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Fartboarding WARNING. THIS STORY CONTAINS FART/BUTT DOMINATION, SCAT, AND SEXUAL ENCOUNTERS. READER DISCRETION ADVISED. Technically speaking, waterboarding torture has been banned from interrogation tactic boards. Due to it’s highly dangerous and sometimes ineffective results, the international community banned it’s use with all intention of creating humane conditions for those suspected of crime. However, one loophole allowed for a related tactic to be used, possibly for the worst. Emara Mamba was an ex special forces combatant, despite her now chunkier body size. She still held muscle in that 255 weight range, held mostly around her thighs and glutes. Years of busting down doors and heel kicks to the bad guys left those in perfect, toned shape. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mandal let out a harsh giggle as Emara walked into the room. “Looks like their trying a new tactic on me. Ha! God, did they have to hire a fat whore?” Emara ignored his insult and walked around the tank towards his head. She positioned herself atop the man, a warm smile running down to him. He flashed one back, licking his lips. She wore a tight bathing suit, one that he’d never see on a woman roaming his streets back home. Without warning, Emara lowered herself onto the man’s face and he was plunged underwater. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Emara actually got a lot of pleasure out of her job. Mandal apparently did not. FFFFLLLLOOOTTRRRTTSSTT! He gagged, nowhere to go as Emara filled his mouth with another wet fart. It was sour from the water, yet spicy from her afternoon lunch. PPPRRRROOLLBBTTSSSTTTT! Along with H2O came a shot of methane, pumped directly into his lungs. Her wet buttcheeks made it difficult to breath; not only were her asschunks choking him, but the fart stained material made it feel like he was drowning...in hot, slimy farts. PPPPLLLRRAAABBBBBTTSSTTT! She left him with another stinky sea spray before plunging him down under again. This had gone on for five minutes and Emara felt they were reaching an agreement with each other. PPRROOBBLLMMLLLBBLBBB! At least she was. The two rose and Mandal struggled against her recent fart. “Your accomplices, please.” She said quietly. Mandal struggled to speak. That was a no no in the interrogation world. PPLLLLLBBBBBTTTTTTT! “Ahh. You had accomplices in the bombing. I want their names. All of them.” “I-ACK- I don’t know what your talking about. You bitch!” Oh no, a regression. Emara so did not like name calling. She pushed his head into her ass with one hand. BBBLLLLRRRBBBAAAAAAABBBBLLLLTTTTT! Mandal’s lungs went crazy with the intake. Blood was rushing in every direction as the sour fart filled him. Emara let out a gentle sigh, letting him know who was boss. “Your accomplices, please. I’d give them to me now, if I were you.” She gently slid his head underwater, leaving only a quivering nose exposed to her bulging asshole. “I-worked alone. I-it was just me-” Down under he went. PPPRRROLBBLBBLLBB! Then up, a quick whiff of her fart. Then back down. BBLLFFFFRRBBBBLLTT! Then up; he screamed before he went back down. FFFFFFRRRRRRMMMPPLLTTBB! Madnal shook like a wild animal underneath her. Emara lovingly stroked his hair while he did so. She almost felt bad for him, poor thing. He’d been brought up to despise women like her, sitting atop him, almost literally while his culture's values degraded before his eyes. BBBRRRRMMMBBBBBBBLLBB! Emara watched her various fart bubbles pop at the surface. Amongst them, were her subjects own desperate breaths escaping his lungs. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Mandal awoke to the large beautiful woman above him again. She was perched above, hands on the sides of the tank. Her large beautiful butt intimidated him from above. Emara’s wet farts still stained her pants, but it wasn’t the only smell. Drops of beans and rice flittered all around the water next to Mandal’s face. He heard a large gurgling sound and let out a pained gasp. Emara leaned forward, looking into his face. “Ready to talk?” Mandal looked away. The disgusting pig of a woman was eating a burrito above him, her mouth stained with cheese. Despicable. “Go to hell. You can fart on me all you want. I’ll never talk.” Emara finished the burrito in one foul swoop into her mouth. A scare tactic, no doubt. She chewed while speaking. “Oh we’re taking a break on the farts hon. Well, for now. I got a little bomb I’ve been saving for you.” The gurgling returned and so did Emara’s booty on his face. She could feel his trembling as her cheeks tightened on his nose. FFFFLLLLLOOOBBBLLLTTTTTTT!-PPTTRRRLLAABBTTT! Mandal wished he could plunge himself underwater. The horrid smell persisted and he could taste every inch of her delicacies. He screamed and wormed his way around her buttocks...it covered everywhere. He was hopeless. Emara grunted, pushing down on the man’s chest to draw his breath forward. BBBLLLTTRRASSSHHHLLOOPTT! Emara shat herself, dropping her “bomb” into the man’s face. He could practically taste it along her suit as it prodded along the edges, slightly solid, mostly wet sticky sludge. FFLLLRLRRTTSSSHHOOTTT! “Ohhhh,” moaned Emara. She rarely got to unload on her subjects and this was a particularly good one...the shit and the subject. PPLLLSSSHLLAAATTT! More sharts paraded more shit, so much that now her suit sagged like a runny diaper. Mandal gagged as the viscous fluid dripped out the sides into his tank. Emara laughed as he vomited underneath her acidic shit. “All I wanted was some names, Mandal. Just a few of your friends. Was that too much to ask? Trust me, not too many guys last under me.” She playfully slapped her ass, letting a few shit-chunks poop out the side of her suit. She laughed as Mandal gagged and squirmed. Emara rose, seeing a worthless man brought to his lower form. He yelped and cried for help with what little breath came out his miserable throat. Cries for help...but no answers. Emara turned round; she simply pulled her suit aside to let the shit chunks drip onto the man’s face. There were a lot. He gagged as the shit dripped into his mouth and nose. Emara knew he was on the ropes. He was bloodshot, frantically shaking his head to clean his face in the water. The sweet, shit stained water. Emara lowered herself, her brown-creamy asscheeks now exposed with shit. Mandal moaned as she gently blew and SBD across his face. “Do you want me to wash you again, Mandal? I need a name. Otherwise, I have another treat for you.” Mandal could not believe his eyes. Emerging out her large brown hole was a large brown log. It grew thicker and thicker, tugging at the still wet shit around her asshole. “UGH. Most men don’t make it this far, Mandal. Your friends would be proud. Trust me, they’d understand. Now the only way you get to wash yourself is with some names. Otherwise, well…” Emara grunted and the shit reached a head. Mandal screamed as it touched his nose. Every name Emara wanted was shouted at once, at the top of his lungs. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Director Staymund was a learned man of the world. He’d been with the CIA and British intelligence for 25 years and had seen it all. Still, when Emara walked out of the debriefing room, calm as a canary, it still gave him a little shivers. “How’d we do?” he asked. “Eight men, all Turkish nationalists. Two of them, Hayden Sharan and Bedin Mudadi are still in the country, the rest have returned to Turkey. He doesn't know where. Trust me.” BBBBLLLRRRRAAAAABBTT! “Ohhh...scuse me.” “No worries.” Staymund stepped aside, tossing the large Indian woman a towel. She graciously accepted, wiping the only wet part of her body. Staymund turned his head, still smelling the disgusting shit smell. “Can I get a second towel?” Emara asked. Staymund grunted, tossing her another one. She used them like toilet paper; he had plenty of complaints about the laundry budget from committee. Emara dropped the once white towels into the bin along with her suit and began changing into her jogging shorts and tank top. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “Him” was a Fandik Nerhol, an African warlord who was responsible for over 50 children’s deaths in the Northern Banks. He was also responsible for the death of an agent, one Mamba was very close with. He was knelt under Emara’s driver seat, dripping with sweat when she came in. She felt a tinge of satisfaction looking on his fright. She took a whiff. “Ha! Did you shit yourself Nerhol?” she asked with a sneer. The warlord had no words, so Emara took it upon herself to fill the gap with her booty on his face. BBBRRRRLLLLLLLLTTTTPPP! “Ahhh. Don’t worry. It sounds like you get the general idea of what’s going to happen.” Emara gassed him the whole way home, which, in practice was also illegal according to international law. But gas warfare was another one of her talents, one she wouldn’t mind putting to use on scum like Nerhol. |
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