Ame had recently found a new FPS to obsess over. It was infamous for its steep difficulty curve and lack of tutorials, as well as its devilish gauntlet of puzzles strewn between the combat sections. Plenty of other streamers had ended up slamming their controllers in frustration after the first few rooms. With that in mind, Ame had pinned a message in chat on the initial stream explaining that she was likely going to have trouble at some points, and to be patient while she figured it out.

That request had been happily fulfilled by most of her viewership…with one exception.

Someone in chat had apparently made it their mission in life to explain every aspect of the game in the most patronizing, abrasive manner possible. It was the kind of bludgeoning advice that could only come from a malcontent that put way too much confidence in their ability to help others have the “correct” experience in their favorite pastime. Ame had mostly ignored or deflected The Chatter, but everyone could tell her well of patience was beginning to run dry.

Presently, Ame was working on part three of her playthrough. She’s been stuck in the same hallway for over ten minutes. There’s a gate she needs to unlock with a keycard that was hinted to be nearby, but she’s dead set on stacking a cluster of barrels into a makeshift staircase and vaulting the top of the gate instead. The Chatter smugly proclaims that, through their multiple completionist playthroughs, they know that there’s an invisible wall reaching to the ceiling just in front of the gate to stop such simple-minded attempts at sequence breaks. They insist that Ame’s scheme is an idiotic waste of time.

“Waste of time…” Ame reads aloud. “Eh? Whaddya mean? I can jump on the barrels, see?” She starts hopping along from one barrel to another. “I just need a couple more~.”

You watch her flounder around with the game's rudimentary physics engine– stacking barrels, dropping barrels, and clipping barrels through walls. Twenty minutes crawl by before one of the barrels snags a weird piece of geometry and slingshots to the far side of the room, rolling comedically to a stop against the very keycard she should have been hunting for. Ame grabs the keycard without much fanfare and uses it to open the gate.

“I still think my idea was cooler…but whatever!”

The Chatter does enjoy being so casually refuted. And since Ame runs into pace-killing obstacles every other room, their unsolicited advice continues to come in hard and fast.

Shooting the front does no damage. Obviously.

The water level has to be lowered first. How have you not figured that out??

Stop rushing in on the second phase!

Ame’s mood sours. Her usual clap backs feel less like comfy banter and more like a toxic byproduct of pure aggravation. She tells everyone to cram it and let her play the game. Her model never even glances at the chat window during the entirety of the chapter two boss. The only other time you remember such blatant disregard of chat’s presence was the climax of that space exploration game a few years back.

“You guys can type whatever you want,” Ame says, throwing herself against the boss for the dozenth time, “I’m not looking!”

Like every other difficulty spike in the game, this boss encounter is shaping up to be a long slog. With no other way to “inform” her gameplay, The Chatter lets their wallet do the talking with a fifty dollar superchat to hopefully catch her eye.

He’s obviously weak to lightning rounds since you just picked them up from the fallen angel in the previous room. Sorry Ame but this is seriously painful. Stop being so stubborn for once in your life and listen to ppl that know what they’re doing.

Ame pauses the game, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. The stream is silent save for the morose plucking strings that make up the pause menu music. She clears her throat and resumes playing, likely swallowing whatever retort she had in mind for The Chatter’s interruption. To her credit, she ends up beating the boss within the next hour and happily advances to the next area. A three minute rendered cutscene plays out, leaving Ame to “ooo’” and “ahh” at the various plot threads introduced.

“Cool~! So the guy with the mechanical arm is like the big boss, right? I wonder if he put me here to begin with?”

Her bare excitement does a lot to lighten the mood. In spite of everything, Ame’s really enjoying the game and the narrative it’s weaving. It might be the most invested she’s been in a story all year. You smile, knowing there’s at least one bit of brightness in this experience that The Chatter can’t ruin with their backseating.

As the stream winds down and Ame gets ready to sign off, one last superchat comes in. It’s bright red and impossible to ignore:

btw the main character dies at the end because they were actually a robot that was programmed to self-destruct before reaching the final boss. I won’t apologize for spoiling the ending because you were never going to finish playing like this anyway lol

Ame stops reading aloud halfway through the message but the damage is done. Her eyes have already involuntarily finished the rest of the sentence and, just like that, a potentially amazing gaming experience was stolen. She lets the stream drown in another uncomfortable silence while she collects herself.

“Anyway, I’m calling it here,” she says in an unnervingly calm manner. “Maybe I’ll pick this up later. I don’t know.”

You don’t need to see the finer emotions of her face to know she was pissed. You feel bad for whatever she decides to take her anger out on once the stream goes offline; her Switch controllers were slammed into the afterlife following a few minutes of frustrating platforming, and The Chatter’s days of insufferable backseating were surely magnitudes worse than that.

Ame’s stream goes offline. The floor behind you creaks. You look over your shoulder just in time to see a flash of silver rush towards your face.

–
–

When you come to, your head is throbbing. You’re on your back on what feels like a mattress, staring up at a pastel pink ceiling. Someone’s bedroom? You look around, slowly, as to not aggravate the symphony of dull pain playing out inside your skull. Whoever the owner is, they're far from neat freaks. Most of the bedsheets lay crumpled and matted in a great pile by your feet. Armfuls of socks, bras, and t-shirts stained with sweat sprawl across the floor like a second carpet. Half-empty takeout boxes fight for real estate atop every cabinet and dresser. The stale odor of negligence filling the air makes you slightly nauseous.

There’s a harsh white glow shining from down by your feet. You lift your head and see a pair of extra wide computer monitors placed on the desk that sits beyond the foot of the bed. There’s no chair in sight.

You roll your shoulders and try to rub your temples. Your arms halt with a sharp clink. Tilting your head back, you see a pair of gunmetal handcuffs binding your wrists to the headboard. A few strong pulls confirms they’re not just toys.

“Well, well, well! Welcome back to the land of the living, punk!” Amelia Watson walks into view from your left, lazily spinning the aluminum bat she used to put you down. Her appearance makes you doubletake. She must have eased up on her dietary restrictions at some point because she’s much thicker than her earlier 3D performances and concerts. Her breasts look at least three cup sizes bigger, sagging heavily in her blouse and forcing the column of buttons to their breaking point. Her tummy is soft, pudgy, and slightly bloated with what looks like the aftermath of a huge meal. Her wide, skirt-busting hips suggest an absolutely massive ass, though right now you can only see glimpses of it between her inner thighs as she saunters over. Black knee-high stockings dig into her supple thighs below a short plaid skirt that’s a few centimeters away from permanently flashing her panties.

Ame strikes an accusatory pose that jiggles her heavy chest and aims the bat at your skull, causing you to wince. “Couldn’t keep your mouth shut for five seconds, huh?” Her voice rises into a high-pitched mocking tone. “‘Wahh, Ameee! Don’t use that gun! Ameee, why did you skip that secret in the library? Stop attacking the left side of the boss, Ame!’ Jeez, just shut the fuck up-uh!”

The instant you open your mouth to respond, her bat comes crashing down inches from your jaw, making a muffled, terrifying thump on the mattress.

“I don’t wanna hear your excuses!” She winds the bat back and puts her hands on her hips. “I tracked your IP, stupid! I know it was you making those comments, so don’t try to deny it!”

This gives you pause. You obviously aren’t who she thinks you are, but how did she get it so wrong? Perhaps…the one making those comments, The Chatter, was using your IP as a shield? If so, then when Ame showed up and saw her stream playing on your laptop, she’d naturally assume she was at the right place. It’s all one hell of a coincidence, but you’re sure Ame will understand as long as you get the chance to explain.

While you’re mulling over your plan of attack, another party enters the room. From her messy white locks of bedhead, it’s clear she just got up. “What’s with all the racket in here?” Gura asks, rubbing her eyes. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”

Ame leans on her bat and jabs her thumb at you. “This is the asshole that’s been harassing me all week. I had Ina open up a portal to their place and snagged ‘em a few minutes ago.”

Gura’s sleepy eyes look down at you, then back to Ame. A bratty smile pulls her lips, showing rows of sharp teeth. “Ohhh, nice catch! Yeah, I remember you telling me about him. He looks kinda wimpy, strapped down like that.” She barely contains her glee. “So what are ya thinkin’?”

“Not sure yet. Any ideas?”

The two of them huddle with their arms over each other’s shoulders. Their snappy conspiratorial whispers are punctuated with fits of giggling. They eventually walk up to you upon reaching a consensus.

Gura’s toothy smile looks positively treacherous now. “For your crimes against the good people of this city, we’re sentencing you to ten hours of community service!” Gura and Ame turn around and stick out their hips. “That is to say, you’ll be serving this!” Gura says, laying a loud smack across Ame’s gigantic ass.

Both of them are truly gifted down there– a real bottom-heavy duo. Ame has the advantage in sheer size, the fat of her ass more than enough to turn regular panties into g-strings and spill over any gaming chair, but Gura’s no slouch either, especially considering how small the rest of her frame is. Between the mass of her tail and backside, it’s a wonder Gura doesn’t tip backward when she stands up.

“I got dibs!” Ame says as she hops onto the bed, thighs and asscheeks jiggling from the sudden movement. The mattress tilts and sinks around her footfalls to accommodate her weight.

Gura jumps up after her and snags her arm. “No fair! We should flip a coin!”

“Who’s house is this again?” Ame retorts. “We’ll switch off at the halfway point, stop being a baby.” Facing your feet, Ame backs up and stomps one stocking-clad foot on either side of your head.

A large shadow covers your face and neck. Ame’s giving you one hell of an upskirt shot, letting you stare unimpeded at her thick, meaty, sweaty ass that’s busy swallowing a wretched pair of unwashed well-worn jet black panties. She briefly adjusts her skirt and wafts around the concentrated musk that’s been brewing around her crotch and musky depths of her buttcrack. It reeks! It’s hard to discern due to the black material, but your nose is all too certain that her underwear is waterlogged with days (if not weeks) of sweat.

Ame looks down over her shoulder with a small grin, the soft splash of pink in her blue eyes briefly catching the bedroom light. With no further theatrics, Ame gives a quick hop backwards and throws her legs into the air. She plummets down ass-first onto your pathetic face with the full weight of her shortstack body, plowing the back of your head deep into the mattress. The detective's fat wobbly cheeks spill over the side of your face and touch the bed sheets, easily smothering you past your ears.

With an unbothered hum on her lips, Ame adjusts her seating position until you're properly sandwiched between her huge cheeks. “Um, yeah, so, I’m not getting off until I beat this game. I was gonna break it up into five parts for the stream since it’s so long and difficult, but…change of plans! Let me know if I miss any secrets, okay~?” Ame asks while grinding her butt harshly into your face. The odor of her damp unwashed panties fills your nostrils. She spreads her legs wide in front of her and stretches out, adding even more weight and drawing a muffled groan of discomfort from your lips.

Gura drops down onto your chest shortly after, forcing the air from your lungs as her thick shark butt finds its place. “Hey, he’s kinda comfy! Least he’s good for something!”

Their combined weight is giving your lungs a workout. Your mouth and nose have to work overtime just to suck in enough oxygen through Ame’s sodden panties, a task made all the more difficult by Gura’s energetic movements on your chest. You find a way to stabilize after a minute or two, but the heat and stench of Ame’s unclean buttcrack still makes your head spin. And then there’s that unsettling gurgle that sometimes rumbles through Ame’s stomach…

Above, you hear the game boot up and the casual banter of your captors. Ame’s bringing Gura up to speed on her progress and calling out her approach for the next level. Gura occasionally asks questions and comments on the moment-to-moment action. From the outside, they’re just a pair of girls having a fun afternoon gaming session.

“Shit!” Ame exclaims as she bounces on your face. “How was I supposed to know they'd be in there~?” She expresses her irritation with another five seconds of heavy, mercilessly grinding into her seat, using your helpless features as a convenient rag for all the gross gamer sweat she’s been building up between her cheeks and under her skirt. The salty tang of Ame’s ass sweat tickles your lips and traces down the side of your face in thin streams. It doesn’t take long for the area around your head to grow damp and discolored with all the runoff pouring down Ame’s thick jiggly curves. And it’s barely been ten minutes!

Time in general is hard to keep track of down here. Most of your focus is on maintaining your breath, or enduring the odors seeping from Ame’s panties. You have a feeling that Ame wouldn’t even notice if her sweaty facesitting session rendered you unconscious. So you pathetically snort the depths of her warm musky asscrack to pull through another ten seconds, every minute spent suffering under there silently chipping away at your constitution. That groaning and gurgling from Ame’s guts seems to be getting louder.

And somehow, in spite of everything, your lower body is reacting. A powerful erection pushes at your boxers, growing stiffer and stronger the longer Ame bounces and slides her huge, slick, sweaty buttocks on your face. For all her petty gamer rage and abhorrent hygiene, your dick can’t ignore Ame’s bombshell body and indelibly kyut demeanor. Even her scent, offensive as it is, is starting to read as painfully erotic.

“What do we have here?” Gura jeers, reaching down to unbutton your pants. Her fingertips brush the head of your cock through your boxers and come away with a sticky strand of pre-cum. “Oh nyo, but I thought you hated Ame? Wasn’t she playing the game wrong?”

Ame takes one look at your shameful arousal, then peeks between her thighs, a cheeky grin on her lips that can only presage disaster. “Hey, what the heck? You’re getting all excited bein’ my gaming chair, huh? You’re sick-uh~!”

Gura’s small fingers prod your erection again. She bats it around like a cat. “Yo, Watson. Can you cool this guy off? I don’t want ‘em making a mess all over the sheets.”

“Hmm? Okay, hold on oneee second~.” Ame says, hitting the pause button. She casually leans to the side, her sweaty asscheeks simply too big to fully unstick from your face.

A loud bassy rumbler of a fart blares out from the sweaty depths of Ame’s buttcrack, violently vibrating against your lips for a full six seconds and warming your face under a horrid blanket of rotten stench. Her meaty cheeks bounce and ripple as her bubbly gas fights its way out from underneath and taints the surrounding bed sheets. You try to keep your mouth clamped shut but a good amount seeps inside and coats your tongue. The majority of Ame’s gas rushes into your flaring nostrils, forcing the rancid smell of digested meat and saccharine pastries into your brain. You retch and jerk your head to the side, but Ame’s fat heavy ass keeps you locked in nice and tight, snorting up every speck of her lethal gluten braps until only the stench of her unwashed panties and ass sweat remains.

“‘Scuuuse, me~.” Ame says with a giggle, fanning the edges of her skirt to air out any stink that didn’t make it down your lungs. A single whiff of her own brand is all it takes for Ame to to hastily plug her nose and scrunch up her face. “Oh God. Ugh! I didn't even have that much bread today!” She coughs into her hand, and you sense some genuine embarrassment on her side from how fucking terrible her gas stinks. Though, whatever shame or sympathy she feels from her abhorrent gas isn’t enough to get up or offer you an apology.

Gura doesn’t fare much better in the fallout. She buries her face in her hoodie to escape the stench, quite unprepared even with her prior knowledge of Ame’s power. “Geez, Ame, I’m here too, ya know! Don’t go stinkin’ up the whole place!”

“It’s not my fault~! He was supposed to swallow it!” Ame pouts.

“Well, do something about it! I don’t wanna spend the next ten hours huffing this!”

Rubbing her bloated, grumbling tummy, Ame leans back until your mouth is firmly mashed against her asshole. “Hey! It smells like shit up here! Open up this time unless your skull wants another tour of the broadside of my bat!”

Part of you thinks that blunt force trauma would be massively preferable to another round of gassing, but she’s likely not giving you an actual choice. Defeated, you force your mouth open just in time for Ame to instantly fill your throat with another brassy, meaty, Ame-branded fart. The taste of her vile gas is stronger now, more pronounced as it pulls from deeper in her guts. After a moment of paralyzing disgust, your throat undulates and works to dutifully swallow her farts, no matter how much the rest of your body protests.

“Ahh…” Ame lets out a relieved, dreamy sigh and lets the remainder of her fart sputter past your lips. She watches your throat move with pride, knowing that however awful it smells for her up there, it must be absolute hell having to choke it down. “Okay, back to the game! Where were we?”

–
–

After God knows how long of gassing, Ame finds herself in the most infamous puzzle room, the penultimate challenge to the mid-game boss. “Man, this is kinda tricky. If only someone could help me out,” she says, louder than usual to draw your attention. You know this is a direct attack on who she thinks was the whiny backseater she’s been punishing. “Anyone? No? Hmm. I guess no one’s beaten this part yet, huh?” With that, she lifts up one of her buttcheeks and forces out an especially awful butt blast into your face, an odorous warm wind firing right into your open mouth. Just when you think it’s over, Ame grunts and forces out a parting wet fart, splattering your tongue with the sweat that had been collecting around her asshole. Another heavy sigh of relief from above, almost orgasmic in tone as you gag on the Number One Detective’s gas. “Oh well. Guess I’ll figure it out my way~.”

Gura squirms on your chest while you finish gulping down Ame’s latest punishment. “Hey, is it my turn yet? You made ‘em swallow, like, a hundred farts by now.”

“But I just got comfy!” Ame whines. “...fine, but I want him back later.”

“Yeah, yeah. Move it, bubble butt.” Gura shoves Ame aside and promptly takes her place. You’re afforded a full three seconds of light and fresh air before Gura’s fat shork butt comes slamming down on your face. Unlike Ame, Gura doesn’t give you the courtesy of separating your lips from her bare asshole with a thin pair of panties– she’s going commando. Your lips press directly into her sweaty anus and a new flavor of torture begins.

“Heh, how’s it smell down there, chumbie?” Gura playfully waves her huge shark tail like an excited dog, rubbing and grinding into you with her slick pink asshole and smooth, chubby pussy lips. While Gura’s a little lighter than your previous user, her chunky Atlantean buttocks is still more than enough to fully smother you. Her buttcrack is a total swamp of sweat and musk, a nauseating odor smelling strongly of the beach at low tide. If this was the usual state of her ass, you feel immensely sorry for whatever furniture she uses around the house.

Ame’s seated on your chest. She raises her eyebrows as she feels your body writhe beneath her. “Wow. He’s already struggling under there. …When was the last time you took a shower, Gura?”

Gura, still rubbing her crotch and ass into your face like she’s humping a body pillow, starts counting on her hands. After reaching ten, she puts them down and shrugs. “Uh, last month? Maybe? I don’t really remember.”

Ame rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Just get up if he stops moving, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. I -” Gura cuts herself off as her stomach groans. “Oof, looks like I’m gonna have to break him in sooner than I thought...”

Gura raises herself up slightly, now squatting on the balls of her feet. Her fat tail acts like a tripod to keep her caked up backside hovering perfectly still over your open mouth. “Nghh…been holding this one in since I got up. Usually the toilet bowl has to deal with my morning farts, but…”

Pulling both cheeks apart, you’re given a clear view of Gura’s tight sweaty pink asshole as she pushes out a bubbly, foul-smelling fart with all the consideration she’d give to a common outhouse. Your eyes water as her gas billows into your mouth; her brand is thick with the stench of spoiled seafood, rotting fruit, and that same salty tang of seawater that coats her buttcrack. While Ame’s braps were loud, brassy, and punched your nostrils in the jaw, Gura’s were a bit quieter with a smell that slowly fried your sinuses and lingered forever. You have a brief window where her release stops, then Gura sighs, shifts on her feet, and lets loose another putrid blast to recoat your abused tongue.

“Mmnhh…not bad for an opener. Y’know, I kinda expected him to pass out during that,” Gura laughs. She shakes her hips from side to side, taunting you with what’s to come.

Ame hics and swats the air in front of her face. “God, that’s rank! Seriously, what did you eat, Gura?”

“Well, Kiara brought over some apple dessert things yesterday from her hometown. Not like I could refuse ‘em!” Gura grins and drops her fat butt a little closer to your face, the bottom of her round cheeks fully eclipsing your view. “Apples always do some serious damage. I was planning to use some of the limited edition merch as a fart absorber for the rest of the day like usual, but then this guy showed up. Nice timing, Watson!”

Another barrage of airy warbling farts warm your face to the tune of Gura’s impish giggling. While you’re still gagging, Gura flips up her tail and drops her hips, fully smothering you with her chubby brat ass and sealing in the stench of her rancid farts. The change in position catches you off guard and leaves you huffing and snorting into Gura’s asscrack with more desperation than usual. Her shark tail wags happily and swishes the bedsheets while you struggle for air like a diver with a cracked rebreather.

“Yeah, yeah, they smell terrible,” Gura says, proudly grabbing her hefty, slappable buttcheeks. “Ya don’t need to tell me that! But hey, maybe you’ll get used to it!”

–
–

Hours pass. Gura’s seafood-smelling braps have more or less overtaken your sense of smell. She stopped bothering to get up when she needed to fart; all you got was the feel of Gura’s asshole flexing against your lips before the eye-watering stench of her flatulence barreled into your mouth. Sometimes Gura would call out to Ame to “Listen to this one!” which always resulted in the worst-smelling batches. Somehow the taste and smell got worse as time went on, like a net of raw fish left out in the sun.

The situation in your pants hasn’t improved either. Your erection stands strong and points to the ceiling, freed of your boxers by Ame’s dainty hands a few minutes after Gura first took a seat on your face. During loading screens, Ame occasionally traces the underside of your shaft with her fingers and laughs at your involuntary jerking.

Somewhere within this twilight of physical abuse and perverse titillation, you hear Ame shout in joy from on top of your chest. Your trial may have finally come to a close.

“Hey, was that it? Was that the final boss?” Gura asks.

Ame nods. “Yay, yay~! We did it! That wasn’t even that bad after I figured out the trick with the jet booster things.” Some of the excitement leaves her voice. “The ending would have been a lot better if I didn’t know what happened, though…”

Ame curtly swats your rock hard erection, sending a bit of pre-cum across the sheets. “And you’re still waving that thing around? Even being used as our fart cushion all day didn’t put you down, huh?”

Gura crosses her arms. “Eh. I guess they’re into that kind of thing.” She pauses. “For the record, it got way bigger when we traded places.”

“What?” Ame furrows her brow. A sudden competitive energy sparks between them. Somehow, you knew this wasn’t going to end well. “No way, he pretty much creamed his pants the moment I sat down! My gas was way worse and you know it!”

“Yeah? You wanna bet, Amelia Fartson?”

“Fine, you’re on!”

Ame stands up and quickly yanks down her panties, nearly snapping the elastic when they pass over her extra wide hips. She kicks her underwear off the bed to join all the other pairs lying discarded on the floor.

Gura smirks. “Oh, you think going commando will help?”

“Maybe~. But I also got this!”

You feel a small bee sting on your shoulder. Your heartbeat quickens, a disconnecting floatiness pervades your body and every sensation suddenly feels more real. The soft bed sheets are an ocean of the finest silk, the smell of Gura’s sweaty ass is a thick unbearable miasma of stench, and the blood rushing to your dick is stronger than ever.

Ame slides her now empty syringe back into the holster on her thigh strap. “Hehe. Just a little Watson Concoction #06. It’s supposed to heighten senses during investigative work, but I think it’ll work for this, too.” Ame looks at your erection. It’s twitching and leaking pre-cum all over your thighs; the last eight hours of edging have brought you frustratingly close to climaxing dozens of times.

“Alright, make way, shrimp!” Ame says as she slams her butt against Gura’s to take her place. You almost bust your nut at the sight of Ame’s incredible bare ass but there’s just not enough physical stimulation.

“What? No way, no one said anything about using sketchy syringes!” Gura holds firm and tries to fend off Ame’s advance. “We should both go at the same time!”

“Ugh, fine, but gimme some space!” Ame growls and hits her with another hip check. “C’mon, your big stupid tail’s getting in the way!”

“That’s rich coming from Detective Fat Ass over here! Maybe if your cheeks weren’t the size of his dang head we wouldn’t have this problem! Just move over a little more!”

Two enormous asses slap and ripple together as Gura and Ame jockey for the best seat on your face. The meaty claps and slaps of their butt flesh colliding fill the room, shining droplets of sweat fly off their cheeks on each impact and you're caught in the drizzling crossfire. When they finally settle down, sweatier and muskier than ever, they’ve sealed you inside a natural dutch oven combining the worst of their scents. Ame’s enormous smelly gamer ass on the left, and Gura’s weeks-unwashed, fatty mounds on the right. Both of their buttcracks are ripe and radiating with the stench of the hellish farts they’ve been unloading all morning.

Gura pushes back with her hips and bites her bottom lip. Her clammy hands are grasping tightly at the hem of her hoodie while her stomach rumbles. “Oh man, these are gonna be awful! Better say your prayers, chumbie!”

Meanwhile, Ame massages her tummy to push down the rest of her gas. “Alright, Mr. Backseater.” She groans and clutches her gurgling stomach, her entire body tensing. “Maybe this’ll teach ya to keep your…nngh...stupid comments to yourself!”

With Ame and Gura burying your face under two mountains of sweaty ass like a shared toilet, they grit their teeth and unleash the loudest, wettest, most disgusting farts of the session. From Ame comes a ten second low-pitched room-clearing ripper that would have permanently stained any piece of underwear unfortunate enough to have been wrapped around her hips. The smell puts her earlier efforts to shame; concentrated ass stink mixed with Ame pheromones fill what miniscule air space there is around your nose. Simultaneously, Gura matches her busty blonde friend with an obscene cheek-clapper of her own, superheating the air with apocalyptically foul-smelling gas that could only come from a lazy fat-assed brat with too much fast food taking up her daily meals. Even one millisecond of that ocean of stink in your nostrils is enough to turn your stomach. The two putrid odors fight for dominance within your nose and mouth, only bolstering each other's terrible odor.

Your cock erupts the moment their combined shitstink rushes down your airways and hits the back of your throat. Your long withheld ejaculation fires thick arcing ropes of cum at the girls farting on your face, a few loads smack into Ame’s bangs and smear across her eyeglass hair pin, others hit Gura’s shoulder and slide down the side of her face. Gura and Ame tense up to force the final noxious splutter of gas onto your face with perfectly synched grunts of exertion.

“See…I told you..!” Gura pants. She points to the sticky ropes of semen trailing down her face. “That was all me!”

Ame wipes some of your cum from her hair. “You wish! I was the one that pushed him over the edge!”

The two of them heft their buttcheeks and stare down at your sweat-slathered, fart-soaked face. If they’re looking for verbal confirmation, you don’t have the strength to indicate one way or the other.

“He’s pretty much knocked out,” Gura sighs. “I think he was trying to point at me, though.”

“Sure, whatever you say. Now let’s get this guy outta here, we still have dinner with Calli tonight.”

Gura gets off your face and salutes. “Roger that!”

The handcuffs unlock behind your head. They’d be tied up so long it feels foreign to flex your hands. You feel your body tossing and turning as the girls unceremoniously shove you off the bed and onto the floor. Wind whistles past your ears and you’re plunged into pure blackness, falling gracelessly through one of Ina’s portals.

You wake up back in your bedroom. Above your head a dark portal swirls into a fine point, then disappears. Outside is the usual sound of evening traffic. Aside from the sun being lower in the sky, everything seems unchanged. The whole experience feels so outlandish, but the thin red rings around your wrists remain as physical proof. That, and the rancid odor of Ame and Gura’s farts still polluting your nasal passages. As you brush your teeth and gargle endlessly with mouthwash, you find you’re still very much looking forward to Ame’s next stream.