By: Areturned
The cell was dark and cramped. It held only a small bed and a toilet, and there were no windows. There was a light fixture on the ceiling, but the switch was outside, so he couldn’t control it himself. Instead he relied on the faint glow bleeding through the edges of his cell door to see.
Smith lay staring at the ceiling, calmly awaiting his interrogation. It was unfortunate that the enemy had discovered him, but not entirely unexpected. As a spy you had to be prepared for any eventuality.
His mission now was very simple: endure whatever tortures the enemy had to throw at him, and tell them nothing.
Suddenly the door hissed open. Light flooded the room, blinding after the long hours of darkness. An imposing silhouette appeared in the doorway.
“Good morning, Mr. Spy!”
He blinked. As his eyes adjusted, he took in his new visitor. She was large, easily over six feet with a wide, thick frame. She wore a black latex bodysuit that squeezed her tight all over, particularly around her chest, thighs and buttocks, where the suit looked like it was threatening to burst. The only exposed skin was above her neck. She had a pretty face, bright blue eyes, and blonde hair that fell loosely around her shoulders.
“My name is Tiffany, and I’m going to be your torturer!”
She introduced herself in a friendly tone, the way a waitress might greet you at a family restaurant. She stepped inside and the door slid shut behind her. The already cramped room became positively claustrophobic with her inside; the mini-giantess was big enough to touch two opposing walls if she stretched her arms out.
“Okay, so I’m supposed to find out your real name, who you’re working for, what your mission is, what you know about us… um…” She ticked the questions off on her fingers. “Basically anything you might not want me to know. We’re not exactly in a rush, so I’m gonna relax and take my time with it. Oh – but if you want, you could just tell me everything now instead, and I can skip the torture altogether!” She smiled at him expectantly.
Smith almost had to laugh. He had only two words to say to her. “Fuck you.”
She nodded, unbothered. “Yep! I pretty much expected that. In that case we can get started, but remember that’s an open offer for future sessions if you ever decide you want the torture to stop, okay? Okay~!”
Tiffany began preparing him for the session. There were straps on the side of the bed he hadn’t noticed that she used to restrain his limbs, so that he lay face-up with his head resting at the very edge of the mattress. Smith didn’t bother to resist, knowing it was pointless.
Tiffany hummed happily as she worked, laying a strip of tape over his mouth. He couldn’t talk now – not that he’d been planning to anyway – but more importantly he couldn’t breathe, except through his nose. What was she planning? Suffocation? Waterboarding? Whatever it was, he was determined it wouldn’t work. He’d been trained to resist all those kinds of techniques.
“All set!” Tiffany declared. She stood and walked to the end of the bed, hovering above him. When Smith looked up, two gigantic beach-ball sized butt cheeks covered half his vision. Then, without warning – they came crashing down right on his face!
He let out a low grunt as he disappeared into her crack, her weight bearing down on him as they sank together into the mattress. The latex rubbed against his skin, squeaking noisily. His nose was compressed heavily and he had to suck in hard to get any air at all.
“Oh, whoops! I totally forgot.”
She bent forward slightly and reached back. Her hand appeared, fishing around her crack for a small metal zipper. She pulled it, opening a small hole in the suit… and immediately, a putrid, rotten smell leaked out.
“It’d be kinda hard to breathe down there without this, huh?” said Tiffany. “I mean, it’ll still be hard to breathe, but… you know what I mean.”
She sat back down again, this time guiding herself so that Smith’s nose poked right up into the suit hole. He was nestled deep between her ass-cheeks, he realised, feeling the warmth of her body heat and inhaling the rancid stink of trapped farts and sweat. He took a sniff and his body lurched involuntarily.
“Yeah, pretty ripe, huh? This suit really seals in the flavour. Still, at least you get a nice breeze to enjoy!” She giggled.
Smith heard her stomach gurgle, and realised at once what she meant. For the first time he felt afraid. But there was nothing he could do except lie there and take it.
Bbbbrrraaappp!
The fart rushed straight up his nostrils, filling him with the stink of pure shit. It was unbelievably bad – he could even taste it somehow, his tongue curling up in disgust. He felt the urge to spit, but with his mouth taped he could only suck down the hot gas and breathe in some more.
“How’s it going down there? Ready for another one?” Tiffany asked. She didn’t wait for an answer.
Bbbbrrooooorrp!
This one was even worse, somehow. He could actually taste the eggs. He groaned miserably and flexed his arms, momentarily forgetting he was restrained. All he knew was he had to get away from this smell.
“Aw, sorry, Mr. Spy. No escaping for you!” Tiffany bounced playfully on top of him. “You’re staying right there until you’ve sniffed up alllll my farts. And I had a pretty big breakfast, so… get comfy!”
They continued this way for some time, Smith laying helpless, smothered beneath Tiffany’s butt as she pumped him with a constant stream of ass-gas. Occasionally his torturer would laugh, or jiggle slightly, or make a little comment after an especially pungent release.
Brroot!
“Eww, stinky.” Like she could even smell it. The suit had only one opening, and it was firmly plugged by Smith’s nose. Her farts had nowhere else to go.
Eventually, after what had to have been a solid hour of stink, the torture came to an end. The giant girl finally ran out of gas, and after squeezing out one last weak “blpt” she sighed, wiggled her hips and hopped off his face.
“Okay then, I’m all done for today!” She announced. She stuck a hand underneath herself to zip the seat of her suit back up; her ass was so big she seemed to struggle to reach it. “We made a good first start here, huh?”
He glared at her, face covered in ass-sweat and reeking of her morning gas. She giggled, pulling the tape off his mouth and removing his arm restraints.
“No need to be grumpy! Like I said, you can end the torture whenever you want – just say the word and you can kiss my big butt goodbye. But until then, we’d better get used to each other! So I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Don’t go anywhere! Ha ha! Bye-bye now!”
She stood waving at him until the door slid fully closed, leaving him on his own again.
He started to rise, then sat back, exhausted after the long session. He lay down and closed his eyes, letting sleep take him. There wasn’t much else to do in his cell anyway.
*
Smith started awake at the sound of his door hissing open. He sat upright, instantly alert, and saw once more a tall feminine figure silhouetted against the light flooding into the room.
Tiffany again? Had he slept through an entire day already? No, it couldn’t have been that long. As his eyes adjusted, he realised this was somebody new.
“Get up, prisoner.” She commanded in a cold, harsh voice. “My name is Alexa. I’ll be handling your afternoon torture sessions.”
Like Tiffany, Alexa was tall, strong and beautiful, and she wore a similar latex bodysuit. She was slimmer around the waist than his morning torturer had been, however. Her hair was black, pulled back in a tight ponytail, and she had pale skin where Tiffany had been quite tan. Everything about her seemed hard and cruel.
“Get up,” she repeated. “Unless you want to start this session with a broken limb.”
Smith rose quickly. There wasn’t even enough space for them both to stand without brushing up against each other; he stared up at her, face practically inside her bulging cleavage, and awaited further instruction.
Alexa smirked. “You stink, prisoner. Tiffany must have given you a decent introduction. I’d better make sure I’m not outdone.” The smile vanished. “Now, hands up.”
On the ceiling was a plastic cord that, like his bed straps, Smith hadn’t noticed until now. With his hands upraised, Alexa tied the cord around his wrists, forcing them together. When he lowered his arms again the cord extended, with some minor resistance.
“On your knees,” the dominatrix commanded. Smith obeyed, feeling the cord pull tighter; there wasn’t much length left in it. He was left kneeling, staring up at Alexa, his hands clasped upright as if in prayer while he waited for her next orders.
She gave the cord a sharp tug to test its strength. Satisfied, she looked down at him. “You probably know what happens now. I have some questions, you have the answers. But assuming you have anything to say, it’ll have to wait. After all,” she taped his mouth shut, “chairs don’t talk.”
With that she sat down hard on Smith’s upturned face. The crushing weight of her booty shoved him downwards, but only a few inches – then the cord snapped taut, his arms were yanked as far out as they could go, and his body was forced all at once to bear the full brunt of her impressive weight.
The pressure on his neck was incredible, the weight literally pile-driving his head up her ass. Like Tiffany’s, this latex suit had a hole in the seat for his nose to enter; but with the added force he was driven far deeper into Alexa’s crack, to the point he could practically feel her asshole tickling his nose. The stench was just as bad, shitty, tangy and bitter. The unmistakable scent of sweat and stale gas.
“How’s the smell down there?” Alexa’s mocking voice filtered down to him. “Enjoy it while you can. You know what comes next.”
Fpppoorrrrrppptptt!
Hot, thick gas flooded his lungs, laced with the scent of rotting vegetables. He instinctively tried jerking his head to one side, desperate to get away, but with the sheer force bearing down on him he couldn’t so much as flinch. He could only face her asshole head-on, and keep sniffing.
“My, you sucked that up quickly. Have another.”
Ggggrruuurrrbbtt!
This fart bubbled angrily, and burned so hot Smith could practically feel it singe his nose hairs. He swallowed it with a shudder, tasting the spoiled dairy in the back of his throat.
Alexa seemed to sense his disgust. “I hope you didn’t think that was a bad one, prisoner, because we’re just getting started. I had a big bowl of cheese and broccoli for lunch. I don’t even like the stuff.” He felt her cheeks tense around his ears. “But you’re going to like it even less.”
The session dragged on for what felt like an eternity. Sniffing farts was bad enough, but forced to take them while being used as a human seat, the weight of a mini-giantess crushing down on him – that was another level of torture.
Within minutes his knees and neck were aching, and his wrists and spine soon joined them. As a further act of cruelty, Alexa would occasionally jump up and down on his face to “get more comfortable”. Each heavy blow was agony on his joints, and ground his nose deeper and deeper inside her ass.
Blllppttptptp!
Smith grimaced as he inhaled yet another gurgling cheddary fart, muscles aching, his every breath toxic and foul. A strange thought crossed his mind. Alexa’s methods were so brutal, he almost missed being under Tiffany.
Just when he was sure he could take no more, the session finally, mercifully ended. Alexa stood up, her cheeks sliding off of his face with a soft schlpt, and Smith was free to breathe fresh air again. Wordlessly his torturer began releasing his bonds, then tore the tape off his mouth in one harsh rip.
“We’re done for now. I’ll see you again tomorrow. Just don’t expect me to go as easy on you as I did today.”
Smith didn’t reply. He remained on the floor, focused on catching his breath and massaging his sore body. Alexa strode to the door, her enormous buttocks heaving with each step. But at the exit she stopped and looked back at him.
“Let me give you some genuine advice, prisoner.” She said. “Give up now. Cast your worthless pride aside and tell us what we want to know. You’ll be saving us a lot of work, and yourself an incredible amount of pain, disgust, and humiliation. Because you will break eventually.” She smirked. “I guarantee it.”
Then she was gone, leaving him alone once more in the dark.
Smith took a few minutes to sit back up. His head spun, woozy from inhaling so much methane. He clawed at his face, trying and failing to wipe away the lingering stink of ass. Not that there was much point – he’d be getting a fresh coating tomorrow morning.
Still, if this was the worst they had to throw at him? He’d be just fine. The gas might stink, and the face-sitting was painful, but he could take it. This was a… unique form of torture, but he’d been trained to resist far worse.
Smith chuckled to himself, remembering Alexa’s parting words. “I will break, huh?” He muttered. “Bring it on. I’ll take as much as you can dish out.” In the end, they’d see who got the last laugh.