I had seen him on the first day of the investigation. He had been questioned, like all the neighbours had, regarding the murder that had occurred at the park. From that day, I had marked him, and now I had returned specifically for him.

The case was still open but, from judging our investigation, it was very unlikely to be solved. I had found the missing clothes in a nearby river, but had not submitted them for DNA analysis. Instead, I washed them. It's not as if I was covering for the crime, they'd never catch the guy who did it, the city had such a backlog of cases anyway, so I might have well used them for my own purposes. A way to coerce somebody to do my bidding, somebody who otherwise was not connected to the crime.

I knocked at his door firmly, sucking in a brief anxious inhalation, the small front of the house carrying the whiff of early autumn air. The warm smog bared down on me, and underneath my uniform I was funky, my sweat from a day of patrol manifested in small patches of moist fabric around my clothes, especially at the soft underbelly of my half-shaved armpits. Even my crown was damp, the weight of the police hat pressing and keeping in the warmth from outside. I enjoyed the smell that emanated from me but the humid stickiness was uncomfortable.

Knocking again, she heard the desperate shuffles of something in the house approach. Already from his panicked movements she could sense the weakness in him, the soft weight of his lanky feet against the wood of the hallway.

“Andrew Collins? We spoke before, about the murder. May I come in?”

His eyes widened and his lip quivered a little, his look betraying the pathetic weakness she had sensed in him the first time he was questioned. He looked at the badge across her chest, and seemed to pull into himself. A fear of authority. She smiled internally, this would help her enforce her demands upon him when he became her prisoner.

“Yes, of course”, his voice came out raspy and forced, as if he was trying to hide his fear from her. God, he was already scared of her, and she hadn't even given him a glance behind the mask yet. This was going to be much easier than she initially thought.

“I'm not sure what else I can tell you”, he said, awkwardly slumping as she walked slowly up and down the room, checking out all of the shelves and little nooks which the room held. This casual search clearly made him irritable and paranoid, for he watched her carefully and, without moving an inch, had stiffened into a bent and spineless posture.

“Well, I don't really have any questions”, I felt the evidence bag rustle in the pocket of my vest, “I'm here to tell you something, to let you know what we've discovered.”

“Oh”, I could hear him audibly gulp.

“You see”, I sighed, taking my policewoman hat off to air out my scalp for a second, “we've found some evidence- well, I've found some evidence at the crime scene, and I'm here about that. You see, I think you might find yourself somewhat concerned with what exactly I've discovered.”

“What is it?” He said this quickly, his eyes wide and his mouth ajar, clearly shaking with anxious anticipation. He knew he hadn't had anything to do with the crime, so he was probably wondering what the hell she was talking about, and whilst she wanted to toy with him, the desire to begin what she came here to start was too potent to ignore any longer.

“You see, Andrew, I'm not going to lie. This is going to look bad for you, so I'm going to get right to the chase. Yes, you didn't commit the murder, we both know that, but when it comes to the law, often the wrong party gets accused of a crime. It seems to me that this is sometimes a necessity to make sure that the law is trusted by the public. So, I'm afraid that the evidence I have, a pair of panties found at the scene, has been contaminated with your DNA. This looks really bad for you.”

“Wait”, he heaved out, his face now red as his whole body shook, “I didn't do it”.

“Oh, like I said, I know. But we need to fit somebody in the hole. You're the perfect match, you're single, have low social skills, live near the crime scene, and you probably have some strange items in your search history. If you don't, those types of records are particularly easy to forge anyway. And now, you're DNA has been found on the clothing of the victim. And without evidence that I planted this, I'm afraid you'll get life.”

“W-What? You're framing me!?” He collapsed against the mantelpiece, holding his chest as if he was having some sort of attack, “you can't, I'll tell them the truth.”

I shrugged, “go ahead, I'm a police officer and you're an invalid piece of shit loser, I'm quite confident that they wouldn't believe you. But hey, plead guilty and you'll be out in 14 years. 18 at the most. How old will you in 18 years? In your 40's? Still, it's a long time in prison for something you didn't do, I don't envy the stretch you'll suffer through.”

“Y-you can't”, he began to cry, breathing heavily, “please, you can't”.

I smiled, “I think I can. Do you want a wager? I've just come to tell you to plead guilty. You'll get 30 years otherwise, and trust me, I smell a guilty verdict from a mile away. Oh, and I know some people. Trust me, I can make your life in prison very difficult. Maybe I can even find something else to pin you for.”

He broke down fully, heaving as he slipped to one knee. Through his ragged breathing I heard him say exactly what I wanted to here, “please, don't, I'll do anything.”

A grin came to my face, “anything, you say?”

“Yes”, he begins to crawl towards me, eyes wide with tears and desperate hope, “anything.”

“Well, I guess I could find somebody else to pin this on, or maybe just let it go unsolved. That way, I can keep this evidence and frame you whenever I like”, I began itching my chin as I faced him, “and as for your fate. You will be my live in slave. You will do everything I ask for, and you will work for me for as long as I please. Do you understand?”

He gulped, “yes, thank you, oh god, thank you.”

I grinned, “don't thank me yet, being my slave might just make you regret your decision.”

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He moved out to my place that day. After all, what's the point of having a slave who doesn't even live with you? I was still planning on framing him. He would be a wanted man, and with nowhere to go he would be forced to live as my prisoner for life. Soon, he would never be able to leave me. The police would never find him, because he'll be serving another sentence elsewhere, a life sentence that is more hellish than what he could've ever imagined.

Apparently he was too racked with fear to make a connection between the pre-prepared basement and my previous decision to enslave him. In normal circumstances, he would've seen the devices and the chains and binds and realize that I had been planning this all along, that my spur of the moment decision to make him my slave was in fact my plan from the beginning. By the time he finally realized it would be too late, he would be enslaved forever.

Tied up on the floor, bruised from my initial beating (I needed to instil pure discipline in him), I made him wear a ragged outfit that looked almost like that of a male nurse. It wasn't his comfort I cared about, but my own. Manhandling and using him for certain purposes would be fair more enjoyable now that his clothes would not rub against me. My bare skin would not come out in rashes when I used him for sinister and disgusting purposes.

“So”, I sigh, holding my gloved hands at my baggy waist, wearing my full uniform for intimidation and because I enjoyed the smell locked into it's fabric, “you're in your slave basement, where you'll be serving your sentence. You still don't know anything about what I'm going to do, do you?”

He cried out, tears blanketing his lightly bloated face, the gag making his cheeks pop out. I enjoyed the horror of the unknown within him, his fear of the abstract concept of what his servitude may entail. I was looking forwarding to making him aware of what his new role would be.

Delivering an hard punch into his already bruised gut, I sighed, feeling inside me the monstrous and vaporous form I had cultivated just for him. A life sentence should be hellish, but I also wanted it to be as humiliating and degrading as possible. I didn't care about the morality of things, since I was young I knew I was a sadist without remorse. The badge in my pocket meant only the power it represented, and nothing else. But looking over the innocent man I had sentenced to life underneath my ass, currently grunting and spluttering in recovery from the punch, I knew that this would feel so much better than some abstract concept of power. He was a life I was in pure control of, he had no say in what I was about to do to him.

Dragging him towards the chair, he made little effort to escape as I easily pressed the back of his head against the soft cushioned wood, unlatching the temporary binds and reapplying them so that the chair, bolted into the floor of the cellar, would have the back of his head pressed down against the cushioned seat. To secure him further, I tied his legs to eye bolts welded into the concrete of the basement floor, so that even if he could escape the chair his struggled would end there. This was only temporary, but it would do for now. Either way, it was time to reveal his new position as a prisoner. Let's just say that in a way, everyday would be the day he goes to the gas chamber.

“Slave, you have been sentenced to life imprisonment as my personal chair”, I cleared my throat as an air of apprehension was raised throughout the room, “you cannot say anything in your defence. I will use the evidence I created to falsify you as the guilty party of the girl's murder, and as such you will never be able to leave my cellar, as you will instantly be sent to prison where I will make your life pure hell. Your duties as my seat will be permanently expected of you, and whilst I have my bottom on your face, you will be expected to endure my weight and constant flatulence.”

Quickly be began to cry and struggle against his holds. He was pleading through his gag, eyes wide, unbelieving of what I had sentenced him to. He was a pathetic creature, and there was nothing he could do now. Still, I watched him adapt to the knowledge of his torture with a wide grin on my face.

“I warn you as per your rights as an half-human, half seat slave, that I suffer from really nasty flatulence, and as such you may experience frequent outbursts of horrible smelling gas whilst my bottom is on your face. I will do nothing to help rectify the smell, and my diet may irritate my releases to the point where they are deadly, but you are still responsible for absorbing them, no matter how frequent they are. This is by design, you have been chosen to be utilized a purpose by myself and as such it is one of your main uses as my slave.”

He began to scream through his gag. Never in all his nightmares of humiliation did he think that he was sink so low as to sniff farts for a living. I bent down even further until my face was close to his, my coffee breath curdling in his nostrils as I mocked him.

“I've had beans for breakfast, and a huge mug of coffee. That means you'll have a sharp learning curve as my fart absorber and ass slave. Even so, you will learn today to sniff the farts into your system to process, else I'll use you for a more solid purpose”.

He cried so much then that he gagged, his chest heaving from the pressure of his new role. I began to descended upon him then, my ass wrapped in the baggy pants of my police uniform which quickly formed to the outline of my ass. It was so nice feeling him beg and plead as my ass began to touch his nose, and sitting carefully to ensure that my weight was distributed equally on both sides of his face, I exhaled and pressed his nose against my sweaty crack.

The police uniform only added to the fantasy that I was now fulfilling. He was my life-long prisoner, and I was punishing him despite his innocence. This was not justice but sadistic punishment for the sake of humiliation and pain, and I loved every second of his struggles beneath me.

My gut was already bloated. I wasn't lying about the large breakfast that churned away inside my bowels, thick and stodgy as I felt my insides swirl with hazy gas. He was in for a world of stink, I thought as I pressed on my belly, which had collected the gas ready for me to release. He was breathing heavily underneath me, and I could feel his crying make his inhalations stronger. The perfect time to cut one.

I grunted and released a thick and manly fart which rippled like a deep and moist trombone. My ass vibrated with the shock of the gas, my fleshy globes shaking against his face as I pushed out the full force of the release which trapped itself against the cork of his face before exploding down his writhing nostrils. He screamed as I sighed in a deep and guttural ecstasy, the stink of my fart making him wretch violently against the cheeks which held him in place, forcing him to breath in the fart as he panicked and gagged loudly.

“Fucking hell”, I laughed, “that was a loud one. I don't feel you sniffing that one up as much as I like, slave. I mean, it's almost as if you want to become a toilet”.

He sniffed pathetically as soon as my threat became clear, gagging as soon as the smell of the half-fresh fart was forced deeper into his system. I rubbed my large arse on his face and harshly applied more weight.

“That was a weak sniff, you're going to need to learn fast if you don't want your hell to become far worse.”

He cried out, knowing that his learning curve would be pure torture for him to climb. I wasn't going to go easy on him, he needed to learn how to endure the hell of my gas whilst hoovering them up. It's his life-long role as my slave, and the majority of my gas will be going down his nose for decades to come.

“Whew, that fart smells really bad, but it's nothing special. Slave, you should know that I do have irritable bowels, so don't expect all my farts to be as mild as that one.”

As I said this I rubbed her cheeks down, allowing some of the stink to leak out into the basement. I sniffed and nodded my head in appreciation. It was a decent fart, strong and meaty, but like I had told him, it wasn't a particularly potent one, at least compared to some of the monsters I could rip.

“You're not the first person I framed”, I sniffed, “but you're the first person I enslaved, so I'm still learning the ropes myself. My goal is to make your life down there as miserable as possible.”

His cries droned on.

“I'll admit something, I really did plan this well in advance. Since I saw you I knew that you would become my personal prisoner. I guess the issue with that is that I have nobody else to torture, so I'm going to be spending all my time using you. Funnily enough you're innocent but are serving a sentence far harsher than anybody in our prison system.”

My stomach grumbled violently, alerting my slave to what was coming. He began to whimper softly above me like a dog listening to a thunder storm. There was something violent brewing and this made him fear the ass above him, knowing there was nothing he could do to escape the upcoming stink. He was nothing more than a sponge for an evil policewoman's smelly gas, and that thought was so bleak he almost hurled, or at least that's why I imagined he was playing up so much beneath me prior to my fart.

“Ugh, this one's gonna' be fucking awful to breathe in. Good luck down there. And no matter how bad it is, sniff it up. Just remember I can make your life so much worse”.

I smiled and closed my eyes as he tensed up. Soon the apprehensive silence, interrupted only by his tearful whimpering, was suddenly punctuated by a meaty, thick fart, deep and moist, burning my asshole as it shot into the slave's nostrils. I grunted in relief half way through the rippling mess, laughing as the thick and moist release had nowhere to go but the lungs of the innocent man beneath me.

My ass vibrated with his cries, gags, pleads, but as he drew forth a desperate and fearful gulp of air and began to cough violently, I insulted his suffering by a short but airy blast of air which instantly invaded his system, combining with the meaty rip from before to burn his skin and nasal cavity with rancid air.

“Ugh, that was vile”, I exhaled, itching at my elbow, “I can't imagine how bad that one was to take. You seem really upset down there, are you struggling with my trump?” I laugh, “well, you are sniffing the air of my bowels right now, you should expect it to be awful. This is what your whole life is now, I meant life when I said life. If you're lucky I'll accidentally suffocate you in two decades time, but otherwise I'll make sure you live to serve the fullest sentence possible.”

His whimpering protests increased in pitch as the lingering stink, as well as my assurance of his hopeless existence, continued to assault him. The mixture of the damp stink of sulphur with the dry heat spiciness of my SBD seemed too much for him to handle, as every time he inhaled his body convulsed as if it couldn't accept the air into his lungs. He would just have to grow more used to breathing in toxic gas, considering it was now a main source of his oxygen. I got turned on so much by the vibrations his whiny throat made against my asshole, which became greasy from the heat of my pleasure.

I sat there for some time, letting rip occasionally as my bulge of a belly deflated into it's normal chubby strength. A mixture of flab and muscle pressed against my tight police shirt, which was now stale with sweat. I felt both disgusting and amazing, precisely because of my slobby state. I enjoy the general stickiness and warmth which creates fumes of BO off me, and from the sounds of it my slave is “enjoying” his fumes too, both from my body and from inside of it.

Unfortunately, the farts became less and less impressive as my once gurgling stomach removed the last of it's gas. It had been some time, but I had no more farts left. Dinner would change that, and with the size and contents of my typical meals his afternoon punishment session would likely make the morning session seem tame in comparison, but for now he was stuck underneath an ass smelling stale farts and sweat, a nasty combination but heaven compared to the raw stink of continuous fresh gas brewed in the punishment chamber of my guts.

“Well, my belly is outta' gas. Did you enjoy sniffing my farts?”

He moaned in disgust, an high pitched moan which did not disguise his teary, bile infused throat.

“I assume that's a no”, I laugh, my ass jiggling as I did so, “but at least you know that your time in the prison of my ass will not be a walk in the park. After dinner you will learn that thing's can and will get worse for you.”

I soon stood up, and gasping violently, the slave began coughing and spluttering as the semi-stale air of the prison basement forced it's way down his nose. He was a strange mixture of green and purple, sickly and energized from the pressure of my cheeks leaving his face. His flesh looked loose and flattened by the constant weight of my ass.

I smirked down at him as he closed his eyes and began to plead incomprehensibly. I merely turned around, showing him the ass that has and will continue to torture him for life.

“Your life here will be hell”, I snicker, turning around once more before I leave, “be ready for our future sessions, I won't go easy on you. You're serving a life-long punishment after all”.

I heard one raspy cry echo from his muffled throat as I closed the door and left my prisoner to contemplate his stinky future.

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THREE YEARS LATER

I came into the basement from a long shift, my skin underneath my grimy uniform matted with stale and fresh sweat. Even my hair was moist with glandular excretions, and as I looked at the mirror in the corner of the basement I felt disgusting. It was both a terrible and a great feeling.

I heard the prisoner stir in his seat. The thick padded leather which secure him inside his punishment chair, where he practically lived, gyrated nosily as he awoke from a joyless haze back into the reality he wish he could escape.

As he woke I felt the growling presence of the half digested broccoli in my gut, pushing against the outline of my stomach and intestines. I had been holding my gas in for my prisoner, and now my stomach ached with the pressure. Sighing, I rubbed my stomach up and down, turning to face the slave who's panicked and horrified appearance told me he must've heard the bloated ripples of my stomach.

“Mate, that Broccoli soup has really fucked with my gut. I had to hold in so much gas during the last few hours, you won't believe it.”

He blinked rapidly as he began to groan against his gag. As he did I quickly approached.

“I'd torment you longer, but I really gotta' fart and I can't hold it in any longer. Make sure to breathe these in deeply, or you know what will happen.”

My ass was perfectly matched to his face. I wasn't sure if it was the years of sitting on him with moulded his flesh to my ass, or if it was simply destiny, but for a while now I was observant of how comfortable my ass was against the perfect mould of his face. The stink of sweat must not have been pleasant, for as soon as my crack touched his nose, he jolted and moaned in an high-pitched, pathetic squeal.

He didn't get long to enjoy the sweat for long, for soon my gurgling gut helped loosen out from my sweat caked arsehole a thick, meaty fart which bubbled deeply for several long and torturous seconds, so low in pitch that it sounded as if it had been ripped underwater. As my gas droned on his struggles became intense, and as he breathed in the gloopy fart smog he heaved and howled in disgusted agony.

“Fuck me, that was so fucking disgusting”, I shouted, almost laughing as my slave continued to suffer in the thick stink of my fart. Despite his sniffing, the smell hit me like a truck, a smell of the most potent rotten vegetables mixed with a undertone of egg. Even I dry heaved a little, feeling the bile stir in my throat. How did he survive such a stink?

I didn't have time to ponder such a question, as a battalion of farts were ready for release, pushing against each other in order to escape.

“I think your daily punishment session tonight will be much longer than usual”, I groaned, allowing a small leakage of methane to escape my bottom, “either way, I have a huge fart almost ready for release, so get that nose of yours prepared.”

As he struggled against my small SBD I allowed the next batch of gas to brew for my prisoner. Three years into his life sentence, and he still could not endure the smell of my gas. It made me feel so turned on knowing that he would never grow used to my butt stench.

I was not lying about tonight. It was going to be one of many long sessions, and no matter what, he has years of this torture to endure.