Closet Fetishist's Stories

HOME
ABOUT
STORIES
REQUESTS
STORE
FORUM
SEARCH
CONTACT
Copyright @ The Fart Closet

DONATE
Buy Me a Coffee at ko-fi.com



Your support is
greatly appreciated

FART VIDEOS
Clips4Sale
iWantClips
xHampster Premium

FART CAPTIONS
Reddit
ImageFap

FART STORIES
deviantArt
Writing.com

SOCIAL MEDIA
Reddit
Twitter
Tumblr

Thirty
Author: Closet Fetishist

Written: January 21st, 2016


It'll be my birthday in just a few days. It's a day I'm marking with dread rather than anticipation, I've been on Earth long enough to know good things don't come to me. I know that everyday is a struggle to an inevitable, penniless death, a relief in some ways; so I know this milestone won't suddenly elevate me to success. Success was obviously a thing for other people, people who are special, people who are good at things. People who do things, important things or things they make out to be important.

I don't feel like it was a lack of trying that stopped me, though I may have been late to start the trying game. I confused my intelligence and hard work for something that would deliver success to me without much or any real pursuit.

Looking back it was probably the stupidest thing I ever believed but no one told me otherwise. No one was there saying you're go about this all wrong. I had to come to the realization myself and then it felt too late. Either the world was more harsh and hard than I anticipated, or my morale was so low to begin with that I never stood a chance. Maybe both.

Watching success stories, people making it and talking about how they made it, how they too struggled in the beginning doesn't inspire me as much as grow my dissatisfaction with myself and what I've done with my years. Squandered them; squandered them away chasing dreams but sleeping through it all.

I don't even know what the fuck I'm talking about anymore; inventing metaphors as if that will get me further in life, and yet somehow, it feels like an accomplishment. An affirmation of my smarts which, again, got me nowhere.

I turn the car off finally, its soft shaking soon halted as a stillness sets inside the car. My eyes are locked, staring out at the quiet street; as traffic speeds by on the main street, at next intersection.

A soft sigh and I open the door slowly, it lets out a soft squeak and I step out, the soles of my shoes scratching pleasantly against the wet asphalt in the road. I shut the door with a soft, hollow bang and walk up to my apartment building.

Clouds collecting in the skies above me though relatively still a bright afternoon, storms would likely rain through the night.

I stop at the mailbox to grab my mail, looks like a bunch of junk; I flip through it quickly but something catches my eye. Amongst the past due notices and credit card bills is a letter from the Federal Employment and Management agency.

I run a finger along the top of the envelope and pull out the official looking letter. I shuffle the other mail around awkwardly to open the tri-fold letter. I see the official standard eagle seal on the top of the letter.

It reads:

 

Mr. Jacobs,

We'd like to offer our heartfelt congratulations on your upcoming birthday, an important milestone in a person's life as they cast off the last of their youth and fully begin to emerge on the other side of adulthood.

According to government records, you are currently unemployed. We recognize the difficulties of finding adequate employment, in response, this agency has been established to assist those struggling find gainful and fulfilling employment.

Please note, this is entirely different than an Unemployment Agency, our mission and goal is to place individuals in employment well suited to them as quickly as possible.

We look forward to seeing you at your appointment which we've detailed below.

APPOINTMENT DATE & TIME
January 25th, 2015 - 10:00 AM

 

The letter gives an address downtown, likely some faceless office building. Ten in the morning means getting up early or hitting too much traffic.

Was it even worth it? Some government bureaucrat really gives a shit about my employment? Hard to believe I hadn't heard about this agency before, I'm usually up on my news.

Maybe it's worth at least checking out.

I collect my mail more comfortably and head up to the apartment.

 

In the morning, I'm out the door with a fairly positive attitude, it's hard to keep the lingering sense of failure these days but I do my best. I got my shirt and tie on, nicely creased pants.

I get in the car and drive off, headed for the freeway.

It's busy, of course, but it moves smoothly through to my exit; the building only half a mile from here.

I was right when I thought it would be a faceless government building; it's walls were a dull, fading off-white stucco.

There didn't seem to be a public parking lot for the building so I took a meter on the street which was relatively easy to find an open one.

I check the clock in my car, 9:55 AM. Better hurry.

I grab a jingling handful of change and drop them in the meter until I hit the 2 hour maximum.

God I hope I'm not waiting more than 2 hours; hopefully it'll be a quick in and out. I wonder if we start our positions today? Well, that's a little premature anyways, you're assuming they are actually going to find you employment. You could be the shitty exception to the rule and be completely hopeless, who knows? Let's go find out.

I head into the building and to the elevator headed for the sixth floor. There's no one in the elevator with me so I take the time to glance around. I think I'm always looking for a camera but rarely do I actually spot one; they must hide them.

The elevator bell dings as the door opens for the sixth floor. I rush out and down the hall to the door of the office. I take a deep breath before entering, likely gonna see a big waiting room, rows of chairs, a bunch of sorry saps like myself, all waiting for another failed opportunity.

Okay. In.

"Mr. Jacobs?" A woman by the reception asks. I glance around quickly, I see the rows of chairs but there's no one here waiting.

"Uh, yes, I'm...that's me, yeah."

"Great, you're right on time; please, follow me."

I catch up and follow behind the woman closely as she leads me deeper into this office but all the walls were solid with no windows, I couldn't see anything going on inside the offices.

I glance down and notice the woman's gray work slacks which hung tight right around her butt. I almost run into her when she stops. I see her expression, smiling; did she notice me staring at her ass?

"Right in here, sir," she says and opens the door.

She leads me inside and closes the door behind me. In the tiny office, there's just a desk with a computer; there's a woman behind the desk, an attractive blond who stands to welcome me with her extended hand.

I shake her hand and take a seat in front of her, sitting as straight as possible without looking too stiff. Acting professional, I guess they call it.

"So, Mr. Jacobs," her voice is sweet, innocent; in just a few short words, it seems like she's the perfect embodiment of my dream girl. "I was looking over your file just before you came in; you don't really have a lot of marketable skills."

I felt my heart sink, my fears about this being pointless for me seems like they're coming to pass.

"Correct me if I'm wrong but it's in the records here that you studied film production in community college, you attained a two year degree in that area of study, and then dropped out of university after one year to pursue the field of film making. You have no records pertaining to any honors programs or advanced fields of study."

"Uh..." I stammer, "that sounds right; I mean, after trying to produce some films, I switched focus to trying to get employment, related or unrelated to the industry."

"I apologize, I wasn't giving you the record to explain yourself; I just wanted to confirm the information we had was correct and if we were missing any information. We want to ensure all special skills and abilities are noted so we can place you in the position that best suits your experience."

"Great, I mean that sounds really great. How long have you guys been doing this service?"

"Not long, I'd say the agency's been running about a year now; the Federal Employment and Management agency, or FEM, is committed to finding unemployed Americans with lifelong careers. Your file was given priority in light of your upcoming birthday."

I make a pained smile.

"Don't worry, we know you've had difficulty finding work and we recognize your attempts to find gainful employment. With our help, we can find put you in the position best suited to you skill set but it will require a lifestyle change."

"O...kay? Like what kind of change?"

She pulls a page out from her file and hands it to me, "Take a look, see if it fits."

I scan over the page, it's a rather long list of qualifications. It's a full-time assistant to a talent agent job, a "busy" one apparently. Maybe this could be a good way in, build up that network.

In the salary area, it's blank.

"I notice the salary here is blank, do you have any idea what it might pay?" I ask.

"Urm...yes," she says, nervously, "Often high profile jobs don't publicize the salary to ensure applicants are actually interested in the position; I'm sure the compensation for the job is very lucrative."

"Well I am interested."

"Excellent, and you read all the qualifications?"

"Uh yeah, it all seems fine."

"Okay, great; then I will inform the employer. In the meantime, I need you to read over and sign this form, officially registering you for the FEM program."

I look over the rather long, small print document. I happen upon an odd sentence, buried in a long clause.

Under no circumstances may an employee quit their assigned position once accepting though may be fired at any time at the request of their employer.

"So we can't quit?" I ask, not looking up from the document; wanting to find more oddities like that so I had some idea what I was on the spot to sign.

"No, employees under the FEM program are not permitted to voluntarily leave their employment."

"That seems a little odd, doesn't it?"

"I don't see how; the individuals who come here have struggled endlessly to find employment on their own, we're providing a direct doorway into a job so a certain level of commitment is required on the part of the employee."

She makes a good point, "I guess you're right."

Her phone rings. She picks it up but doesn't say anything, a call she expected perhaps. "Okay, great; I'll let him know, thanks."

She turns back to me, "Okay, Ms. Noles, your new employer, will be right up; you'll be going to her office with her."

"Oh...uh...I...I drove here, I'm at a meter."

"That's alright, leave your keys with me, we'll have the car picked and delivered to the office."

"That's...very nice," I say, a bit suspicious now.

But then the door opens, a tall slender woman enters ahead of the reception woman.

"Are you Tim?" She asks me.

"Uh, yes; hi." I stand, extending my hand and she shakes it firmly.

"Come on, you're getting started right away."

"Okay, great," I say enthused.

She walks quickly back through the building and I work hard to keep up with her pace, only to get a brief break in the elevator ride down where I try to quiet my heavy breathing. Thank god she didn't take the stairs.

Soon we're out near the street, I see my car sitting there. But we head the other way until we stop by her silver, old-style Jaguar. I stop near her on the passenger side.

She looks over, "What are you doing? You're driving."

I hurry over to the other side of the car, taking care not to get hit by a passing car. I open the door and get in, she's already turned on the car.

I shift into drive, wait for an opening and pull into traffic. She points out the way as I drive, I learn quickly to try to stay in the middle lane because she lets me know about turns a bit late and if I'm too far to one side, I'll often miss the turn. She doesn't say anything but I can feel her frustration building each time towards what she must consider my incompetence.

I kept wondering if she was going to ask me anything but she stayed silent and I wasn't comfortable enough to ask her anything; I don't even know what I'd ask her.

It was kind of a weird situation all around but maybe this was just the thing; a really effective government programing making a difference in people's lives. Conservatives would be losing their shit over this. Or maybe I'm just an exception, maybe it wasn't working this well for others.

We had arrived when she pointed out a massive luxury apartment complex; there was an underground parking lot below the building and she had a designated parking space, right next to the elevator.

I exit the car with her, locking it, and handing her the keys.

We enter the elevator together and she hits the button for P3. One of the penthouses.

Still in silence during the elevator ride; when the doors open, I follow her to the double door entrance at the end of the short hall.

She opens it and I get an early glimpse of the good life; a massive window lines the wall with a sprawling view of downtown.

"Alright," she finally says after a long silence, "Here we are, this is your workspace, mainly this area here at the desk which has computer, printer, and 30 line telephone which seems like a lot but, you'll quickly see it's not. Now follow me upstairs."

I do so, almost directly behind her, eye line right with her ass but I avoid staring like the plague, instead taking in the sky view out the window from the staircase.

She opens a door to a tiny room with just a small bed.

"These are your quarters," she says, flicking on the dim light.

"Uh, quarters? Like staying here? I don't really need a place, I have an apartment."

"The qualifications were very specific for this job, it requires live-in employment; that's non-negotiable. Since you've already accepted employment through the FEM program, I'll consider the matter decided. Follow me to the end of the walkway."

I pause for a moment as she already takes off, was I really doing this; a live-in job, this was definitely not what I expected. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

I head to the end of the walkway where Ms. Noles has her pants and underwear down by her ankles.

"Before work can begin, I need you to take care of my pleasure," she says, matter-of-factly, as if asking me to do paperwork.

"I'm sorry, wha..."

"It's not that hard, I want you to pleasure my vagina; can I put it any more clearly for you?"

"I...how..." I'm in total shock, staring at her perfect pussy practically presented to me on the couch at the end of the walkway, like some crazy wet dream. "I don't think I can..."

"You can and you will; as my assistant, you will do whatever task I have for you. My orgasmic release is the current task at hand. Besides, I think you owe me after that pitiful driving display."

"I...well, how can I...what..."

"Enough of your stammering; get down on your knees, stick your tongue out, and lick my clitoris until I cum on your face."

"That's...you...you can't."

"My patience is running thin for every second you waste here; if you don't want to do it willingly, I can make you do it but it shouldn't have to come to that."

I'm frozen in fear; how could this have happened? How could someone be like this?

I look into her eyes for a hint of a joke but there's none as her lids narrow expressing her growing anger. I slowly step forward, taking a knee in front of her femininity, then finally down on both knees.

I look up at her again, "I'm not very good..."

She looks at me straight faced, "You'll get good."

She's relentless, she really wanted me to do this. I stare at her vagina, shaking; I start to lower myself down to her but I feel my neck recoiling back at the same time.

The last time I did this, I barely lasted a second from the sour taste; now I had to do it to please my employer. How is this even legal?

"You're sure taking your sweet time about it; we've got work to do," she barks down to me.

I go in, fast, trying to take it all in one swallow like vodka even though that was in no way how vagina's work. She jumps, startled a bit from the shock of the sudden attack.

I try to stay in, my tongue shrieking, my senses gagging from the sour, bodily taste. I recoil my tongue back.

"You better put that tongue back before I sit this ass on your face!"

I jump back in, pinching my eyes closed; with my hand I pinch myself on the other arm to distract myself from the taste, anything to get past it as I try to run my tongue deeper and deeper inside of her.

She pants softly, I see her grab her breast through her button up shirt.

I whimper softly as I feel my eyes watering but I remain inside her, wrapping my tongue repeatedly around as she moans softly and starts to shudder.

She puts a hand on the back of my head, pushing me further; I choke a little under the force but remain in place as she moans out, shaking my head up and down roughly before her vagina oozes a thick fluid that she assured would cover my face as she held me there to take it; she sighs, a wide smile on her face as she catches her breath.

She finally releases my head and I fall back onto my butt near her.

She recomposes herself and grabs a towel nearby, she uses it to clean up her pussy juices before putting her underwear and pants back on.

"Here," she says, tossing me the towel she just used. She smiles, feeling satisfied as she heads for the stairs. "Meet me downstairs so you can get started."

I try to find a dry spot on the towel to wipe my face but it's pretty well saturated in her juices. I ask myself how this is possible for probably the tenth time but what was the point, I was living it now.

I stood up; I didn't know where to put the cum towel so I took it downstairs with me. I came up to her at the workstation; she looks at me, and then at the rag in my hand.

She seems disgusted, "Put that in the hamper, over there," she points at a wicker basket along the wall near the door.

I discard the towel and return to her side.

"Here's the entire client roster," she shows me an Excel document with hundreds of names. "I represent each of these people and am actively seeking work for them everyday. So when no calls are coming in, we need to be making calls on our client's behalf. That means actively seeking any and all opportunities you can find. You're going to watch me do this call and then you're going to make one, understand?"

"Yes." I'm still a bit bitter from my tongue being used as a dildo upstairs but I doubt she gives a damn.

She picks up the receiver and dials a number from her list. "Hello, yes this is Jessica Noles from Noles Entertainment, I'm calling in regards to the camera assistant position; my client would be very interested in filling that position in your feature at the rate you quote. Yes. Yes, she has quite a bit of experience in the field, I think this opportunity would be a positive one for your film as well as my client. That's excellent, let's do that then and in the meantime I'll let her know. Thanks so much. Bye-bye."

Ms. Noles turns back to me, "See, easy as that."

I was less than sure, she's a really good talker and I don't know her clients like she does.

"I'm going to give you an easy one, I only represent one African-American actor so I you're going to study his profile for no more than five minutes and then you'll make a call on his behalf."

I take a seat at the workstation as she stands up; I click the file for Paul Howard. His resume isn't that outstanding, his biggest credit seems to be a one line role in Pirates of the Caribbean. What else, special skills: swimming, horse back riding, modern dance..."

"Time's up, make the call."

I rush over to the list and dial the number.

"Hello, yes this is Tim Jacobs from Noles Entertainment, I'm calling about the role of Daryl in your upcoming feature film; I have a client here who's very hungry to take on a part of that caliber. Jamaican accent? Let me check the records..."

I pull up Paul's resume again and notice that he does do a Jamaican accent.

"...yes, the client would be able to handle that no problem; can we get him on the schedule for an audition? Great, okay, Thursday 3:30 PM at your office; excellent, thanks so much. Bye."

I hang up and look to Ms. Noles for affirmation but her face is stern.

"That was fair but you didn't demonstrate a strong knowledge of your client's resume; I think you could use another example."

I don't think she's being fair enough in her assessment but another example couldn't hurt anyways.

I start to get up as she approaches but instead she pushes me down, down until my head is on the seat of the chair. I watch her pants covered ass swing around and over me.

"Oh please no," I beg just before she sits, knocking all the wind out of me as she compressed my head under her ass.

Through her pants I can smell the hints of her last orgasm, clinging to her over her otherwise decent smelling body; it would be decent were it not crushing my head.

"Yes hello, Mr. Yoshi, I'm calling about your director of photography position; I have just the DP for you, I'd like to send over his resume and some of his work and you can have a look, see if he fits with what you're looking for. Okay, that sounds excellent; I'll send that out right away, thank you."

I hear the phone hang up and I expect she'll get up now but when she doesn't I start to panic, my breath already getting short and heavy.

PRRRRrrrrrrppppppp!

I feel a hot, musky air blow through my face, practically burning it before the rich, deep smell settled in around my nostrils. My eyes went wide as I choked on her rancid smelling gas that reeked like rotting vegetables.

Finally she stood up, she chuckled, "Okay, now you're turn again. But before that, make sure you send an email to Paul informing him about his audition on Thursday 3:00 PM."

Coughing, out of breath, I say, "Thursday 3:30 PM, Ms. Noles."

She smiles, "Good, maybe you're not completely incompetent after all." She walks away and upstairs, I hear a door close, perhaps to her bedroom.

I recompose myself on the chair and check the next on the list; following up on a call for an actor in consideration for a major Hollywood film.

I take a few moments to read the actor's profile and then I make the call. It's promising but they still aren't ready to commit on anyone; maybe they had an A-lister consideration.

I go to the next on the list.

 

For hours I was engrossed in this work, I didn't notice the night fall around me; I missed the beautiful sunset over the city that was now dotted brightly with white and colored lights throughout between the bustling highways.

I didn't hear from Ms. Noles again but I figured, since it was 9 PM, I could probably clock out. I headed upstairs, I was exhausted from the day's work.

Near the top of the stairs, her door opened. "Come in here, Tim," she says, plainly. She wears a silk Japanese style robe loosely tied around her waist.

I follow her into her room which is almost as impressive and large as the workroom with a large window over looking another part of downtown. I notice she has a workstation here too.

She lies down on her bed, on her stomach and pulls her robe slightly up, exposing her perfect ass. "Eat out my asshole until I fall asleep." She demands though she makes it sound like a request.

The bluntness of it, though I guess I should have known better by now, shocked me, I stammer, "...I...um..."

"Are we going to have a repeat of this afternoon?"

"Uh...n....no no..." I choke out as I get closer to her on her bed before laying down under her, my face just above her ass. I nuzzle my face in, I recoil a bit, smelling the remnants of the fart she blasted on me earlier; or maybe that was just psychosomatic.

"You're gonna need to separate my cheeks to really get in there," she says.

I, slowly, lift my hands to either side of her butt cheeks and pull them apart which unleashes a sour, shitty smell around her asshole which makes me gag.

I hear her clear her throat in frustration as I wince; I close my eyes and dive my tongue into her asshole, then running my tongue around the ridges of her anus which seems to make her shake.

"Deeper," she moans out.

I reluctantly push my tongue through her butthole in search of god knows what, I've never really licked around this end so I just tried to feel my way around to what made her shudder as my nostrils were smashed tightly just above her asshole, smelling the pungent aromas of the successful female backside.

"Deeper!" She growls as I mash my face flat against her butt crack as I lunge my tongue deep into her colon for her pleasure, I feel like I can taste her next bowel movement as my tongue runs along the walls of her insides.

"Deeper!" She cries out as she gyrates roughly, using my tongue as a prop in her asshole.

I lunge my tongue forward once more, the furthest it can go and....

FRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrraaaaaauuuuuuppppppp!

A moist with my saliva fart flaps out her asshole with such force that I have to recoil back but she quickly, cruelly grabs my head forcing my nose up against her butthole as the monster releases from it; I feel the noxious wind howling up my nostrils and to my brain before I'm hit with the rich chocolatey fart smell.

She sighs as she laughs, "I never get tired of that; okay, finish me off and you can be done for the day. I expect you awake by 8 AM to make breakfast and you'll clock in for work no later than 9, got it?"

"Yes, Ms. Noles," I say as I kneel back to service her butthole after she just assaulted me with her junk food gas.

As I start to lick her ass again, I can't help but wonder why I'm doing this. I mean, it seems like I'm out of options but how could the only option be this. I was stuck now but how is this even legal? Could I talk to the FEM agency? Maybe they could find a assistant job that's a bit more traditional. Was that even really an option? The FEM registration seemed like it highly favored the employer, what rights did I even have...if any?

It wasn't long before I felt her cream over the bed, I felt the wetness collect around my chin; it felt gooey like cum but could have been piss I suppose. She fell asleep rather quickly after that and I quietly left.

Just at the foot of my door, I realized, I wasn't a prisoner here; she couldn't keep me locked up here.

I headed downstairs to assert my freedom and to the front door where I had to stop; I couldn't believe it. Her door had two locks, both of them operated by key.

I paused a second. So I am a prisoner here.

The thought haunted me as I returned to my room upstairs; I was a captive in her home and likely a legal captive of that FEM registration agreement.

So is this how they helped the unemployed? Placing them in a life of servitude? Maybe, somehow, it was for the best; maybe those who cannot find a job are the most likely suited for service positions. This was merely a way to make the service industry seem less mundane, dressing it up like a perfect career or a stepping stone to something bigger but it wasn't; it was as much a dead end as everything else.

I guess I can only hope my paycheck can free me from this life before long.

 

I woke up with hazy eyes to Ms. Noles standing over my bed.

"Guess who called me this morning?" She asks, angrily.

I'm still way to sleepy to process anything.

"Paul tells me he didn't hear about the casting and I checked the email account; you never notified him, and now you have talent preparing for a major role with less than twenty-four hours before the audition."

"I..." is all I could manage to say.

"On your knees, now; right here." She points down to the floor near my bed.

Slowly I roll out; too slowly for her as she grabs me and pulls me roughly off the bed. I recovered back quickly on my knees for her, shaken up.

She rose her ass up a little, lifting her robe out of the way and planted her butt crack over my face. Already putrid, I feel her anus pulsing in and out wildly; she lines my face with her butthole to her liking.

"Keep your mouth open," she demands.

I do so but immediately regret it as she slides, smoothly, a long, nasty smelling turd right into my mouth; the end of it pressed up against the back of my neck. My eyes wide with shock, everything happening to fast to process; the only thing I could think about was the disgusting log hanging from my mouth and that, in turn, only made me have to gag and choke, sputtering up small chunks of her shit back onto my own face.

I scream out but she just pushes out a bit more, loading my mouth to the breaking point and effectively stifling my screams under her mounds of waste. I tear up under the excruciating pressure of her morning dump.

She sighs pleasurably as she unloads; she finally finishes and turns to face me but instead delivers a swift kick to my nuts, forcing me to cough some of her shit up and onto the floor of my quarters.

"Clean that up and meet me downstairs, you have twenty minutes."

My body shudders and shakes, my throat jammed full of this sadistic woman's body waste; and all I can really do, wretchedly, is swallow it done like a good employee though the responsibilities of that position seemed rather unorthodox and highly illegal.

But who could I tell? I take another dreadful swallow of her dump mound. I put myself into this situation, how would the legal process really help me out. And I doubt I could get out to ask anyone.

I wipe the shit down from the floor with toilet paper and take what I can to the bathroom, taking care not to clog it with my paper mess. I gag as I catch whiff of her shit smell lingering off the paper as I wait for the next batch to go down.

 

And that's how things continued; they didn't necessarily get worse, the bar for that was already set so high that she'd have to be practically cutting my flesh to surprise me now. But my acclimation to her methods never made the torment any less disgusting, especially as she seemed to revel in my humiliation and then switch back, on a dime, to a professional business woman; she mixed the worlds well.

I could appreciate her methods in the moments when she wasn't crushing my face or demanding I deliver her another of many orgasms a day. Then I go back to work, making other people's dreams come true when I myself had these dreams. If only I had someone calling for me and representing me, then maybe I too could have had a shot. But I was never given that opportunity. I guess I never took the opportunity; I never clutched the opportunity from every defeat until I had what I wanted.

At the end of the month, battered and beaten, I found a quiet moment to ask Ms. Noles a question but, it wasn't going to be easy.

"Uh...Ms. Noles, I was just wondering...urm...about payment."

"This job is for experience only, there is no pay," she says without hesitation.

"I...." really I'm in shock; maybe I should have asked a long time ago but I didn't want to be rude...now I'm hearing there's nothing, so how would I ever advance beyond this job?

"If you were expecting something else, you obviously did not read the job posting very closely. I'm sorry you failed to recognize what was required of this position but you're here to stay now."

"But..."

"There's no further discussion, you know your obligations and commitments. Your break is over, return to your workstation."

She left the work area couch and headed upstairs to her room.

I couldn't believe the callousness of her response, she just didn't give a fuck. And now, what was I supposed to do? Am I just here forever? Until she gets sick of me? I can't just widdle away here; how was this going to get me to a better place in life.

Or should I just stick it out; I'm employed here. Well, for no money. I mean that's like fucking bullshit, how can anyone work for no money? But maybe if I stick it out here a few months, maybe she'll recommend me to someone higher up. But then would have to be their toilet as well? Oh fuck, I can't do this.

I pick up the phone and dial one of the leads, it's practically auto-pilot now but I'm a bit more emotionally disturbed than usual; I'm in a panic now, I can't calm down about the predicament that I seem to only just realized was a problem.

"Yes hello, look I need to tell you something; I've been taken..."

*click*

The line goes dead.

Coincidence? Probably not as I hear her harsh footsteps and her door open as she charges towards the banister, "Tim, I want you in here, now."

I slunk up the stairs, defeated; know she intended to torment me.

At her door, she looks at me with a piercing stare; "I believe you know why I called you."

"Yes," I grit my teeth, angrily.

"Then I don't need to explain to you why I'll be strapping your head to my ass for the night; and I'll be enjoying some of my chocolate treats while you're here so I can ensure you understand the gravity of your mistake, do you understand that?"

"Yes."

"That's good, hopefully after this lesson you'll learn to be a good, subordinate employee for me."

"Yes. Hopefully," I mimic back to her as I kneel behind her.

She takes a belt and I approach close to her ass so she can wrap it around the back of my neck and around her waist, trapping my face in her ass. She tightens the belt to as many notices it will go, further jamming my nose up her butthole.

She sighed when she finished as she returned to relaxing on her bed, I heard the crinkle of candy wrappers as she delights in tormenting me with the sound of her ammunition loading into her stomach. Her ass was already pungent with the salty, sour smell of collecting sweat; soon her stomach begins to gurgle softly and I know it won't be long. I try to brace for it but there's really no relief anyways.

BRRRRRRRrrrrrraaaaauuuuuuuppp!

Her asshole opens to echo out a massive blast of a fart that blows through my nostrils like a hurricane with hot, fetid air that sends my senses reeling; I moan out load as she softly chuckles at my torment.

PPRrrrppp!

A small fart caresses my face with an unpleasant aroma of eggs, no doubt from the morning's breakfast; a mistake I shouldn't make again unless she demands eggs.

God how pathetic am I; taking farts from an admittedly powerful woman but to no end or gain. As if somehow, to further my career, being a toilet slave would be a justifiable means to an end.

But that really didn't matter, I was to just be her plaything and occasional work assistant until she grew tired of me, if that was ever going to happen; there was no telling for sure.

FFFFFFFRRRrrrrpppp!

Another hot serving of her gas, burning the hairs in my nostrils with it's rank odor. And I feel lightheaded, no doubt at the verge of a pass out but I knew it wouldn't be the last before the night was over.

Maybe, despite all evidence to the contrary, tomorrow would be better.

© Closet Fetishist, All Rights Reserved.