Bloated Farts - Blog Posts

Boss's Orders (male fart/burp fetish story/fanfic)

hii everyone this is my first public fetish story I'm posting. this character (Cyrus) is not an OC he is from the P0ke/m0n series (I do NOT need this showing up in main tags/general searches haha). please enjoy this story of a repressed and uptight man losing all control of his ability to hold in his gas

Cyrus had no particular fondness for coffee; in fact, he found the taste to be quite repulsive, though he’d never let it show. It was something he drank to function, purely to fuel the machine that was his often-ailing body. As such, it was always supposed to be black coffee. He wasn’t the type of man to do things for “fun” or “enjoyment,” which were vague and sentimental concepts he simply did not have time to deal with. He didn’t need sugar, milk, or creamer; he drank his coffee as it came.

…That, and he happened to be absurdly lactose intolerant. It frustrated him immensely; yet another way in which he was painfully human and so far from the perfect ideal he sought. He usually didn’t have much trouble avoiding dairy, though a familiar and unwelcome bubbling in his stomach made him feel as though he hadn’t been diligent enough.

He shifted uncomfortably in his office chair at Team Galactic HQ. His stomach was softly gurgling, making him thankful he was so particular about his office’s isolation from the rest of the building.

Fuck. That moronic grunt I allowed to fetch me coffee must have made some executive decision to add creamer, he thought to himself, scowling as his discomfort grew.

Why would someone do that? Why were people so stupid and presumptuous?

Cyrus sighed and rested his head in his hands, his frustration quickly interrupted by a surging cramp in his abdomen. At first, he tried to ignore it, keeping his hands and mind busy by focusing on writing his next speech. He wasn’t a child; he could keep his bodily functions at bay without issue. Another sharp cramp rung through his lower body and he found one of his hands tentatively massaging his aching stomach, finding it far more bloated than usual. 

He angrily stood up and locked his office door, his stomach audibly complaining about the sudden movement. The last thing people needed to hear was him in such a vulnerable state. It was unbecoming of him. 

He tried to resume his task but quickly found himself wrapping both arms around his stomach, head on his desk. “Mmnh….” Although the cool surface felt nice on his sweaty face, he let out a soft groan of pain as his insides worked themselves into knots. Righting his posture and forcing himself upright, he tried to set his sights on typing the concluding thoughts of his speech, still able to hear his gurgling stomach over the sounds of the keypresses.

A sudden cramp came that was too intense for him to fight against; though he tried, tensing his muscles so as to not give into his weakness, his body had other plans. Unable to take it any longer, he involuntarily relaxed and let out a forceful, long, wet fart, one that made him sigh in relief. 

How shameful.

It was a disgusting feeling, to be so controlled by his body in this way. He attempted to stand up to open a window to rid himself of the foul odor but found another drawn-out fart bubbling out of him, so desperate he couldn’t hold it back as it filled the room with a sulfurous smell.

Whatever. He would simply resume his duties as any responsible adult would. When needed, he would provide himself relief, if that’s what it took to get his work done.

As he got back to typing, he felt a sharp cramp as his stomach lurched. He didn’t need to apply much pressure to let out a deep, ringing burp, one that made his throat hurt a bit from the sheer force of it. Anticipating another, he placed a hand over his mouth as a belch rose up from the depths of his body, muffled by his palm. Sighing, he closed his eyes, feeling shame and humiliation burn through him. “...Absolutely disgusting,” he quietly commented to nobody in particular.

The smells his body was producing at this point were foul. Entirely unable to restrain his gut from tightening and clenching, a soft, bubbly fart practically leaked out of him, filling his pants with an eggy stench. Perhaps even more mortifying than the gas itself was the sheer amount of relief it was bringing Cyrus to release it; on most occasions, he used every once of his willpower to hold back any eructations or flatulence indefinitely. To be so utterly at the mercy of his body made him feel powerless and weak, but releasing the painful pressure building up inside him was bordering on euphoric.

Taking a momentary break from typing to lean to one side, he let out a bassy fart with a finish just slightly too wet to make him feel comfortable. Another cramp hit him and forced a huge airy fart out of his hole; he let out a contented sigh of relief when it finally finished.

Every part of this disgusted him, especially the warm, damp feeling that was starting to fill the back of his briefs from the moisture of his farts. He was worried he’d need a change of underwear before the day came to a close. Hell, he might from the smell alone. But goddamnit, he’d vowed to complete his tasks at any cost. Nothing so trivial as an upset stomach would interrupt his duties.

As he set himself back to work on writing his speech, his face was burning hot from embarrassment, even though he was alone. Cyrus had always been particularly shy about his bodily functions, especially those deemed more…impolite in nature. What, was he really so weak as to lose control over his bowels, like he was a child? Regardless, even when he tried to hold back his gas, he soon found it erupting out of him, hot searing farts hissing out of him for upwards of ten seconds at a time, rendering the office air nearly unbreathable.

He pressed a fist to his mouth to stifle another loud belch, before furrowing his brow in frustration. A quick assessment of his midsection revealed him to be no less bloated than before, perhaps even moreso despite the massive amount of gas he’d managed to expel. I despise this. This is no way for a leader to conduct himself, he thought as he tentatively unbuttoned his pants and unbuckled his belt, allowing his swollen gut some relief. As revolting as this was, it’d also be best if it was over as fast as possible, and perhaps that required some encouragement on Cyrus’s behalf.

Trying to apply firm pressure to his tender abdomen, he took his fingertips and began massaging his stomach. Forcing his gas in certainly wasn’t working, so maybe forcing it out would have more productive results. With one hand, he gripped the edge of his desk, as he pushed out a massive, roaring fart, so long that it left him out of breath. “Arceus almighty…” He mused to himself as his stomach churned. Every time his hand connected with his midsection, another bubble of gas would force its way out of him.

This strategy seemed to be decent for making progress, though Cyrus’s gut seemed to be capable of producing nearly endless air. After another flurry of smaller farts, he let out a large one that, to his displeasure, felt decidedly wet.

“...Fuck,” he said, getting to his feet and attempting to make his way to his private bathroom. With every step, he let out another rancid, swampy fart, interrupted periodically by deep burps. When he finally got to the bathroom, he felt like he was being stabbed in the abdomen; surely whatever demonic force would emerge from the depths of his bowels would not leave his pants intact, and he was so close to the toilet, but…

Cyrus was unable to restrain the disgustingly wet, sloppy fart that tore through his bowels, his mouth opening a bit in shock at how truly vile it was. It sounded and smelled like he was actively soiling himself. When he managed to shove down his pants and seat himself on the toilet, finally releasing the storm brewing in his intestines, he rested his head in his hands. This was going to be a long day.

ok hear me out but have u ever thought of torture w it? Like ofc consensual but like chaining someone up and continuously ripping mad ass in their lap ((they can't get away))

or someone doing THAT to YOU🧁🌺🎀

My boyfriend sent me this fucking amazing scenario and it's all I've been able to think about

So I've written this piece for it

Enjoy, I know I fucking did ^-^

CONTENT WARNINGS: Gas (of course), restraints, dubious consent/mild torture (with the gas), mild knifeplay, read at your own risk fellas ~~~

You’d known this would happen, really. When he’d taken you out to eat — to that lovely pasta place you two loved to visit — he’d ordered way more than you knew he could handle. All that free bread, too. You’d watched him. It didn’t take long for his stomach to start its familiar protest, gurgling and grumbling under his shirt while he drove. Each time it did, he’d wince, and pull a pained little face. You could tell he was trying to ignore it, to keep it out of the conversation, but you just couldn’t let that happen.

You were poking fun. Literally, and figuratively. Teasing, taunting, reaching out to prod at his gut. He couldn’t exactly push you away — you were in the passenger seat, right next to him — and with every jab, you could feel how full he was. Poor guy. He grit his teeth, and tried to endure it. “I’m fine.” He’d insisted. “Just… lay off it, ok?” Like hell you’d listen to that. More teasing, poking, bratty little retorts. Almost like you were having a conversation with his bubbling belly.

You could tell it pissed him off. He furrowed his dark brows, cheeks burning and shoulders hunched. He kept hissing little demands, pleading, asking you to stop. Softly at first, but more forcefully, the more you teased and sassed. You ignored him, like a brat. By the time you’d gotten home, he practically slammed the door of the car shut, storming inside stiffly. Fuming.

You followed close behind. “What’s the matter??” You giggled, hovering over his shoulder. “Too embarrassed to admit you have gas??”

You saw his jaw clenched the second you uttered those words. His sharp eyes darting, staring daggers at you. You’d never seen him look so stern. It sent a chill down your spine, and you faltered a little. Clearly not enough to deter him, though. He shot an arm out, grabbing at your wrist with surprising strength. His grip was so tight it hurt. You couldn’t have pulled away even if you wanted to — much to his amusement — and with a firm yank, he pulled you closer to him, lowering his mouth to your ear. His voice was husky.

“I warned you to watch your fucking mouth.” He seethed. Oh dear god…

He practically pulled you off your feet, dragging you halfway across the house, towards your shared bedroom. He was rough, and the corners of his lips twitched up into a sadistic-looking grin. His stomach continued to growl, softly, under his hand.

Grrrmmm…

He winced. If he was in pain, it didn’t last long, though, when he threw you carelessly onto the bedspread. His usual tenderness had all but entirely seeped from him, replaced with frustration and… well, a killer stomachache, you supposed. You barely had time to retain your composure before he grabbed you again. Your eyes went wide.

In your daze, he’d gone digging through the drawers by the bed. In his hands, he held a thick length of chain. By this point, his smirk had spread into a full grin, and he regarded you with wide, dark eyes. “Teach you a fuckin’ lesson, huh?” He muttered, almost to himself, as he yanked your arms up. You yelped — which he paid no attention to — and felt the cold restraint rubbing against your wrists.

Good lord. He was tying you to the bedframe.

“What the fuck-?” You managed to stammer, before a low growl cut you off. You couldn’t tell whether it came from his throat of his belly. He ignored your confusion. The restraint was tight, and held your poor arms up high, behind your head. No matter how hard you squirmed, the damn thing wouldn’t budge. Shit. You instantly regretted letting him practice so much on you.

He sat before you on the bed, taking a second to admire you. He chuckled deeply to himself, his voice rumbling in his chest. That laugh. It frightened you. “Not so cocky now, huh??” It was his turn to tease. His tone caused your cheeks to burn, and you lowered your eyes, squirming. Trying to tug on the chains. No luck.

He shuffled closer, putting a firm hand on your knee. He was warm. There was no way he was gonna… not now, right?? All because you teased him a little?? … He shuffled a little, from his place in front of you, sitting himself back down. Right in your lap. His weight pressed against your thighs, and the gesture took you by surprise, your eyes going wide.

His poor, overstuffed belly gave a low gurgle. It was a more desperate sound, and he huffed, placing his other hand on his side. Giving it a quick rub. “I can’t say you were wrong, though.” He chuckled. “I’ve been, ahem… holding back. For your sake.”

What the fuck was that supposed to mean??You cocked your head, shooting him a confused look. All he did was laugh. And give a soft grunt. The unmistakable sound echoed through the room, and you felt it ripple against your lap, heating the area where he sat. You went stiff. No way he just…

But then the smell hit. God, it was awful. Fucking putrid, really, a disgusting concoction of whatever bullshit he’d eaten throughout the day. He sighed, in relief no doubt, while you thrashed about, turning your head, trying pathetically to escape the damn stench. Your arms were bound. Your couldn’t plug your nose, no matter how bad you tried. It burned.

His sadistic grin never once left his face, eyes scouring your writhing form. He was clearly amused. You could tell by the smug lilt in his voice. “I saved that just for you.” He seethed, grinding himself further against your leg. “Smells lovely, hmm?” You practically gagged. He clicked his tongue.

“Tsk, tsk, so unappreciative. Such a brat.”

You felt ashamed to be blushing at his words.

“God, that’s foul…” You managed to mutter. He scoffed, narrowing his eyes. That look, the one that made your blood run cold, returned to his face.

… He leaned over your pitiful form, reaching into a drawer behind you. He pulled out something metallic, that glinted under the dim light seeping through the closed blinds. A blade. Why the fuck did he have a knife on hand??

Never-mind that, though, because you had no time to think. Within a few seconds, he’d twirled it in his trained hand, and pressed the cold metal right against your collarbone. Your breath hitched. It was so close. You really had to watch that temper of his. “Watch yourself.” He demanded, shifting around in his seat. Still firmly pressed into your lap.

Grrrgggllmm…

He let out a shaky breath, biting his lip, and forced out another fetid, rippling burst. He strained to push it out, and you were worried he’d let the knife at your throat slip in the struggle. But he held it still.

Jesus Christ, the smell. Somehow worse the second time. You let out a sharp cough, and forced yourself to hold your breath. Blinking back the tears from your watery eyes. He didn’t seem to take too kindly to this, and with his only free hand, reached up towards your face, clamping it over your mouth. You couldn’t breathe.

You had no choice. You could usually hold it for a while, but god, it had taken you by surprise. Air was running thin, and it wasn’t long before you were forced to inhale sharply, through your nose.

Goddamn repulsive. He seemed overjoyed by your whines.

“You love it.” He hissed, pressing the cold metal further against your nape. One wrong move, and it’d slice straight from shoulder to jaw. “Go on, tell me. You love it.” You had no choice but to comply.

“I-… I love it.” Your words were muffled into his hands. His grin twitched cruelly.

“It smells good, huh??” “It… fuck-… it smells so good…”

So fucking degrading. You could tell it excited him. His rhythmic grinding against your thigh told you more than enough.

“You want more. Go on. Beg for me.” … You considered resisting, but a flick of his wrist reminded you who was in charge. You let out a strangled whimper. “I said beg.”

“Shit-… Please. Please, I want more.”

He tittered in mock disgust. “You’re fucking filthy.”

But he did as you’d asked. He lowered the hand clasping at your face, and pressed the heel of his palm into his stomach, causing it to growl and churn. He was coaxing more out, you could hear it. You have a last-ditch effort to tug at your wrists, trying one last time to free yourself. Hah. No luck.

The next one sounded awful. Loud, long, and almost sickly, damn near surprising him as well. It was a miracle that he could handle his own damn brand. Was this the kind of shit he was holding daily?? It almost made you regret picking on him so frequently.

“Go on.” He urged you. You were too light-headed to protest. You just hoped to god he’d spare you soon.

“It smells lovely-…” You stammered, swallowing back a gag as you spoke. “Th-… Thank you.”

“Good.”

For your good behaviour, he loosened the grip on his knife, giving you a little more room to breathe. Not that it’d help. Every single sniffle was tainted. And there you were, drinking it in, begging like some sort of animal. If he’d wanted to teach you a lesson, he’d made his point clear as fucking day.

But he wasn’t done with you yet. There was plenty more where that came from, you could tell. Might as well make the most of it. You could be there for a while.

Imagine person A cuddling up with person B on the couch after a long, exhausting day of work. The lunch A had isn’t agreeing with them and leads to them passing gas whilst laying on top of person B. Person B doesn’t mind and soothingly rubs A’s back while they let it rip, even shamelessly moving their hand down to A’s bum to feel the bubbly emissions against their palm while they plant soft kisses on A’s cheek.

Smut bonus: Person A is so gassy and achy that they can’t help but moan and whimper into B’s ear after each burst of gas that leaves their bottom with a sprinkle of small burps being let out into B’s ear as well. A’s helpless, gassy state ultimately makes B terribly horny and they can’t help but grind against A’s body, pressing against their stone hard tummy to force out more gas from them until they can’t help but go down on them.