You were now halfway through your three month contract as Ame's personal assistant.

She'd made a few upgrades and changes to her streaming setup, bringing in new mics, VR tech, some high-end computers coupled with tight bundles of unidentifiable cables that snaked across her bedroom floor, and a brand new four-legged metal stool cushioned with black leather. It was an odd choice of seating for someone in her profession considering the lack of lumbar support, and the leather material would surely become uncomfortably wet and sticky after any serious use (especially with the additional heat of her newly acquired electronics humming around her). At the end of the day it wasn't your place to comment, so you had left Ame to her devices.

On a more personal note, she still treated you like little more than a fart cushion and made sure to park her ass in front of your face whenever she needed to relieve herself. Though as a small mercy, your meager office had been uprooted from her bedroom and relocated to the living room couch under the evaluation that “you were making too much noise”. The air out there was leagues more tolerable than the sweltering sauna of dirty laundry and body odor fermenting in Ame's personal quarters. And without the constant audio stream of Ame's gamer rage bouncing off your eardrums, you found yourself able to concentrate on work for the first time and blazed through the glut of emails that had been piling up in your inbox.

You lean back on the couch, crack open an energy drink, and let the light breeze of the ceiling fan sweep over your face. There was only a month and a half to go. The boost to your resume would all but guarantee an interview in whatever production position you pursued, if not the job itself, and then all this perverse torture would be worth it. Your eyes flit happily to the ceiling and daydream about future offers pouring in when Ame's door suddenly swings open from down the hall. Her footsteps patter towards your office and you sit back up in attention.

She saunters into the kitchen, eyes still sleepy and half-closed, and idly scratches her hair. As usual, Ame is disheveled, sweaty, and wrapped in the same white button-up and plaid brown skirt that she wore to bed. The pits of her shirt have dark stains that reach almost to her waist and the backside of her pleated skirt looks like she'd just taken a seat on rain-soaked pavement. Initially you thought she had multiple pairs of the same outfit to cycle through during the week, but it soon became clear that Ame simply doesn't change her clothes.

She opens the fridge and takes out a carton of milk, bringing it to her lips and loudly chugging its contents with one hand on her hip. Her eyes meet yours and you offer a small “Good morning.” from behind your laptop.

She tosses the mostly empty carton on the pile of garbage covering the trash can and wipes her mouth with the back of her sleeve before a massive belch erupts past her lips. “Whew, excuse me!” She grabs a leftover slice of pizza from the countertop and walks over to your station, munching along the way and spilling crumbs across the tiled floor. In between bites, she looms over your shoulder and points at your screen. “Watcha workin' on?”

Your torso subconsciously leans away from her pungent body odor as you give her an executive overview of your tasks. There's a big off-collab in the works and you've been busy navigating the logistics and bureaucratic red tape. It's tempting to go on a rant about permissions and company policy, but you scarcely need to tell her about such things.

She scarfs down the rest of the crust and licks her fingers clean. “Mmm, okay! Good work! I think that next time we shou-” Ame's cut short by a noisy gurgle from her stomach. She looks down and grasps her tummy, now slightly bent over with a pained expression. “Ugh, this has been happening a lot these days.” The gurgles roll over each other a while longer, transitioning to deep rumbles that leave Ame squirming in place and tugging at her shirt. Your body tenses up, all too familiar with what's going to happen next. The ones in the morning were especially rank after building up in her guts all night.

“W-well, I gotta go...take care of something so I'll see you later!” Ame turns on her heels and rushes back down the hallway, taking a sharp right turn into her bedroom. The door slams shut and leaves you in silence.

The tension in your body bleeds out into the couch and you slouch against the cushions in disbelief. In the past, those events had always led to Ame cheekily bending over and ripping the nastiest, gluten-fueled farts right in your face, so to have her excuse herself and run to her room instead was an enormous boon. Between that development and your new working space, could things finally be turning around? Has Ame grown tired of her childish pranks and started making an effort for a more professional relationship?

These questions swim in your mind as the taskbar pings your attention. You mouse over the notification and see a message from Ame pop up asking you to go out shopping this weekend for...actual groceries? That's a first as well. Ever since you'd starting working here it'd been nothing but stacks of fast-food delivery boxes, local pastries, and cheesy junk food.

A smile blooms across your face as you realize the greater implication of this request; you could go outside! For the first time in over a month, you'd be able to feel warm pavement beneath your shoes and a soul-cleansing summer breeze filtering through your lungs. You'd almost forgotten what fresh air felt like after being locked up in Ame's stuffy apartment for this long.

The windfall of good news brings your spirits to an all time high and you get back to work in earnest. The remainder of your contract had just gotten a lot more bearable.

===

The days leading up to the weekend were more of the same. Ame would only come out of her room to blow up the toilet or open the door for the latest delivery driver. The receipts scattered across the apartment kept a paper trail of Ame's ill-advised diet: pizzas, foot-long subs, dinner rolls, calzones...all foods that were sure to agitate Ame's sensitive tummy. Not that you cared anymore since she'd kept the “effects” of her atrocious eating habits to herself. In fact, you'd gotten a bit cheeky and added extra cheese and garlic sauce to her orders from time to time as a bit of payback for her earlier mistreatment. Sure, it made her farts messier and more pungent, but that was exclusively her problem now.

You anxiously check your phone for the eighth time this hour. 9:00 PM, finally. You spring up from your seat, a bounce in your step and a merry hum on your lips as you collect your items and head down the hall. Phone, wallet, keys, face mask-

Wait.

Your face mask is missing.

Your smile wanes as you pat down your pants and do a quick 360 within the living room. It's not on the table, between the cushions, or under the couch. Did you put it somewhere else? No, you haven't used it since you got here, why would it be anywhere but where you left it? Panic slowly rising in your chest, you begin a more meticulous pass through the apartment. The mask was company-issued and technically part of their uniform, so losing it could be used as a testament to your negligence and lack of responsibility. Would they fire you over something so small? Probably not, but the thought of the past month's progress being undone by such a trivial mistake is gnawing at your sensibilities and you tear through the rest of the rooms in a whirlwind of determination.

It's not here. Unless it's buried beneath the floorboards it just isn't here. Dread fills and pulses through your stomach as you turn towards the only place unravaged by your search efforts.

===

“Come here you little bitch! Ahahaha!” Even through her bedroom door, Ame's gremlin laugh is clear as day. She'd been on another Apex bender and had been finding great success with the compound bow the last few steams.

You take a deep breath and text Ame if it's okay to enter. She shouldn't be streaming at this hour, but an errant knock on her door or a male voice calling out from beyond the screen is risk you're not stupid enough to take.

Are you streaming now? I lost my mask and wanted to check your room

Nope. I'm in a match but its fine its unlocked

You approach her bedroom door, your legs leaden and sluggish like you're pulling them through a knee-deep quagmire. You never thought you'd be in this room again, especially not of your own volition, but you don't have much of a choice. Just a quick check, you tell yourself, a quick glance around the room and then you're out.

The door handle is slick in your hand. Shoving hesitation aside, you push through and plunge into Ame's domain.

The change in climate is palpable as a warm, seemingly-solid wall of fermented musk slams against your body on the way in. The air is dank and humid, a special kind of heat you can feel sticking to the fine hairs on your skin. The only light is the soft blue glow of Ame's monitor and disparate array of multi-colored LED's along the right wall.

Still holding your breath, your pupils scan frantically around the room for your mask. Dirty laundry lies strewn about in uneven piles across every surface, her bed sheets are crumpled piles of discolored fabric, and a towering obelisk of fast food boxes flank either side of Ame's desk, forming an unholy shrine to the occupant's loathsome hygiene. Amid all the horrid refuse, your mask is nowhere to be found.

You're ready to give up and bow out when a nagging thought urges you forward. You look once more at Ame's seated figure.

Her measurements had filled out considerably since you started working here, a natural result of high calorie meals combined with little to no exercise. But through whatever genetic blessings, everything funneled straight into her fat tits and ass. Her heavy breasts strained against the buttons of her blouse and made her already fun-sized tie look downright tiny in comparison. Her bubble butt was now fat enough to spill over the edges of her chair and completely obscure her underwear from view, no doubt wedged so far up her crack as to be invisible from this perspective.

After baking in her room's clammy atmosphere, her obscenely thick rear is dripping with sweat and you can see pearl-sized droplets running down her mouthwatering curves as they race each other to the shining puddle collecting below. She's leaning forward now, clearly enraptured in the game, giving you a perfect view of her generous backside as her skirt rides up. Sticking out from beneath Ame's pale cheeks, barely discernible in the low light, is a loop of familiar black fabric. You mouth grows dry as the pieces fall together.

That's the loop of your face mask. Which means this whole time, Ame's been...

You clear your throat and choke out a few words to effect of “Ame, I think you're sitting on my mask.”

Ame's fingers lift off the keyboard and she quietly sets her headset down, unconcerned that her squad is now a teammate down. She then swivels a few degrees towards you and glances at her seat. “Ohhh, is that where it was?” Despite her poorly-acted innocence, her eyes are bright and overflowing with glee. “Huh, I thought my chair felt funny this week so I guess that makes sense.” Ame's stomach suddenly grumbles and she furrows her brow. “Ah, hang on a sec...” Ame's lips pull into a frown as she grips her desk and blasts a loud, messy fart deep into the center of her seat. It drones on for almost four straight seconds and you can see the bottom of her fat cheeks vibrate as bubbles of rancid gas sputter out from beneath them. Before you can even react, Ame grits her teeth and trumpets out another rumbling, seat-staining fart. The sound is low and horrendously wet-- you can't imagine how disgustingly sweaty her ass crack must be to produce that kind of noise.

“Hahh...they've been really bad today, sorry.” Ame chuckles to herself and starts fanning her nose. “Ugh, seriously, I don't know how they can smell that bad considering most of it is being absorbed by, well, you know...” Ame's cheeks jiggle as she lazily scratches her sizable ass and a few more muffled farts squeak out from below. “Anyway, you sure you want this back? I'm on my computer, like, sixteen hours a day and I really only get up to use the bathroom.”

She's milking this prank for all it's worth. You don't want to give her the satisfaction so you reiterate your question and calmly ask for your mask back. Not that you're ever going to wear that thing again, obviously, but you still need it in your possession when your contract completes.

“Okay, if you say so...” Instead of getting up, Ame grins and lifts her feet off the floor. She starts pressing down with all her weight and grinds her butt into the seat like a mortar and pestle, rubbing her hips from side to side in powerful thrusts. You wince as you watch the loop get dragged further beneath her bulldozing ass and hear the squelching sounds of your face mask being ground to a soggy paste.

Satisfied with her work, Ame braces against the edge of her desk and starts peeling herself off the chair. It's a drawn out, slightly painful process since the intense heat and humidity is gluing her cheeks to the leather, and every inch she raises leaves behind more sloppy strings of sweat and liquid musk bridging between the seat and the slick surface of her cheeks. As she lifts her hips higher and higher, you realize the white material of her panties is nowhere to be seen. You'd assumed her panties had just been devoured by her fat ass but now that you're staring at her explicitly bare cheeks, it's clear that Ame had been going bottomless all day. Maybe even all week.

With the back of her plump thighs still stuck to seat, Ame stops and rubs her stomach. “Mmhn, another one...” She reaches back to spread her cheeks as another vile fart erupts from her sweaty asshole, utterly soaking the area below and rippling the fabric of your mask. She lets out a groan of relief and fully stands up, letting her fat cheeks slap together as she stretches her arms towards the ceiling. “Hmmmnyah! Feels good to get up and stretch!”

Your face drops at the scene below. The leather material is shiny, warped, and peeling off itself. Any outside viewer would assume it's been through years of use or recently dredged up from a flooded basement. Thin pools of salty perspiration dot the landscape and wispy clouds of foul-smelling steam drift lazily across the surface like morning fog. Ame's crushingly heavy bottom-half molded the chair to its shape, providing an immaculate outline of her thighs and ass and embedding two shallow craters in its surface. And to your horror, in the center of it all, right between the ovoid shapes where the sweat stains were the largest and darkest, was the mangled remains of your mask. The inside of which was face up, perfectly positioned to catch and absorb every drop of Ame's messy, room-clearing farts that sputtered out her asshole for the last seven days straight.

She hunches over and delicately peels your mask from the seat like a stubborn band-aid. It makes a disconcerting shhhrp sound on the way up.

“Hold on, gimme oneee second~” Pulling one cheek to the side, Ame flashes you a mischievous smile and roughly digs your mask into her sweaty ass crack. She starts wiping it up and down, scrubbing the length of her reeking swamp ass with the inside of your mask. She takes her time to make sure every inch of her stuffy crevice is taken care of, smearing her new sweat rag across the wrinkles of her asshole and the slippery band of her greasy taint. You can faintly hear her humming her loading screen BGM as she uses two fingers to dig even deeper and swab the rim of her steamy, unwashed asshole with part of your mask that would eventually fit over your nose.

“Whew, that's better! It gets really gross down there during the summer, especially when I go commando like this. I mean, I thought my armpits smelled bad, but...yeah, anyway here you go!”

She fishes it out of her crack and holds it up at eye level, pinching her nose with her other hand. It's dangles limply in her fingers and it's so thoroughly saturated that excess butt sweat is dripping off it. “It smells a little funky buuut you're used to that by now, right?”

You can only offer a tired smile as you reach out to claim her offering. She had her fun but at least this was over now.

The moment your hand leaves your side, Ame lunges forward and slaps the mask over your nose and mouth. Your body locks up, terrified to move, speak, or do anything to could be considered acting against Ame's wishes.

Ah, you should have known it wouldn't be that easy. Ame wouldn't have spent the past week gorging herself and soaking your mask with semi-liquid farts if she wasn't going to make you wear it.

The cloth is hot and damp on your lips. Even without breathing you can feel the noxious odor emanating off the fabric. Ame keeps her hands at the side of your head, securing the mask behind your ears and gazing deep into your eyes as a leering grin spreads across her face. She knows you won't resist, not with the guillotine of unemployment hovering over your neck. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened her door and now she just has to wait.

You close your eyes and stem the flow of adrenaline pumping through your veins. It's only going to get worse the longer you hold out, so you let your mind go blank and your nostrils flare as you take a strong, deep breath through your nose.

The vile stench that bombards your senses is beyond compare. A rancid torrent of shit-smelling gas surges through your sinuses and detonates against the back of your throat, spreading through your mouth like ignited gasoline and choking out your taste buds beneath an ocean of gaseous waste. The mind-melting musk blanketing your tongue tastes one hundred times worse than her face-farting sessions ever did. Every muted fart, every rushed bathroom break, every drop of stale sweat collected in the muggy depths of her unwiped ass crack from the past seven days was pulled from the fabric and shotgunned up your nose, seemingly straight into your brain. It burns the length of your nasal cavity and your vision goes blurry with tears as you lose your balance and stumble against the back wall, sending dirty underwear and old take-out boxes clattering to the ground. The smell is so thick that you have legitimate trouble drawing breath, so you hack and cough into the mask as your body struggles to clear its airways.

Ame stands over your writhing form with her hands on her hips and rolls her eyes. “What the heck? It's not even that bad, stop being such a baby! She hauls you to your feet and shoves you out into the hallway. You're able to retain your balance, barely, and steer yourself away from hyperventilation. From the corner of your watering eyes you see Ame slip on her loafers.

“Well? C'mon, let's get going!” She hooks her arm around yours and leads you to the door. Seems she's coming with you, a detail she left out in her initial message all those days ago. In spite of all the horrid smells tainting your breath and clogging your sinuses, you feel a twinge of excitement from Ame's soft, generous bust pressing against your arm. It was a firm reminder that, beneath the many layers of filth and immodesty, this blonde bombshell had a body to die for.

The two of you pass into the cool summer night. The crisp air would surely have been refreshing were it not for the thick wrap of Ame's sweat rag suffocating your mouth. It's soon made clear that your destination is a nearby convince store, not an actual grocery store, and you were merely on another errand to resupply Ame's junk food stockpile. You manage a sigh. At this point, that was the least of your worries.

===

The walk to the convenience store is spent trying to take the shallowest breaths possible. It's a zero-sum game since a smaller breath now means a bigger one later, so eventually you concede and let your respiratory process continue unabated. In and out, in and out, drawing Ame's potent musk deeper and deeper into your lungs. Every breath you take is somehow worse than the last as the latent flavors baked into the top layer of the cloth seep out over time. Ame revels in your plight, taking care to nudge your ribs with her elbow and launch into long-winded recollections of how much she abused your mask. The rambling tone is comparable to the childhood stories from her zatsudans, though now, instead of memories of petting cacti or falling off beds, you were getting detailed descriptions of how itchy her ass crack got after not wiping for a few days and how your mask had been the perfect tool to scratch it.

You reach the store and the rest of the trip spins into nightmarish blur of going through the list and trying to stay upright while huffing the runoff from Ame's farts. There were barely any people in the store this late at night and the mask did an incredible job of keeping the stench locked-in, so at least your humiliation was kept private.

With two full bags of junk food in hand, the two of your exit the store and head back. The contents shift and press against your thigh. They were the usual fare: pizza, doughnuts, french toast, and whole loaves of white bread. The mere sight of them triggered a Pavlovian response for your burning nose knowing what they would do to Ame's guts later in the week.

Just as the smell is becoming more manageable, Ame stops dead in her tracks and grabs your shirt. “Shit...uh, can I borrow that thing for a second?” She snatches the mask from your face and, after taking a moment to verify that the inside was towards her, shoves it between her cheeks and right up against her anus. Her free hand laces between your fingers as a repulsive, cheek-clapping fart splashes out of her greasy asshole to once again soak your mask. Based on how tightly she's gripping your hand, you can tell she's really straining to push this one out and her face is alight with pure satisfaction. The tone of her release wavers up and down as it spills around the imperfect seal, and you can only imagine how loud that one would have been without your poor mask serving as a muffler. Ame moans in relief and rubs the freshly used fart rag in circles within her crack for a bit to freshen herself up.

“Phew! Been holding that one in since we left. I thought I pushed a bit too hard there for a second, but we're good!” She slaps it back over your face and continues with the walk as though she had merely stopped to tie her shoelace. The stench, still wet and steaming from Ame's use seconds ago, sears your nostrils once more. Your brain's not even afforded the time to process the aroma as the edges of your vision grow dark and blurry. It takes all your strength, but you manage to put one foot forward on the pavement and stay upright, though for how long you don't know.

You finally reach her apartment. She'd been conversing with you the whole way, but it faded to indecipherable noise beneath the musk-induced brain fog you were suffering through. Once inside, Ame gives the go ahead and you rip the mask from your face, gasping for air like you'd just surfaced from a scuba dive with a busted regulator. How sweet the air tasted outside that pocket-sized death chamber. “Alroight, good work today!” Ame takes the mask from your hand and motions towards the couch. “And set an alarm for seven o'clock tomorrow, there's some VR stuff I wanna check.”

You stumble towards the couch like a recently raised corpse, eager to get some shut-eye and hopefully forget about the taste of Ame's brand swirling in your mouth. This experience had shown you a disgusting new frontier, true, but at least you were still standing. Even if it happened every day from now on, you were going to make it. You were going to finish this damn contract.

In your peripheral vision, you notice Ame placing your mask next to an almost empty roll of toilet paper.

She winks at you and closes the bathroom door.