake beneath the surface, and rose to become a painful knot of trapped gas begging for release. He clenched, trying to keep it contained, but it was futile.

*pfrrrrt.. ffrrrrbbrtt.. pbrrrbt.. braAAP-BLRRPT*

"Unghh... I don't feel good..." Axel grunted as he let out a slow, steady stream of flatulence.

The smell hit him immediately, a potent mix of grass and regret. He felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment and shame, but there was also a strange sense of relief that followed the expulsion.

The air was momentarily cleared, his body was just a little less full. And yet, the emptiness was short-lived, replaced swiftly by the same pressure building up again.

It was a cruel cycle, one that left him feeling utterly helpless and exposed.

His leftover horse attributes didn't make things any better. His cute little ears that usually flicked and twitched were currently flattened in mortification as they picked up the sound of each fart echoing around the room, and each vibrating rumble in his abdomen.

His tail swished nervously behind him, mirroring his own agitation and unease. It's slightly helpful, though, for fanning away any nasty smells as soon as they exit from his ass.

But after a while, fanning only does so much to dissolve such a frequent stream of gas.

"Uurgh.. ow. Shit... I might need to call in sick or something... can I even do that..?" Axel began talking to himself to pass the time.

As he released another series of strained toots, his eyes fell closed in disgust. How had he gotten to this point? This wasnt supposed to happen!

He's fairly sure that horses can actually die from even slight bouts of digestive issues, and god knows how much gas is in his guts and stomach acid is absorbed in the giant dense ball of foliage in his gut... so transforming back into a horse was definitely a no-go.

Eventually he gathered the strength and courage to venture across the room and turn on the television.

Sitting and laying down made him feel sick, and the gas tends to get trapped easier when he's horizontal.

He's sure the opposite effect would happen if he were to rest horizontally facing down rather than up, but his tummy was still too upset and bloated for him to even get on his hands and knees, much less lay down on his stomach.

Axel rotated between brief rests on the couch and going back to being hunched over at the kitchen table, his face flushed with discomfort and embarrassment.

With every passing moment, his predicament became more irritating, yet somehow also more mundane.

He'd grown used to the constant gurgling and farting, resigned to his fate as a sentient compost heap.

But even as he accepted his current state, he couldn't help but wonder what would come next. Usually it doesn't take more than a few days for the residual animal features like the ears and tail to finally go away, but how long until his guts would be able to return to normal?

For now, all he could do was wait, and hope that his body would eventually learn to cope with the torture he's forced upon it.

His breaths came out as soft grunts, punctuated by the occasional, uncontrollable sound of fermented air escaping from his lips as low, wet burps. Maybe if Axel played his cards right with the sick call, he could extend his time off to a week, and still have time left over to actually enjoy himself like he intended.

...Of course, he couldn't let that big bowl of oatmeal he made earlier go to waste, surely that's still fine to eat while his tummy recovers?

----------

Luckily enough, it wasn't the console. Well, still an expensive appliance, but we always split the costs for this kind of stuff, so it wasn’t a big deal per se. Dave still went to the store on the off chance it was still open, but given it's around 9:00 PM, he was running on pure hopes and dreams.

In the meantime, I was busy trying to reanimate the artificial corpse: I got the thing open and I could immediately smell burning. I did try to mess a bit with it (I’m no expert but I do know what I’m doing most of the times in those cases), going as far as replacing the broken parts with some spare parts I had in a box in my wardrobe -you know the one, we all have it and no, we will never throw it away, those cables and parts could be useful one day!

This wasn’t the day however, but it was more of Zeus’ fault than anything (one day, I swear!), so I gave up and found comfort in another -and this time working- appliance in the kitchen, the cold one we use to store our goods, and I pulled a beer out of it -then I heard Dave coming home, so I pulled another one. 

That’s me being a good roommate.

“Think fast.” I casually said, tossing the can to him. 

He nodded and we both walked back into the living room, standing right behind the couch, looking at the tech-themed gory scene that was our TV.

“I did what I could, but I couldn’t save it.”

Dave sighed. “Time of death?”

“Probably the night you got drunk on Margaritas and almost puked on Dana. The storm hit-”

“I wasn’t drunk, Dana was.” he clarified. “I was playing along.”

He totally was drunk by the way.

“Please, keep your kinky roleplays out of my life.” I joked, very hypocritically. 

We swung ourselves over the sofa backrest and sat, staring at nothing but tech rubbles.

“I assume the store was closed.” I said.

“Sort of. They slammed the shutter down when they saw me, basically.”

“Told ya that hoodie is terrible.” I commented, his answer being a pillow being thrown at me without even looking, which I dodged perfectly.

Dave was in fact wearing an old shabby dark green hoodie and a casual pair of dark blue loose jeans. I did not think he looked bad by any means (and who am I to judge anyway), I simply occasionally make fun of that old hoodie -he bought that back in College if I recall correctly.

We took a sip of beer and then did what our generation does best: some good old doom-scrolling on our phones. After a couple of minutes of relative silence, I heard some familiar sounds (no, not those sounds).

“I know, I miss them too.” I said, faking a sad tone.

The sounds I recognised were from the videogame he was playing (and me too, on a different savefile), a long JRPG-inspired challenging adventure with tough bosses and memorable characters.

“I will never forget them.” he played along. “Oh come on really?” he then groaned, his phone dying in his hands.

This time, however, it wasn’t a permanent death, just a roommate who forgot to buy a new charger that, you know, actually properly charge things.

“Here… you can have mine.” I said, handing my phone to him.

“Really…?” Dave said, knowing very well I was joking.

“No.”

More minutes of silence passed, Dave simply sitting there sort of alone with his thoughts. He took his sneakers off and rested his long legs on the small table by the couch, scanning the room around us as if he was looking for anything remotely entertaining to do.

Since I’m a kinky idiot, I obviously noticed his loose jeans sagging a bit as he was chilling next to me, on the other side of the couch, the denim of his trousers loosely, but nicely, hugging his very talkative ass.

I love my bro, you all know this, I don't wanna be superficial, but I’m gay-savvy enough to admit that, regardless of any fetish involved, Dave is… quite attractive. You probably wouldn’t consider him the hottest man in the world, but he’s noticeably good-looking, even when chilling so casually on a couch -but I get I may be biased.

He is my friend after all, we always make fun each other’s looks and whatnot, but I’m not embarrassed to admit that he’s attractive, guy-next-door attractive.

Also he’s tall, which I really like, since I’m a basic bitch.

Why am I reminding you this… I don’t know. You probably think I may be crushing on him… I mean, given that I have a fart fetish and how much time I spend with my face literally planted into Dave’s farting ass, it’s easy to assume to yeah, kinky Tim has a crush on his straight gassy bro…

Well, I invoke my right to remain silent.

“Wanna play a game?” Dave suddenly asked.

“What game?”

“It’s not complicated, even you can play it!” 

I stared at him, narrowing my eyes. “Where’s the catch?”

Dave laughed. “Why are you always so suspicious?”

Because I have all the reasons to be, when your best bro is a playful bastard.

But I’m a clown.

“Alright, I’ll bite.” I put my phone and the beer on the small table in front of me and turned my attention to the obvious trap Dave was setting up. “How does it work? What are the rules?”

My bro smiled, putting his own beer on the table. “It’s nothing, just say a number between… mhhh… 5 and 15, yeah that works.”

I took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of my nose, adjusting my glasses. “This… this is about farts, isn’t it?” I bluntly asked.

My roommate laughed at my wild suspicions of him. “What?!”

“What indeed.”

“Tim you’re a such kinky idiot.” he chuckled. “Just say a number from 5 to 15.”

“Nope.”

“Say it.”

“Not gonna say it.”

“Say it!”

I gave him a scolding look. “…are you that bored?”

“Say it…” he insisted.

I sighed and put my glasses next to the phone and the beer on the table, because I just know that my face is gonna get pulled into a certain roaring ass very soon, so better safe than sorry (broken glasses? that’s an expense I can’t split).

“Alright…” I said, Dave smirking at me in anticipation. “Any number?”

“Any number between 5 and 15…” he explained, after thinking about it for a second, totally making sure he was brewing a big one.

I swear it’s not me, it’s him being a teasing asshole.

“Is it one of those games where I have to guess the number you’re thinking right now?” I asked.

“No…” he groaned, impatiently. “Just give me a number within the range.”

“Mmmh… does it have to be a prime number?” I asked, purposely being the most annoying being on Earth.

“Look man, if you don’t wanna play…” 

“Alright, I said I’ll bite…” 

I pretended to think about it for a bit, as if I was trying to understand the mischievous machinations of this weird game.

Dave does often prank us with by playing those playful mind tricks on us, and obviously it’s never about farts, so there’s the remote possibility (and hope) that this has nothing to do with him being a teasing gassy asshole... the best teasing gassy asshole one could ask for don’t get me wrong, but still…

“What about… 6?”

“Okay…” he said, while adjusting his position a bit. “Less than I expected…”

Of course it was about farts.

He sat normally on the couch, leaning a bit, as he clearly was pushing one out. 

He closed his eyes and pointed awards, as if he was telling me to wait and listen.

The vibrations of that first, loud toot shook the entire couch, the sound partially muffled by the cushion. It was loud and meat-y, but relatively short for Dave’s high standards, merely 1-2 seconds. A standard loud fart, still very Dave-sounding and powerful. 

A fart that, after less than 2 seconds of silence, was followed by another one, just as powerful. 

Then another one.

A trifecta? 

Nope. 

It appears there’s a fourth one. 

A fifth one, even? This was the loudest one so far.

And finally, after a bit more of anticipation, highlighted by Dave’s iconic smirk appearing on his face, a sixth one, a bit longer than the previous ones, clocking at around, fittingly, 6 seconds.

The smell was there, but still bearable, each fart having released a plume of invisible gas creeping towards my face.

As usual, after Dave reminded me of his ass-skills, I just remained there in silence like an idiot, genuinely admiring my gassy friend’s mastery, while also trying to tame my dick waking up, as each blast made it twitch like a muscle under pressure (which, given my bro’s talent, was exactly what was happening).

Amused by my silent reaction, Dave laughed. “6, really?” he asked. “You know what I’m capable of, go higher!”

Despite my mind being fogged-up by his gas, I understood that he wanted me to choose another number, again in the 5-15 range.

As I was this time genuinely thinking hard about it, Dave got up, hands casually in his pockets, and… stood in front of me, his ass almost perfectly aligned with my head, my view now being obstructed by the back pockets on his denim ass, the small red Levi’s tag almost glowing on the dark blue background of the jeans. The pants were a bit sagging, revealing a glimpse of my friend’s oddly bright yellow underwear.

I looked up, Dave just casually staring down at me with a smirk. “Choose wisely.”

I knew I could just choose 15 and he, for some reason, would proceed to blast my face 15 times… but I’m as petty as I am kinky, and I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but focusing when your gassy bro is towering in front of you, with his ass pointing at your nostrils, is kind of difficult.

“W-what about 8?” I guess I like even numbers.

Dave could read me like an open book as always, and he knew I chose such a relatively small number just to mess with him… in this very weird thing going on between us. He laughed at my attempt to outsmart him.

“I’m gonna need some help then. Let’s make sure it’s gonna be exactly eight, shall we?”

I didn’t even have to think what we meant because I immediately felt his right arm reaching for my face, his hand firmly grabbing the back of my head and pushing it right into that denim ass, my nose landing on the warm, rough surface of the sagging denim, right below the yellow fabric of his underwear. 

Needless to say, the stench of the previous barrage of farts was still there, a faint stench of rotten eggs tickling my nostrils. Still nothing unbearable, but definitely not pleasant either.

Dave’s ass muscles relaxed, and another parade began, starting off with a loud blast that shook my entire skull. This time it was longer, lasting around 4 seconds.

A few moments of silence, followed by Dave ripping another loud toot, 2 seconds long. 

Yes, short for my bro’s double-digit standards, but trust me they were as loud as usual, if not louder, even.

Even more impressive considering that those weren’t even on command, all natural.

Not that I mind farts on command (on the contrary!), but my friend’s skills never fail to impress me.

He kept farting, like the masterful farter he is, each blast startling me as if it was my first time hearing those, while my face was still being kept in its front-row seat; and damn what a show it was!

I was dazed, so much so that I lost count, but I could tell he was done with this second series, as I heard him laugh like a jerk, as his sagging ass went silent.

The smell was getting worse, but my trained nostrils were by far used to this.

Dave stared back down at me, but didn't let me go.

“You know… I’m not entirely sure those were eight.”

I was startled, high on my friend’s gas. Didn’t even hear what he was saying.

“So let’s just settle with this.” he then stated, pushing my face further deeper into his ass.

Another fart erupted, loud and proud, definitely gonna be longer than the previous ones, a more standard “Dave rip” one might say, not that the others were bad, just deceptively shorter than usual.

Despite my face being glued to his ass, I did manage to take a good look at it. I thought about that view, and Dave’s smirk as he looked down at me. 

Sometimes I forget how fucking lucky I am, to have a friend like him.

A friend who was seriously gonna kill me with his gas if I wasn’t careful.

This time I tried to focus, and the fart indeed stopped at exactly 8 secon- oh, I get it.

After he was done, Dave let me stay there with my face fitting nicely into his sagging ass for a couple of more seconds, then pushed me back on the couch.

He turned around, towering over me, hands back in his pockets.

“Are we done? Did I win? Did you win?” I asked, dizzy, amused.

“Nah, there’s one final level.” he said.

As if I wasn’t there sitting in front of him, Dave walked on the couch, careful to not to trip over me, and sat directly on my head as if I was a stupid-looking stool. He wasn’t planning to stay there like this forever, so he wiggled around to mess with my balance, making sure his body-weight pushed me down, until I forcibly lied on the couch, with him properly sitting over my face, my head being crushed under his weight.

No need to fart again as the stench of the previous rips quickly engulfed me. It all went pitch black, but I could still feel the sagging, rough surface of his jeans and part of the much softer yellow fabric of his underwear, which was getting sweatier and wetter.

“Alright, 20 farts back-to-back… or one long 30 seconds blast from yours truly?” he asked, as if it was the most normal question in the world. The tone made me laugh, my dick getting harder.

My face was being crushed, but I still managed to talk.

“20 is enough. Make it quick.”

I heard my bro laughing at me getting desperate to get out of his gas trap, amused as usual by my reaction to his farts, and he didn’t make me wait.

Why do I even take his baits?

A new series of short, quick blasts began, this time much shorter than the others, but not any less loud, probably about 1.5 seconds each, with a less than second pause between each blast. The smell was renewed instantly, my nose brushing against my bro’s underwear as it shook under the power of that gas-shooting machine gun.

I have no idea why he does this with me, for me. And even how.

How is it possible to be this good at farting? What were the odds of me having such a cool, talented friend?

I stopped struggling to breath and simply relaxed. This was weird, this was gross... and I was loving every second of it.

I let my friend’s ass crush me, sinking more and more into the cushion, each fart burying me deeper and deeper into the couch.

Twenty farts, short loud farts, back-to-back.

This time I didn’t lose count, I wanted to make sure to properly witness my bro’s talent.

He laughed as he finished with a final, louder toot. Dave just remained there, sitting on me, as if I was part of the ouch, as to let me enjoy that… and also because he was himself getting a bit tired I’m sure.

“So… who won?” I asked.

That question made my friend laugh again. “I don’t know, you tell me after this one.”

This one?

My bro leaned on one side, clearly to ease another blast out, one leg bent up. This position made the crushing weight a bit more bearable, while also making his ass much more visible as it wasn’t overwhelmingly all over my face anymore -but it was still inches from my nose.

He again pointed upwards, shushing me, silently telling me to listen to what he had to say. To what his ass had to say.

I just finished saying how impressive my friend’s farting skills, and yet he managed to one-up even my expectations.

Another loud fart erupted from his ass, meat-y, airy, long, loud.

What the fuck did he eat? What the fuck was that beer? What the fuck was going on in his body? 

I guess one final toot is a good way to close the parad- wait, is it still going? That’s way more 7 seconds already.

I tried to move, but the moment I stopped being still, Dave’s hand arrived like a jailer and held my head where it belonged, the sounds of my friend’s chuckle being barely hearable while being so close at his roaring, thunderous ass.

16 seconds, what the fuck. How the fuck.

“Dave…” I muttered, but I’m pretty sure he couldn’t even hear me.

My dick was rock-hard, pre-cum coming out of its tip.

The power of my friend’s farts: he could make me cum without even (technically) touching me.

My nostrils this time failed to endure that stench, my eyes watered, my body admitting defeat in front of the sheer power of my roommate’s anus. The sweaty underwear didn’t help, smell-wise, and the fart and its smell were so powerful that the denim could very well not be there.

23 seconds. Where was he storing all of this gas? He wasn’t even bloated. This isn’t even on command.

And yet, at long last, 30 seconds, and the fart finally stopped, fading out quickly, after its stench engulfed the entire room. 

Oh, I get it, again. 30 seconds. In the end he still wanted to give me the full taste of what I was missing out by choosing the other option I guess.

Fuck… having a friend like Dave is truly a curse and a blessing at the same time.

My friend stood up again, just to move a bit further away and sit on the other side of the couch. I did the same on my side, sitting back up normally, quickly reaching for the pillow he threw at me earlier to hide my twitching, raging boner, even though my bro knew very well what was going on down there.

“I guess I won…?” I managed to say.

“I guess they need to update the Pantheon.” he stated instead, ignoring my question.

He stared at the broken TV in front of us and a proud, immature, playful smirk appeared again on his face.

“The God of Thunder one-upping the God of Lightning. How poetic.” he joked.

Under the pillow, my cock erupted, fully dampening my underwear and even my sweatpants.

I can’t believe it, of all things, this is the thing that broke me: Dave boasting about his skills like an idiot.

I’m done with numbers. I’m done with Greek Mythology.

...but taking Dave’s obvious baits? That I’ll never get tired of.