By: sandufabur
Lots of things “stink”. Garbage stinks. Sewers stink. Mold stinks. Sulphur stinks. Sometimes, stink evolves. Whether spray from a skunk or the bloom of the corpse flower, the forces of nature spent countless years crafting stink, improving stink, perfecting stink.
Willow had surpassed them all. After scarfing down an extra large meat-lover’s pizza before heading to bed, she lay hopelessly awake in her bed at 4:38 a.m. in a dimly lit room which smelled so bad that linguists would need to create a new word just to describe it— “stink” didn’t even come close. Just as bathwater may be “hot” but fire is “scorching”, sewage may “stink” but Willow’s emissions are… Well, you’d need a new word.
“Oooooaaaaaauughhhh…” She groaned—not from the smell, for she loved the smell, but from the roiling in her large intestine. Barely audible over the garbled mix of white noise and commentary videos buzzing from her laptop on the bedside, her gut retorted with a watery moan of its own.
Frustrated, she thumped her fist on the mattress. Immediately, she regretted her sudden movement, her stomach seizing with cramped agony as though she had molten lava sloshing around in her belly.
She couldn’t take much more of this. With a hearty sigh, she rolled herself out of bed, a soft puff of nightmare gas slipping free from the covers as they rustled, puffing out the stench of sheer doom right into her nostrils.
Willow had an odd thought as she caught a whiff of her own emissions. Maybe her recent playthrough had it on her mind, but she couldn’t help but think of the Brethren Moons from Dead Space, those giant, planet sized amalgamations of decaying meat. Probably smelled a hell of a lot better than what she’d just pumped out.
Hurriedly, she waddled her bloated body to her en suite bathroom and collapsed onto the floor, sighing as she felt the cold, hard tile smush against her tender, nude flesh. This always made her feel better when she had a tummy ache, albeit whenever she’d finally peel her sweaty skin off the ground it’d sting like ripping off a Willow-sized bandaid.
She groaned, trying to stay as still as possible on the bathroom floor so as not to jostle her delicate innards, feeling the hollow ceramic of her porcelain throne pressed awkwardly against the crown of her head through her messy ginger curls.
She was totally gonna have diarrhea later.
God, though, she couldn’t help but think how smokin’ hot this would be if it were anyone but herself in this situation. Sure, she had a masochistic side, but this was ridiculous.
She could only hope relieving a ‘little’ pressure would quell the pain. She silently apologized to John, asleep across the hall, ‘cause this was not going to be quiet. She reached back and pulled aside a fatty buttcheek.
Blooooooorrrrrmmmppppsssspllllrrmmmmmmmmpsmmmmshh!…~
Loud, deep, and bubbly, an unholy fart spilled out of her. That’s the best way to put it: spilled. Anything else would make it sound too… dry. She didn’t push it out. She just… ‘laxed the floodgates and it spilled out and it was so moist.
If she was in any position to look back, she’d be inclined to check if she’d painted the bathroom floor like a Jackson Pollock with that one. Luckily for her, it was just air, but yeesh you wouldn’t be able to tell for sure without looking. Even the smell didn’t give it away: it “stunk” like spoiled blue cheese and piping hot diarrhea, along with that eggy, sulfuric, chemical “Willow smell” her brand always seemed to have.
But… she did feel a ways better. Enough so that she was finally able to pry herself off of the floor with a sharp, crackling sound as she peeled her damp skin from the cold tile.
Unfortunately, there was no denying that she was wide awake now. Bags under her eyes, she yawned—not an “I’m tired” yawn, but one of those “I should be tired” yawns—and stumbled back into her bedroom as she scratched at her humid crack with a disinterested fingernail. She didn’t even wipe…
Still without wiping—I don’t care if it wasn’t a shart, she shoulda wiped after that last one—she plopped her sweaty ass down in her worn gaming chair, flicking on her PC. As her computer whirred to life, she lackadaisically rolled one of many empty pringles cans beneath her desk side to side beneath her foot.
Eh, why not? They were paying customers after all. Not like she had anything better to do.
Popping the lid off of an old sharpie, Willow placed an empty pringles can between her pillowy thighs before using her free hand to scroll through a notepad document on her phone, first swiping away an unsurprising “Willow please I’m trying to sleep” text from John.
‘For GirlFartLover182’ she wrote on the outside of the can as her monitor finally came aglow. With jaded disinterest, Willow used one hand to type in her password while, with the other, she placed the opening of the empty pringles can against her bare behind. Tenderly, she let go of the can, pulling up a knee as she used the bottom of her foot to smoosh the top of the can against her asscrack, using her now-free hands to scroll the web aimlessly as she felt the rolled edge of the can brushing against the inside of her cheeks.
PRRRRAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPTTTTTT!~
Shrill and metallic, Willow pumped out a helluva squeaker into the can which rang free with an ear-piercing whine. She felt the can rattle beneath her from the force of the blast, as she pressed her foot tighter against the bottom to keep it snugly in place.
She didn’t even have to smell that one to know it was gonna stink. Lucky customer. With a swift, well-rehearsed motion, she pulled the can free from her bum ever so slightly to slap the cap on tight, sealing up the canister of nightmares nice and tight.
Ugh, now she was horny.
Tapping her foot impatiently, Willow eyed the can she’d just placed on her desk with a dubious lust. Fortunately, she knew better than to get high on her own supply… sometimes…
She sighed. Guess she’d just have to ring up her dealer.
She dialed, and placed the phone to her ear.
Ring ring…
Ring ring…
Click!
“Fuck do you want? It’s like two in the morning.”
“Actually, Samantha, it’s four in the morning,” Willow rolled her eyes, “And it’s not like you were sleeping anyways, was it?”
Sam grumbled into the receiver of the phone. Willow was right: Sam hadn’t been sleeping so well recently. She’d been trying to kick cigs and it was honestly throwing her body out of whack.
“What do you want?”
“Can’t a girl call up a friend?” Willow kicked her legs up onto her desk, twirling a ginger curl around her finger.
“Not you. Not at this hour.”
“Mmmm, you’re so observant,” Willow sighed, beginning to fiddle with herself ‘down there’. “Whatcha wearing?”
“Red, I’m not in the mood.”
“I still can’t believe you didn’t get that from Batman.”
“I told you, I don’t know what that is.”
“Bull-shit,” Willow snickered, “Bull-fucking-shit, bullshit you don’t know who Batman is.”
“Don’t make me come over there, Willow…”
“Come over, then!” Willow rocked her head from shoulder to shoulder, “Not like either of us can get any sleep right now.”
“Why, what’s wrong with you?”
“Oooooh, who knows, guess you’ll just have to come over and find out…”
“Enticing. Whatever, fine.”
“Great! See you soon!”
…
“See you now!”
“What?”
“Nevermind,” Willow chuckled as she faced Sam in the doorway, the cool, dewy air of the early morning breezing by, “Come on.”
“Where’s John?” Sam asked as she stepped in behind the redhead.
“Sleeping,” Willow nodded back at Sam as the two made their way upstairs.
“Lucky bastard,” Sam scoffed as she followed Willow into her room, “I- Ugh, fuck Willow…”
“I know, I know,” Willow chuckled, feeling a twinge of arousal jolt between her thighs, “It reeks, eh?”
Sam’s nose wrinkled. “This why you couldn’t sleep?”
“This?” Willow giggled cutely, “You kidding? This is lavender perfume to me. Nah, my stomach was hurting like a bitch.”
“Ah, yeah,” Sam ran her tongue along her teeth, as if trying to scrape off the cloying reek which had even stuck itself to her tastebuds, “Figures. Shit, though, it’s like a sauna…”
Willow watched as Sam peeled her sweater off, revealing an uncharacteristic little gut peeking out from beneath the hem of her tank top. Sam caught Willow’s gaze as a hint of pink crossed her cheeks, pulling her shirt down to try and cover her shame.
Sam didn’t have to say anything. Willow knew not to say a word. Her arms, though…
“God damn,” Willow scoffed, “How many is that?”
“I don’t even know,” Sam sighed, running a hand along her forearm, covered in nicotine patches.
“Well, no wonder you can’t sleep,” Willow rolled her eyes.
“That, and I miss Vi.”
“... Huh?” Willow paused, genuinely taken aback by Samantha’s sudden flash of candour.
“What?” Sam eyed Willow down, her cheeks tinging even more pink in the faint glow of the PC monitor. “Can we not have a heart to heart? Does everything have to be fart jokes and jerking off?”
“No, no,” Willow sputtered, suddenly feeling a tad called out, “I dunno, we just… I dunno, do we talk like that a lot?”
“Ugh,” Sam groaned, rubbing her aching temple with a hand, “Nevermind…”
“No, no,” Willow stammered once more, “For real, you okay?”
“I dunno,” Sam sighed, “Between the withdrawal, and Vi’s vacation… It’s doing something to me, I think.”
“You… wanna talk?” Willow raised an eyebrow, nestling her pyjama-covered bottom into the edge of her mattress.
BRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRTTTTTTT!~
Uh-oh…
She honestly didn’t even mean to. It just slipped out… It sounded like a sustained low-note on a tuba filled with jell-o too… Yuck… And the smell… Blech… Straight-up rotten eggs…
“I did,” Sam coughed lightly, “Now I don’t even wanna open my mouth…”
“I swear that was an accident,” Willow flushed pink, patting the bed beside her awkwardly as Sam lowered herself down next to her windy companion.
“Sure smells like you had an accident,” Sam flicked Willow’s cheek lightly.
“Now, I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, Sam, but let’s not talk about farts for a moment. Are you okay?”
“... Can I be real with you?” Sam asked, a foreign hint of vulnerability underlying her hushed voice.
“Go for it, girl,” Willow replied, immediately cringing internally at her own choice of words.
“I’m kinda fuckin’ pissed at Vi,” Sam exhaled.
“... Well, that’s a first,” Willow’s eyebrows raised in surprise. Sam was pretty much always pissed, but Willow couldn’t seem to remember a time where she’d been upset with her girlfriend.
“I don’t know,” Sam let out a prolonged breath, “I’m not really ‘pissed’, I’m upset she took her trip right when I kicked cigs.”
“Isn’t she visiting her mom?” Willow inquired, shifting slightly closer to Sam, a little wisp of trapper gas slipping free from beneath her into the already polluted atmosphere, “Like, in the hospital?”
“See, now I feel like a bitch,” Sam’s voice quivered slightly. Evidently Willow had struck a nerve.
Reluctantly, as though she were trying to defuse a bomb, Willow put an arm around Sam and leaned up against her. For once, she didn’t resist. “Nah, I get it. … This okay?”
“Yeah, just…” Sam gritted her teeth, “Don’t get handsy… and don’t grab at my stomach.”
“Sam, you know, if anyone knows about, uh… being uncomfortable in their body… In their weight…” Willow murmured, allowing herself to fully rest against Samantha’s side.
“... Sorry for all the ‘fatty’ jokes…” Sam mumbled.
Willow smiled. “No biggie. Heh, no biggie… Unlike me, eh?”
Sam smiled back. “Don’t push yourself, legit.”
“Can I be honest?” Willow sighed, feeling Sam’s warmth radiating against her, “I kinda like this. We’re never real with each other.”
“I mean… I’m not the most approachable…” Sam couldn’t help but admit. “But… This is so gay for me to say… I trust you.”
“You? Gay?” Willow raised an eyebrow sarcastically, “News to me.”
“Hah. Guess I shouldn’t use “gay” like that…”
“Eh, old habits,” Willow shrugged.
“... Y’know…” Sam blushed deeper, averting her gaze, “Vi gave me carte blanche to indulge that… ‘thing’ of yours…”
“I don’t know what to be more shocked about,” Willow’s eyes widened at this odd change in the conversation, “This revelation, or that you knew how to pronounce ‘carte blanche’.”
“Look,” Sam growled, choosing not to respond to Willow’s snarky remark, “I only say that ‘cause… well… I dunno… if it’s not cheating… Man, I dunno… I mean, look… What do you think?”
“What do I think what?” Willow asked, “Like… do I think it’s okay if you fart for me? Is that what you’re asking? Jeez, the withdrawal really has done something to you, not that I’m complaining.”
“No, what I mean is…” Sam groaned, feeling an embarrassing heat rising in her chest, “It’s not… Like, you know Vi, right?”
“I’ve heard of this person, yes,” Willow nodded along.
“She…” Sam paused, swallowing awkwardly, “She… likes when I… and I’m only telling you this ‘cause you’re a sicko… when I tease you…”
“That little sadist…” Willow smacked her fist into her palm emphatically like a judge smacking a gavel.
“But it feels like cheating… or… I dunno… cucking or something, I dunno, and it’s not my thing, right?” Sam stammered, seeming a little red in the face. “But look… I… dunno… I… It’s gross but… I dunno… I’m okay with it?”
Willow couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She didn’t know if it was the prayers or the wishes over birthday candles, but something was finally coming true.
“I’m never gonna fucking do it in public,” Sam was quick to qualify.
“Of course not.”
“And don’t be too weird about it.”
“I would never.”
“And don’t tell anyone.”
“Who, me?”
“And do not make me regret this.”
“Pshh, Sam?” Willow grinned, leaning back on her mattress with her arms crossed behind her head, “I’ll be cool as a cucumber. Go right ahead.”
“No.”
“WHAT?!” Willow shrieked as she shot upright, immediately covering her own mouth—that came out far louder than she’d intended. She’d almost certainly woken John for the second time that night just then… Poor guy.
“Fuck, quiet,” Sam winced, a hand reflexively covering one ear, “It’s for Vi, not you… When she gets back, maybe.”
“SaaaaaAAAAMMMMM,” Willow warbled, rubbing her thighs together fervently, “You just gave me the mother of all blue balls Samantha.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Sam groaned, rising to her feet before she came crashing down onto Willow’s lap.
PRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPTTT?!~
Rumbly and squeaky, Sam ripped a real mean one onto Willow’s unsuspecting crotch, a long one which trailed off on a high popping note like her bum was asking Willow’s lap a garbled question.
Willow gripped the sheets in pure ecstasy, her eyes nearly rolling back in her head like a shark seizing its prey. She’d dreamed of this moment. She had literally dreamed of this exact scenario. She felt the vibrations surging through her most sensitive regions, pirouetting across her very essence.
Unf, and the smell: Classic Sam Stink, boiled eggs and spoiled pork… Willow was in heaven.
“There, happy?” Sam scoffed as she rose from Willow’s lap.
“Nooo…” Willow whined, making grabby hands futilely as Sam got off of her.
“Yeesh,” Sam winced as her own brand finally hit her, waving a hand loosely beneath her nose. She didn’t even need to elaborate.
Willow needed release. She had promised not to make it weird but… dear lord she needed to cum…
“Hm.” Sam glanced over at Willow, a hint of a smirk tugging at her mouth as she saw the poor thing squirm. “Kinda see why Vi likes this shit.”
As if Willow hadn’t already had enough, Sam leaned down, right by Willow’s ear, and whispered: “Dirty bitch…”
Willow almost screamed. She could hardly contain herself any longer.
Sam just laughed. “It’s honestly too easy.”
With a stretch, Sam climbed into the bed. Now it was her turn to pat the mattress beside her. “Come on,” Sam yawned, “I think I’m finally getting a bit sleepy.”
“Yes mistress,” Willow winked, half joking, half hornier than should be physiologically possible as she climbed in bed next to Sam. Her heart leapt out of her chest as she felt Sam’s muscly arms wrapping around the pudge of her body.
“C’mon,” Sam exhaled, her voice low and sultry—unintentionally so—right into Willow’s ear, “I said don’t make it weird.” She spooned up closer to Willow’s soft, warm body. “And don’t you dare fuckin’ fart on me.”
“But! But!” Willow stammered with a pout, “You farted on me!”
“Willow,” Sam narrowed her eyes, “If you fart on me, I’m actually done with this cutesy shit.”
“Noted…” Willow gulped, clenching her buttcheeks in spite of the ominous burbling in her tummy.
“Better be.”