I ate like a pig. I gulped down the steaming jug of creamy coffee before slurping on the huge bowl of oatmeal. I cleaned my plate with great haste, practically inhaling the beans before picking up the hard-boiled egg with one hand and consuming it in three bites, a few pieces of chewed up egg landing on my plate as I picked out a loose deflated bean from between my food stained teeth.

Shuffling my heavy frame, I turned my attention to the mushrooms, which I had cut into larger chunk, pressing as many as possible into my mouth before I wolfed them down, taking just four swallows to finish them all. I ate the fried bread alongside the bacon, like a sandwich, feeling the large contents of my half chewed food almost choke me as I swallowed. I was beginning to feel full, but I didn't stop, I turned to the sausages and ate them before finishing my breakfast off with two fried tomatoes and a slab of black pudding.

My chair shifted slightly, a soft, uncomfortable mumble emanating from behind me. I didn't turn around, because I knew what I would find there. Tied to my chair, my slave was facing my back, his face pressed between the slot in the chair which opened up to my butt, which was so close to his face that when he inhaled his air was marked with my butt funk. I shifted my weight, feeling his face press against the chair, his bonds placed so that he couldn't move his face even an inch.

“I am going to make today really hard for you”, I said with a mouthful of beans. Swallowing, I exhaled and shifted my butt mockingly, “if you thought yesterday was bad, today is going to make it look like heaven. I mean, have you seen this breakfast? This breakfast will fuel your breathing air until at least this evening. You won't even need to breath in normal air with the amount of farts I'll have for you once this begins to digest.”

At this remark, he moaned through his gag, before weeping against the chair. He had been weakened by yesterday's pure methane hell, and he knew I was telling the truth when I said today would be much worse. I wasn't lying about the farts either, I don't think I'll need to worry about him running out of air for the next 24 hours. Maybe I should put him in the suit again. Oh god, the thought made me wet with anticipation. The last time he was in there he tried to kill himself to get out after only 10 minutes. He spent two hours in, nearly dying in the process. Soon I'd make those two hours look like a short walk in the park by how long I planned to eventually keep him in there.

I continued greedily eating mouthfuls of fart fuel, not savouring the different tastes but rather fuelling my gut quickly, feeling the satisfaction of my hunger swiftly turning into bloated gas to torture Fart Gobbler with. I often called him that because of how often and fast he had to consume and snort my rancid, puke inducing gas now that I decided to worsen his torture. 24/7 Fart Boy was another good name for him, and recently it had been quite an accurate name indeed.

During the past few years I have changed his name fairly regularly. Gas Guzzler, Methane Sponge, Stink Filter, all good names which I cycle through from time to time, as my farts cycle through stages of stink. One diet may cause my farts to be quite eggy, one may cause them to be meatier than a bodybuilder's. As my farts change, so does the names I use to humiliate him, and the only thing that doesn't change is his screaming, heaving agony beneath the constant stink of my large bottom. The diet changes are varied enough as to never allow him to grow used to his torture, and the cycle is long enough so that when I return to my original diet, his system is no longer adapted to my stink, and he suffers as if my gas was new to him. It's important to me that he's enduring constant torture from my farts, and I have perfected a routine that ensures that his disgust is never reduced.

My ass remained thick with grime and sweat. I had not washed it these past week or so, and I could smell it from up here, so I imagined that the funk below was quite unpleasant to deal with. Mixed in with the BO of my swampy ass crack was the smell of accumulated stale fart. Each rip in these black jeans had etched into the warm denim so that the stink would continue to haunt him well after the raw, direct smell of the release had occurred. This ensured that he never really got away from the smell of fart that he so regularly had to endure, his face kept as close to my ass as possible for the full duration of each day, even when I used the toilet.

The best thing about his position was his inability to get used to the smells of my gross butt. Even a decade after the beginning of his slavery, when his nose was first invaded by the farts which would later become a staple of his daily life, he often cried and pleaded at his treatment. His best reactions were the ones when he knew I was about to fart, him trapped beneath me as this knowledge came to him, the anticipation of the eventual vile stink causing great fear to invade his pathetic pleading. This made the trump so much more satisfying when it finally came and I forced him to snort it up like the dog he was.

I felt a churning in my stomach. Thankfully, it was more a feeling than a sound, so I still could surprise my little fart inhaling device with it, ensuring that he could not prepare, as much as he could have otherwise, for the impact of the rancid wind upon his face. I often like torturing him with the knowledge that he will soon be embraced by my anal wind, but I also liked, on occasion, to surprise him with a reminder of his life role. Variety is the spice of torture, after all.

I waited until he began a sharp inhale before letting the short but violently loud toot to push out from my bottom. With a slight sigh I wiggled my fat ass, freeing the wind from my crack. I heard him stifle a gag as he inhaled, as he was taught, despite his clear disgust. My ass jiggled with my silent laughter as a second gag escaped him, and I felt him shiver upon the wood of the chair as his nose became the recipient of my nasty smell. Phew, that did stink, too, and that was without the upcoming influence of my extreme breakfast upon my irritable gut.

Shifting my ass close to him, shuffling my fleshy globes closer to his tortured face, I heard him groan. I bit my bottom lip and allowed a stream of silent gas to push out from my unwashed anus. With a sharp utterance of surprise I felt my crack warm with my fart's heat, and I heard from behind my ass my slave gasp and cry out as the smell hit him before it hit me. Then it did hit me, and I almost fell off my chair in disgust. It was a damp, rotten smell of shit which filled the entire kitchen with a meaty stink. It must've been last night's chilli, I thought to myself as my itching crack began to burn and I moved it closer to my Slave, who buckled and heaved in proximity to my raw chilli stink.

My ass took up his entire view, and it's warmth forced his face to sweat. I looked down at him in disgust, seeing his malnourished and bruised frame collapse under the pressure of fart tainted air around him.

“Hey, fart sniffer, stop your pathetic whining and sniff that one down as hard as you can. It fucking reeks in here.”

He began to take big gulps of air, each one causing him to shudder and wheeze. He hated it, but he knew the consequences of not sniffing could be so much worse. I had done thing's to him that would make the most stable man cringe with utter disgust, and despite the warm smell of shit around him, he had gone through much worse. Still, I saw that the fart had made his eyes well up with stinging goo, and each inhale made his face redden, as if his skin itself was absorbing the nasty chemicals contained inside the cloud of gaseous waste.

“Err, excuse me fart snorter, I can still smell it. I'm going to fart again. If you don't vacuum the stink up this time, I will have to use your mouth.” He whimpered at that threat, his shaking body preparing for the fart that was edging up on me, built up and ready to singe his nostrils. The worthless slave had better snort it up really well, or he'll find himself used for a much more disgusting purpose.

The fart escaped me in two large brassy ripples, loud and thick with rancid air. They instantly sent Fart Gobbler into convulses as he attempted to smell it all up. He gagged, spluttered, and even screamed as he forced himself to push through the methane burning his nose to huff the farts. I only got a short whiff, but what I did get - oh boy, it was rank.

“Not good enough, I can still smell it, and it fucking stinks”, I said with some anger, as his heaving made me wet, “at the very least, you'll be gobbling some farts out of my naked ass later on. If I'm in a very foul mood, I might play Fart Fumigation with you later on. So look forward to that, Fart Gobbler.”.

And with that, he cried out. My naked ass was very ripe, so he knew what he was in store for, but it wasn't that that he feared the most. Fart Fumigation was one of the most disgusting games I played with him. The game made me don the “Fumigation Suit”, a fetish pair of tight lather trousers that looks a little baggy towards the back end. That's because there's a short space where my slave's head went into, a very tight space that is vacuum sealed at his neck to ensure that there's no air that enters his breathing space. The trousers are a little tight on me, which means that his face fully seals to my naked ass beneath the sweating leather of my outfit, and therefore he relies on my farts for air. It was very dangerous, but that's his problem not mine.

Reminiscing about this torture had solidified my desire to put my slave through it later. I would break it to him the next time he's huffing in a fart, and by the violent churning of my gut, that was going to be very soon.

As soon as that thought finished my ass opened up involuntarily and unleashed a quiet, steaming waft of thick fart which fluttered with great heat as it began to melt Fart Gobbler's face. It was an SBD, to be sure, but it lasted so long that I thought it had been set on auto-repeat. The hot cloud of rancid stink scorched my Slave's nostrils as I heard him heaving it in, stopping every so often to cry out as the smell worsened. A draft came away and my mouth hung open in shock. The smell was so foul it was almost chemical, almost inhuman. I liked to call these atomic farts, and my the sound of my Slave's heaving throat, he had given up on smelling it hard, each sniff laboured and weak as he shrieked and spluttered in the embrace of that revolting monster.

“That was so fucking bad, Slave, and you didn't sniff it all up. You know what that means? You're going to be fumigated in my fart suit today, and trust me, it's going to be a very long session.”

My slave cried out and collapsed against the chair, begging, pleading to no avail as he imagined of how bad that fart would smell inside the tight chamber of my sick costume. His stomach churned with the imaginings alone, it's a good job I hadn't fed him today, or he would've thrown up right then.

“I don't care how much you fucking complain, you are going to be spending most of your day in my fart fumigation suit. In fact, do you know what? My breakfast gas is getting so bad that I think I might place you inside as soon as I'm done here. That way you can spend many hours inside. How does that sound?”

Fart gobbler squirmed and spluttered as he broke under the fear of what was about to come. I felt a fart build up in my lower gut but decided to wait until the fumigation began to unleash it upon him. That's for the best, after all, it will make sure that he suffers as much as possible. As I'm feeling particularly cruel, I decide to tease him even further. I love to build these things up, after all, set up his torture elaborately and slowly so I can see him break and truly suffer through my agonizing farts.

“You know what? I'm holding back a really smelly fart right now. Don't worry, I'll hold this stinker back until you're locked inside the fumigation suit. That way you'll have something to greet you right away. Oh, and I know I did last time, but I'm not washing my ass this time. I know that's going to make it very difficult for you in there, but that's your fucking problem, not mine.”

He squealed like a little piggy as I began to set the plates to one side. I allowed him to breath the stale air without my ass there as I went to get thing's ready, a few minutes away from my ass isn't going to relieve him, and I won't be farting until he's in the fumigation device anyway. I leave him a little something through, my old black trainer resting against the wood of the chair, the sole releasing foul foot BO into his nose. He coils as the sharp vinegary stink of my feet churn with the fart fumes in his lungs. There's no point in only sharing one type of stink with him, is there?

Dragging slave boy upstairs, I throw him harshly onto the hard bedroom floor, and as he writhed there, pleading with me through his gag for one last chance, I peeled from the cupboard the fumigation suit. As soon as it was out, I instantly gagged as the smell of stale farts, shit, BO, pure rank sweat mixed with something rotten hit my nose. The thing had been used plenty of times but had never been washed, and inside it smelt like pure sulphur. Oh my god, it smelled so disgusting that I wanted to throw up.

Slave boy soon smelled it. He wretched and began to convulse violently as he recalled the previous trauma inside that thing. It was much worse now, stocked up with more excess farts and boiled sweat, it's tight confines unbearably potent as it resembled the worst parts of my bad hygiene and habits mixed into a stale soup of pure stink. Whenever he's not here and I needed to fart, it got locked into the suit, so from it a thick cloud encompasses the various tight passages inside, revealing a shockingly perverse aroma that can only be described as hellish. It was going to be so fun fumigating his lungs today.

“No, you're going in”, I said as he fell back and attempted to drag himself into the shadows of the room, “you're going in and you're going to spend a long time in there, and I need to let go of a massive fart right now, so we don't have any time to waste.”

He screamed as I pressed one foot against his side to pin him to the ground, wrapping his hands in eye bolts which were long enough for him to crawl behind me, albeit awkwardly. Then, I dragged the suit, finding it surprisingly difficult to pin my weight on him as his pathetic crying resulted in him coughing loudly. He choked and spluttered but nothing he could do stopped me as I placed his face through the elastic necking which contorted to his flesh perfectly, ensuring that no means of air escaping was afforded him.

After tightening my ponytail, I pulled down my trousers until I'm naked from the waist below. As I do, a short raspy fart escaped and bled into the air. Its smell reached us both and acted as a reminder of the hell that was to come. I laughed and wafted the air away with my free hand before I turned around and pulled myself into the suit, it's skin-tight material sticking to my flesh.

His face was pushed hard and deep into the sweaty caverns of my unwashed ass. He screamed and heaved in conjunction, but it's vibrations were muffled against the flesh which surrounded him. He was tightly pressed inside my ass that I felt as if he was a part of me, his nose pressing deep into my asshole, my own grime acting as a lube. If not for his body on his knees behind me, he would look like a part of me, as if I was some sort of twisted centaur. It felt so good to know how awful this was for him. He looked absurd sticking out from my huge behind.

“I've been holding this one in for you. Savour it”, and whilst he began to plead I grunted and pushed out a long, wet, boiling fart which instantly melted my asshole. It's spicy warmth heated up the costume and as the long fart died down into a moist rippling, my slave's utter anguish became clear as he screamed and heaved so violently that it sounded like a death cry. I couldn't help but smirk as his screaming and blubbering broke his voice and his wriggling body began to shake as the full extent of the fart was injected into his lungs.

“It's only been 10 seconds, and you already can't take any more. How are you going to last all day in there? You do realise that I'm not giving you any breaks, right?” I shuffled my ass as he continued to choke on fart, “I'm thinking of a lentil and bean chilli for dinner. That will keep you busy, huh?”

He began to cry out once more but the sound of his hellish howls was interrupted by a well timed trumpet of a fart. It was a sharp, high pitched, comical toot which quickly sent him into further convulsing. I wiped a bead of sweat from my brow and released a mocking “Phew” as I felt the warmth of my two farts make my ass moist with sweat. Inside, my BO must be horrendous, and trapped in a sauna of hot fart, my ass would only get worse. This was good, because it means that there would be another smell to torture him between my farts, although I doubt the sulphuric stink of my raw flatulence would ever escape anyway. Still, it was nice to know that it wasn't just pure fart down there, a strong aroma of my BO would also haunt his nasal cavity.

“Listen, slave, I know you're trapped in a vacuum chamber, but that doesn't excuse you from not sniffing. Every time you fail to sniff a fart, I'm going to add another 15 minutes onto your time in there. So far, I am adding an extra thirty minutes for the two farts you failed to sniff properly.”

He cried out and began to weep. He had nowhere to go, and I had full control over him, yet his position each time was getting worse and worse. Jesus, what state is he going to be in after five hours in the suit, never mind 5 minutes? I really can't wait to find out.

“Anyway, let's try that again. I am going to fart, and you are going to sniff it as your role entails. Remember what I taught you: long, deep breaths. That ensures that the smell is fully filtered into your lungs. If you fail this time, I will add another 15 minutes to your time down there. You don't want that, do you?”

He whimpered.

“Exactly. Now, I'm going to let one go. Don't forget, deep sniffs”, and with that I grunted and let out a sharp, raspy fart which baked the suit in a rancid cloud of hot stink. Groaning and crying out loudly, his tears moist on my ass cheeks, he drew in a large gulp of air through his nostrils, the cold suction of his nose against my asshole tickling me. Instantly, he began gagging violently, but remembering my promise, quickly began sniffing again.

Unfortunately for him, my belly still had some urgent gas to unleash upon him. With a quick push, timing it in perfect harmony with a reluctant inhale from my life long gas snorkler, I let forth a long, wet fart which growled and squelched inside the tight suit we shared. The sound was utterly putrid, and the heaving and gagging inside was beyond desperate. He pulled back instinctually but only managed to sink further against my ass, his nose deeply embedded inside me as he recalled his responsibilities. He sniffed a little before erupting into the most violent coughing fit I've heard from him in a while.

“Look, I know that was a rotten fart, but that sniff was pathetic. Another 15 minutes are being added to your time inside”, he shook his head and cried out in an animalistic shriek, as if he begged me to grant him even the smallest mercy, something I had never shown him, “also, I'm not going to wash my ass again tomorrow, that's how bad your attempt to sniff that fart was. Lucky for you, you now have another chance to prove your sniffing skills. Get ready for this one slave, it feels awful inside my gut, so it's going to be really fucking disgusting.”

The next hour for him was pure hell. He had managed to sniff most farts adequately, but his cries of desperate pleading only increased as the fart baked atmosphere of my vacuum sealed scent suit become more warm and potent with the steaming sulphur of my gas. It didn't help that I was sweating profusely underneath and that the moist lubrication of my own rank sudor made his nose slip further inside me.

One time I cut a fart that lasted an whole 7 seconds of wet hell. He shook and convulsed so violently that I thought he was having a seizure and that he was going to perish right then. Still, I held my ground and casually sat down on the bed to wait out his suffering, my weight pulling him further into the maw of my fetid ass crack. He didn't sniff that one particularly well, so it added to his time in the suit.

At lunch, I leaned my weight against him as the chilli boiled. Occasionally I would endow his weeping, shuffling nose with a well timed fart, maintaining my position as the suit was quickly filled with a myriad of pathetic whimpering. His neck began to ache, and he began to struggle outside of my farts. Only when I finally finished my huge bowl of thick chilli did I relieve him from my weight. Unfortunately for him, he wasn't going to be relieved for long.

I sat on the sofa as I finished my huge meal. The suit sort of collapsed against the sofa, but kept it's mould, so that when my fat arse sat down, his nose was still firmly where I wanted it to be. This was a great position to loosen out the first of my chilli farts, which, as I ate, began to gurgle and whine inside me, mixing with the final breakfast steamers at the bottom of my gut.

“I think this chilli is hitting my belly a lot harder than usual”, I said, revealing a smug grin as his breathing beneath me quickened, “I think that I'm going to be really gassy after this meal. At least none of the disgusting trump air will escape my suit, huh slave?”

He whimpered and began to shake. I didn't blame him, my infamous chilli farts would soon be trapped inside a vacuum sealed sweat suit with him. Still, I wanted to rub this in more before torturing him with my gradually brewing chilli farts.

“My farts will be absolutely unbearable”, I said, screwing my face up in disgust as if he could see me, “but I am going to make sure that you are down there for as long as I have gas. If this bypasses your time limit, then that's too bad for you, because I've decided to scrap that all together. Now, the time you have left in that suit will be the minimum amount of time you spend down there, not when you are going to be released.”

He began to shudder and cry as I brutally reminded him that he had no rights here, “I mean, if I were you I'd be really upset. You might have to spend hours longer in the suit than you initially thought. In fact, I'm going to add another two hours to you minimum time down there, so expect to be trapped in our fart suit for quite some time.”

His weeping and protesting, as much as he knew it wouldn't make me pity him or grant him mercy, increased in volume and intensity. He was so badly shaking it was as if he was reacting to a pre-poop fart I had ripped into his nose. I guess I'll soon be able to compare the two, to make sure my description was accurate.

“Oh, and I have a nice chilli fart to dry your tears with. Remember, fart pig, take a huge sniff or I will add to your minimum time down there.”

As soon as I told him this my ass erupted into a loud, wet explosion which put my previous farts to shame. It was a wide echo of a moist fart which rippled gruesomely against his face. As it ended I heard a brief scream from him before my ass opened up once more and delivered into the suit an almost exact replica of the previous fart, although drier and hotter than the one before.

He was shrieking and heaving between each sniff, and I couldn't help but laugh as my ass sunk onto the chair where his head was buried into. Jesus, his life was going to be torture to live out for the next few hours, at least.

A few hours later, and he was heaving constantly into the baked chilli fart chamber. I had just brewed and released a huge shart which squelched violently against his face, and as I laid on the bed with him heaving and suckling behind me, I looked at the time. His minimum time, unfortunately, had come to an end.

Still, the good thing about minimum time is that it's just that: the minimum amount of time he needs to spend in the suit of mine. Sure, I had changed the rules last second, but life is unfair, and when you're strapped into a fart inhalation suit, you really don't have any bargaining power. Perhaps it was time to remind him of this fact, as he was relying too much on the expectation that he would be out soon.

“Well, I guess your minimum time is almost up”, I said, pausing to feel him involuntarily release a relief fuelled weep, “you must be glad, right? I mean, you're free soon”, I paused once again, and a smile grew across my face as I finished my sentence, “except, you aren't going to be, are you?”

Instantly, he stiffened, a heavy, high pitched gasp forcing it's way out of his throat.

“I mean, did you forget? Minimum time means minimum time. It means that it's up to me when to release you, and I've been thinking about something. It's nearly bedtime, and I'm still completely gassy. I mean, that oatmeal hit me like a brick. Surely it makes sense to make you huff my gas throughout the night, no?”

He began to scream and writhe incessantly as he realized what was happening. I hadn't seen him this scared and horrified in a long time. The last time that he was this erratic was the curry dump fume incident two years ago. Since the suit was incredibly tight, he could not escape the ass he had just learned that he was going to spend the night inside. I was extremely excited to put him through such hell, to the point where my voice came out in a soft, whimpering whisper.

“So, I've decided. You're spending the full night in my suit. With my lie in, that's at least 12 hours of fart fumigation for you to endure. Oh, but don't worry, you won't suffocate. My chilli and oatmeal methane will be more than enough for you to survive on, although your lungs might burn a little. I mean, some of these farts are lethal, but I think you can survive. Whether or not you want to live through them is another question, but as you know, I don't need your consent to keep you alive, as long as you can breathe in fart fumes, you will be alive and at my ass, breathing them in.”

He cried for the next half an hour. As I wanted to keep my farts inside me for when we got in bed, I had only released a couple for him to choke on, so by the time I pulled the covers over me, the heavy fabric causing me to sweat profusely and for his screams to be muffled.

Sighing and chuckling in joy, I let forth the first of many bed farts, a warm and sticky fart which my heaving slave choked violently on. I was going to have such a great night, and I had a exciting day to look forward too. After all, I never promised to let him go tomorrow morning either.