Ryan sighed, pushing his small frame through the entrance to the side porch of his small house. He closed his eyes and felt the warm feeling of home finally course through him. After a long visit with family across the country, he was now finally away from all the stress of his nagging parents and smug, successful sister, who always pestered him about his own failures. He sniffed the fresh air outside, exhaling and smiling as the smell of the the crisp leaves and damp soil represented the solitude he had wished for during the entire visit.

Attempting to open the door, he stopped for a second. Quickly, the joy of home became an anxious weight in his stomach. He had tried to push in his key, but it didn't seem to work. He thought this was strange, looking at the newly gleamed brass knob, which somehow looked different from the one he had installed last year. He must've been away for longer than he thought, but that still did not explain the fact that they key didn't work.

Then, as he pushed against the door, he realized that it was already open. Fuck, he told himself, he must've left it open. And for how long? No wonder the key didn't work, he had been trying to unlock and open door. God, how long has the door been open for? He was gone for a whole month, he was lucky if nothing had been stolen. He gulped and entered his house with quiet, worried steps.

Quickly, the smell of smoke hit him. At first, his heart almost burst as he thought a fire had occurred in the house. Then, upon closer inspection, he realized that it wasn't the smell of oven smoke, but rather the distinct scent of tobacco. The house was thick with it, it was truly awful. Was he imagining it? He didn't think so, but he had never smoked in his life. The stuff disgusted him. Was it coming from somewhere outside? God, he hoped so.

Closing the door behind him, he quickly realized that it wasn't just the smell of smoke. Somebody had clearly been here. Beer cans were strewn across the side, a patch of something brown and smelling of some overcooked food plastered the front of the bin, which he had emptied when he left, but now was full, flies whizzing past it as several bags of junk had been left on the floor. The sides were dirty and unclean, full of stains, from food, cigarettes, and alcohol.

Then, the full extent of the smell hit him. In the smoke scent there was a smell of filth, perhaps human sweat and grime mixed into a fetid air that had a unwashed quality to it.

“Oh god”, he whimpered, disgusted by the sink which was full of dirty plates containing chunks of food. A bowl of half eaten beans had been left on one side, and he saw the shadow of something in the microwave. Who had done this to his house? Had some homeless guy broken in. Oh god, was he still here?

Like always, when faced with forces outside of his control, he became useless. His observations all blurred into one shade of fear, and as he stumbled through the house, he knew that his sacred place had been desecrated. He felt no anger, as if anger towards whatever caused this would only make him confront it. Then, as he reached the edge of the kitchen, he heard something down the long hallway. A lazy shuffling, and the soft mumble of a television. Was his intruder still here? He had no idea, but as he approached the sound, bile rising in his throat, he was hit with the distinct feeling that this place was no longer home.

The living room was strewn with rubbish, mainly cans of beer and packets of crisps. His sofa had lost some of it's colour, as if the room itself had drained of the joy it once exuded. Upon the marble platform across the small fireplace a thick yellow stain appeared from a fallen can, and on it a lone, small fly gyrated. The insect only seemed to clarify the smell which hit him, an unclean smell of debauchery and decay which led his nose towards the figure on the edge of the seat, sat with her sweatpants clad legs spread well apart, sinking back as into the material as she looked at him with a thuggish smirk on her face.

“Well, well, well. It looks like the bitch has returned.” She laughed at her own joke, kicking up her feet on the mess strewn table. The soles of her feet were thick with dark grime and from them a smell of sweat clearly emanated. She wore a purple tank top, and her brown hair was tied back. Whilst her eyes and lips curved at a feminine angle, the angles of her face held the strong and confident malignancy that reminded Ryan of his school bullies, thugs who could blend into society if they so wished.

“W-Who are you? G- Get out of my house” He asked, pushing himself against the door. He whimpered as his weight caused it to involuntarily close, but the intruder remained where she sat, merely raising her eye brow as she pulled herself into a more upwards position.

“I live here now, and you have no right to remove me from my house.”, with this she grinned with one side of her face, a confidence in her which caused Ryan to recoil in terror. What did she mean, he had no right? A brief flash of anger filled him, quickly replaced by docile despair as her power over him was quickly cemented.

“You need to leave”, he whined, shaking as he forced himself to use the last remaining trace of fight left in him, “you are intruding on personal property”.

She shook her head, chuckling in a throaty voice. He realized as she did this that she was stronger than she looked from the front. Her arms and legs were noticeably toned, in a slim manner which reminded him of the girls that spent a lot of time doing cross fit at the gym that was situated from across his work.

“Let's get this out of the way, Ryan”, she expressed his name with a vile hiss, clearly having gone through his stuff to know who he was, “you have been gone for over a month. I moved in the day after you left. You forgot to lock the backdoor, so I was not breaking and entering. The new Occupier Rights Act states that I have the right to occupy a property I've entered legally if I did not commit a crime to gain access to it. I'm afraid that I live here now.”

No, oh god, he thought. He had heard of this new law, heard the critics on television describe hellish situations where home owners could be removed from their property if a squatter had gained access for a certain amount of time. It had meant to protect tenants from greedy landlords, but many decried how it could be used for malicious purposes. He had not believed it, and now he was here, powerless in front of the woman who smirked at him with this power imbued in her.

“You- You can't do this”. Even as his voice cracked out from his dry throat, he knew how pathetic it sounded. She had quickly and demonstrably shown that she could, in fact, remain here. He would have to get a notice, and those could take up to a year, to remove her from the property. And not only did he have nowhere to go in the meantime, but the notice might be thrown out and his house would be hers.

“I can do this”, she crossed her arms and stood up, “in fact, since I'm currently the principle occupier of this house, you shouldn't even be here. You're breaking my right to peace, and I don't think the police will be very happy about this.”

“B-But”, he began to feel the tears claw out from his moist eyes as he shook violently, “I-I don't have anywhere to go. Please, I'll pay, I just need you to leave.”

She shook her head and laughed, “that sounds like your problem, not mine, and you can't pay me off, bitch. This is my house now, and if you're staying here, you're doing so out of the good of my heart. And I don't give thing's like that out for free.”

“W-What are you saying?”, he said in a teary voice, unable to meet her cold, blue gaze.

“I'm saying that, if I'm going to let you stay here, you have to do certain things for me. Clean the house, cook the meals, and keep me entertained. Unless, of course, you'd rather be homeless?”

He collapsed on the side chair, exhaling heavily. He couldn't believe this. This woman, this slob, had quickly detailed how he was totally fucked. Nowhere to go, too ashamed to report this woman, and who could he report her too? She was legally right, he remembered reading the reports about the law when it was out. Her powerful aura sliced into him, a dominance over his position which made it clear he would not ever get her to leave this house. God, he was so pathetic.

“So, if you don't want me to call the police, you're pretty much going to be my bitch. Don't worry, you look like you'll fulfil that role quite well, you look like a bit of a pussy to be honest. Oh, and don't question me. If you do, the police are going to find you in a state where you'd barely be recognizable. Don't fuck with me and you'll be relatively okay, understand?”

His voice came out in a whimpering squeal, “yes, fine, I get it”, almost without his conscious input, firmly cementing his position in the house. 5 minutes ago, he had been happy to return. Now, he was a nervous wreck in great fear of this intruder, an intruder who had every right to now do as she pleased with him.

Crossing the space between them with tall strides, she smiled, “good bitch”.

She showed her surprisingly pearly teeth before opening her mouth wide and allowing a greasy belch to escape the clutches of her throat. Onion laced breath gave forth to an acidic stink which shot forth goblets of spit all across his face. He moved his face to the side and let out a little gag as the smell of her burp was pushed up his nostrils.

“Now”, she said, twirling around and smiling in a way which seemed to contradict her almost masculine demeanour, “you have lot's of stuff to clean, so get on with it. Oh, and I blocked the toilet yesterday, so you'll need to sort that out first. And make sure that you tidy my room, it's a bit of a mess right now.”

“Y-Yes”, he couldn't believe he was accepting his fate so easily. She had clearly known how easily warped he was, and as her confidence knew no bounds, she made his subjugation appear easy. Perhaps he just needed to do this for a while before he could find a place to move. But where? He didn't want to bring his distant family into this, and he had no friends. Was he trapped?

The belch still stuck to him but in the air there was a strong, disgusting smell of something potent and rotting. It was meaty and thick, with a pungent waft which surprised him with how hard it hit his nostrils. He was so surprised by the sudden smell that he asked something of the intruder as if the prior conversation hadn't happened.

“What's that smell?” He shook his head, trying to rid his nostrils of the strong, sulphuric smell.

“Oh, that”, the woman laughed loudly, “it's my fart. Smells bad, doesn't it?”

He shook his head and left the room quickly, disgusted by the slob's behaviour almost as much as he was in fear of her. Doing all the chores in the house would be better than having to be in that woman's presence any longer.

* * * * * *

As he cleaned the house, he felt a growing shame rise through him. As he passed himself in the mirror, and saw his red, huffing frame against the backdrop of the filth of the house, he realized what exactly it was that hurt him the most. It was how easily this intruder how turned him into her servant in his own home. Already she had purged this place of all it's sentimental value, and in such a short period that the brief wanting of home that he was experiencing before was still stirring inside of him, a shallow river of emotion which was flooding with the new horrifying realization of what he had so quickly become. He was a maid, a chore slave, someone who was begging and pleading with his abuser in his own home.

The worst part was the lack of power, there was nothing he could do about it. That's why, when he approached the toilet, which gave off the foul smell of unwashed waste, blocked with murky water that made him wretch, he didn't suddenly find the strength to refuse, rather he unblocked and then made the toilet sparkle as his mistress- no, his abuser, wished. After that it wasn't even his toilet any more, the rank mark of it's new owner was clear in the aftermath of the smell which still was baked into the room. He didn't think he'd ever get that awful smell out, and the bathroom spray only masked it partially. If only he knew the smells he would later be forced to endure would put his current discomfort into perspective.

He had learned that the woman was called Kaley, although he didn't know her surname. She had told him when she had come to inspect the toilet.

“Not bad”, she said, sniffing loudly, “it smells much better in here now. Just make sure that you clean this place often, it'll need it”. She shoved past him as she left him to sort the uncleanness of the rest of the floor, clearly unwilling to even lift a finger to help him out. She did leave something behind however, a sharp smell that clearly was an SBD. It was putrid, like the toilet had been. What was wrong with this woman? She seemed to also give off a smell of stale BO, as if personal hygiene was not a priority for her.

When he went into his bedroom, it became clear that it was no longer “his” bedroom. Cigarettes had been deposited in a makeshift ashtray made from one of his grandmother's old plates. The smell of food, BO, and a general unpleasant funk came off the bed clothes, which lay scattered aside. The floor was littered with used panties and bras, as well as other clothes. He saw a few pair of tight jeans, but most were slob clothes: PJ's, sweatpants, sportswear, and the like. His stomach churned and his throat tightened as the sight of where he once felt safest had been utterly ruined. She made it clear that this was where she was staying, that this was now her house, and that he would have to sleep on the coach that she had made disgusting. The thought was enough to make him feel ill.

A pair of pink thongs lay on the side of the carpet. He noticed a faded brown skid mark down the rim of it's discoloured cloth, and the sight sent waves of revulsion through him. How disgusting was this woman, leaving such unclean filth on the floor? The image sent him into a melancholic stupor. Where once he felt comfortable was now a dumping ground for dirty panties with skid marks, panties belonging to a fierce oppressor he could not combat. He was obsessed with this sudden change of balance in his home, it made him feel ill with gut thundering anxiety.

Then, he heard something which sent through him a wave of anxious fear that he was quickly becoming more and more accustomed to. It was the thudding steps of his approaching abuser, who crashed up the stairs abruptly. He didn't know if it was done purposefully to drive in the fear, or weather or not she really was just that loud, but he had quickly grown to react to the sound of her approach with silent and still terror. It was just a natural reaction to her domineering presence.

“You've not done yet?” she said at the door, exhaling deeply, “Hurry up, bitch. I've got no more socks for tomorrow, and I've been wearing these all week, so make sure everything is dried as soon as possible.”

“I will”, he said, almost instantly without thinking about it.

“If you don't, I'll make your life a living hell. Oh, and I have something for you, come here.”

He slowly approached as she held her hands on her hip, a look of dejected boredom on her face. There was nothing built into her expression which gave him any impression of what sort of “gift” she had for him, but he knew somehow that he would not enjoy it.

When he was in range, she clutched his collar, bringing him closer to her face. His eyes widened but her face barely shifted. He could smell her general funk, and soon her lips parted, releasing her horrid, meaty breath which blew back at him from her throat. He saw her tongue and her off-white teeth as her lips parted even more, before the deep guttural bellowing of a huge belch was released.

Closing his eyes and yelling in shock, she let him go, oozing dots of her spit still covering his face as he stumbled backwards. The acidic tang of her belch was extremely potent and now seemed attached to him. The smell and warmth of it made his skin crawl until he released a gag, turning his face to one said and coughing loudly.

“That's better”, she said, sighing as her bitch wiped away at his face, “why don't you thank me for it?”

“What?” he asked, still in shock from the cruelty and humiliation of inhaling his abusers belch.

“Are you deaf, or something? Thank me!”

“Oh”, he whimpered, “thank you.”

She finally smiled, although it wasn't a particularly cute one, “good bitch, I'll leave you to it then”.

His life was going downhill, and fast. That was actually what she had planned for him, treating him as soon as she got him as a creature not worthy of even basic respect, something to prod and torture and humiliate constantly. This way, he would adapt to his role, and she would stay in their house that he paid for forever. All she wanted to do was to make him the most pitiful creature, a slave who's every waking moment is employed to serve her.

He cleaned up the room. It took a while, and the clothes were gross, smelling of BO and farts. Still, at least she wasn't there, belching in his face and mocking him. She reminded him of his school bullies, most of them girls, although she had expanded upon his treatment so that he would never feel safe anywhere, even at home. Even back then, when he was a loser getting daily swirlies by the head cheerleader, he could come home and feel a semblance of safety return to him. Here, he had nothing to protect him from the horrid feeling that he was one step away from his abuser.

“You done?” She stated it like a question, but it was clear it was rhetorical. She had just gone to the bathroom and had returned quietly, proving that her loudness was her choice. He almost fell backwards with shock and fear as her voice rang through him.

She inspected the room, which Ryan feared was still smelly and gross, but when a smile hit her face, he breathed a sigh of relief. If only he would have known.

“Good bitch, you're needed downstairs. It's time to show you where you truly belong.”

The way she widened her eyes and smirked made him feel as if she was planning something big, and when he followed along dutifully, he did so shivering in fear. As he walked into the room with her he thought he heard her belly rumble loudly several times, but said nothing. She must just be hungry, that's all.

When in the room, she stopped and point towards the sofa.

“Lay down, bitch”, she demanded, tapping her bare and dirty feet on the carpet, itching her arse through her sweatpants.

“Why?” He asked.

Her face twisted up in anger, “Why? Because I fucking said so, bitch. Don't you ever question me.”

“I wasn't, I-”

He was interrupted by an hard slap which cut against his flesh. Shrieking, he held his cheek and looked on at her in terrified silence, breathing heavily.

“Don't fucking answer back either. Now, a bitch does as his master says, so lay down on the fucking sofa or I will beat you until your bones break. And trust me, I know how to hurt people with my fists.”

Whimpering wordlessly, the man who was now her bitch laid down slowly on the sofa. He was uncomfortable not knowing what exactly she was going to do to him. His neck raised as he kept his head raised, looking up at her dutifully.

“Rest your head back before I give you a proper smack, bitch.”

He did as she said, feeling a rising bile choke him as the slow build up of tears finally glazed his eyes in blurry water. It was that haze which made sure he didn't realize what was happening until it was too late. He saw it descend, her two globes wrapped in dirty sweats, and the strong smell of her arse instantly made him feel ill with both disgust and fear. Oh god, she was sitting on his face, and he could feel her warmth before her bottom was planted down.

Her bum pressed against him heavily. It seemed that she did not care that all of her weight pressed and crushed his face into the soft foam of the sofa. In fact, she seemed quite willing to rub in his position, gyrating her hips lightly to get comfortable and to ensure his nose, loosely aligned with the curve of her slightly damp crack, had enough air to ensure she did not need to get up to give him a break.

Oh god, it was so smelly down there. A gag shook through his throat as he realized it was not just the smell of sweat from her crack that invaded his air space, but the stale smell of methane that could only come with a previously ripped fart. He tried not to heave as he imaged inhaling the stale faecal air of her ass and sweats. If she had farted previously in it, does that mean that she'll- no, he couldn't think of that, not yet. He gulped as he became haunted by what his abuser might do to him.

“Your ugly twat face is perfect for my smelly arse”, she mocked, rubbing her ass a little as she pressed out her legs and leaned even further back into the sofa, “I always wanted a wimp slave to serve me. Too fucking bad that I'm a nasty bitch and my arse stinks, although that's your fucking problem, not mine.”

He couldn't take this any more. He broke down, crying as quietly as he could. This was worse than what any other bully had done to him, even Jade, who had made his life hell for 5 years. He thought he had gotten away from the constant humiliation inflicted on him but now he was in a worse position than he ever had been under Jade. Jade's seething reminder of his place in life rang through his ears: “you're worthless, and all you'll ever be is beneath people like me”. Oh god, he thought, crying even more, she was right, literally. Little did he know that her words would soon be cemented deeply into his psyche, and it all began with a deep and guttural growl from Kaley's stomach.

“Hear that?” She mocked, rubbing her arse across his face, “I've got a fart brewing. You're gonna' smell it for me, aren't you?”

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. She did not just say that. His position suddenly became much more horrifying. He yelled into the flesh of her unwashed ass and tried to push her off, but she had managed to trap him so that even small stirrings were denied to him. “Please”, he cried out, his voice muffled completely by the ass above him, “get off me.”

“You've got no fucking choice, slave, you're gonna sniff up my stinky fart like the bitch you are.” Her face began to grow red as she forced the gas inside her to brew faster, “now that you're my bitch, you're gonna take my farts like a bitch. So don't fucking complain.”

He cried out but soon his voice was drowned out by a thick meaty fart bubbling above him. The ass shook against his face as the horrid smell of her thick bowel smog burnt his nostrils. She grunted deeply as it came out and rubbed her ass both mid-fart and after the fart, the gagging and retching of her slave making her grin wildly.

“Fucking hell, that was fucking rank. How's it smell down there, bitch?” She laughed in a nasally tone as her slave continued to cry out and heave against the onslaught of the fart curdling inside of his nostrils, “I've got another one for you. Get ready”.

Ryan shook his head violently but it only caused his nose to go deeper into the warm crack where her rancid fart still lingered. This was perfect for Kaley, who soon grunted deeply before forcing out a deep and humid cloud of loud gas. She bit her lip as the warmth of her fart burned her anus, and pressed down all her weight to endure none of the smell escaped.

Ryan was in pure hell. The fart that now invaded his lungs was sharp and rotten, and felt so thick that it was almost a liquid pouring through his nostrils. Tears dampened the ass cheeks of his owner as he involuntarily dry heaved. If he had eaten more recently, he would have puked at the eggy and meaty stench of his abuser's fart. There was no way that this disgusting person had a normal gut, there was something wrong with her to produce such nasty smells and foul noises. He tried to turn away from the gas but he soon stopped, knowing it was futile. Not only couldn't he move his head due to her weight, but even if he could, she would just devise an even worse punishment for him. He knew he couldn't fight against such bullies, he would just have to take it.

“Jesus Christ, I can smell that one from up here”, Kaley sniffed, wafting the air around her, “you're supposed to be fucking absorbing it all for me. Why the fuck are you not taking the smell fully? It's because you're not sniffing. When I fart, I want you to sniff.”

Ryan cried out, shaking his head as little as he could under the weight of his abuser. No, he couldn't sink so low. He still had some dignity, did he not? The thought of actively sniffing this evil bitch's farts was too much.

“Don't you ever fucking say no to me”, Kaley pinched his side so hard he squealed, “you know, I could really fucking hurt you. I've put people in the hospital before, and trust me, I can inflict a lot of fucking pain. If you don't sniff my arse after I fart, and I mean right after, I will break your arm and I won't let it set. Not only that, but I'll take off my underwear and keep farting on you. So, you're going to sniff my farts directly, aren't you?”

He had no choice. With tears flowing down his eyes, he nodded his head, the vibrating flesh of her globes making him feel ill as he realized he had sold the last of his humanity to his abuser, that he was officially a fart sniffing sub human creature of no worth. That was always her intentions for him, to take his humanity so that he would do anything she asked out of animalistic fear. She had won every battle and now she had won the war.

“Good, bitch. I do have one coming, so I want you to give it a huge and deep sniff after I rip it. If you don't do a good enough job, I might even have to kill you, so you better fucking sniff it up good.”

He squealed just as the fart began to leak out of her ass. It started like a silent mist, but soon the warm stink exploded into a dry heat explosion of methane which not only blasted up inside his nostrils, almost being injected into his lungs, but also heated up his skin uncomfortably. He heard a muffled sigh of relief from Kaley, and he immediately sniffed the fart, gagging instantly as the smell intensified by several orders of magnitude.

“Keep fucking sniffing, bitch. Sniff until the smell is gone.”

Out of fear he took another huge inhalation, fighting the urge to gag until he had finished inhaling, when he immediately began to cough and splutter as the agonizing heat of the stink overwhelmed him. Oh my god, he thought, preparing for a third sniff, this is his life now.

“I guess you did okay”, his mistress said above him. God, she was his mistress now? Shuffling her ass around to get comfortable, Kaley forced more of her weight atop of him, completely relaxing as she perched above his head, his nose wedged up her arse crack.

“Well bitch”, she exhaled, “you really do need to fucking learn how to smell farts better. But don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to learn, and you can spend the rest of the day in your first lesson, so get comfortable, bitch.”

He cried out defeated, knowing that this was only the beginning of a life-long hell.

* * * * *

The fart blasted out like an airy gust of hot sulphur, thick and revolting. He closed his eyes and sniffed, the stained pantied ass of his abuser only mere inches away. She really did mean he was going to learn how to breath in her trumps, and as she comfortably slept in his- no, her bed, he was crammed under the covers, each night a Dutch oven to endure. He sniffed even when she was asleep, he didn't want to risk the possibility of her being awake and noticing his lack of compliance.

Even when he managed to sleep, he was wrecked with nightmares of giant arses farting rancid wind. He woke up to the stink of a thousand farts buried in the covers, and had to rapidly smell the fart imbued atmosphere of the Dutch Oven to make sure his mistress wasn't awoken to the leaking stink of her own gas.

The only escape he had was when he had to do the chores or cook his abuser a meal. Even then, he knew that she would come whenever a fart was ready to escape her bottom, and he had to get onto his knees and prepare to sniff the brewing stink.

As Kaley farted again, she stirred in her sleep, and her ass grew closer to him. The smell was eye watering but he sniffed as he was told to do. As Kaley's snores began to drown out the sound of his quiet heaving, gagging, and inhaling, he shook violently, recalling what she had said just before bed:

“When we get up tomorrow, I want you to be ready to sniff my gas all day.”

Every day would be the same torture, and there was nothing he could do but sniff.