The Training of Our Perfect Fart Slave
As the evening sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the room, we took our seats on the plush leather sofa. Our eyes never leaving the video monitor that displayed the progress of our latest fart slave. He knelt before us, his head bowed in submission, his heart racing with anticipation. He knew what was coming next.
We'd been working with him for several weeks now, and he'd already proven to be exceptional at his tasks. He'd grown quite adept at consuming our farts and sharts, never once gagging or showing any signs of discomfort. But there was still one area where he needed improvement - his lung capacity.
Our fart slave stared longingly at the bulging mass between our legs, his mouth watering in anticipation of the rich, noxious gas that was about to fill his lungs. He'd been trained to crave the intoxicating aroma of our farts, knowing that it would be his only source of sustenance for as long as we kept him bound to us.
With a flick of our fingers, we released the first fart into the air. It billowed out before us, filling the room with its pungent stench. Without hesitation, our fart slave bent forward, pressing his face against our legs, eagerly inhaling the noxious gas.
We watched in silence as he sucked in the fart, his cheeks hollowing as the air was pushed from his lungs. When he could draw no more into his body, he released a loud, long exhale, the fart escaping from his mouth in a thick, white cloud.
We smirked, impressed by his dedication, but not satisfied. We needed to push him further, to test his limits, to see just how much he could handle. So, we leaned back in the sofa, smothering his face with our perfect asses, trapping the precious oxygen underneath us.
Our fart slave struggled against the weight of our bodies, his lungs burning for air, his mind reeling from the suffocating sensation. But he didn't give up. He knew that this was part of his training, that we were only testing his resolve.
We set a timer, eager to see just how long he could last without air. Minutes ticked by, our asses still firmly planted on his face, trapping the precious oxygen underneath us. Slowly but surely, his struggles began to weaken, his arms losing strength, his body growing limp.
But just when we thought he'd given up, he surprised us. With one last surge of effort, he pushed himself up, his face red and flushed, his eyes wild with determination. He'd managed to hold his breath for an impressive two minutes, more than double his previous record.
We nodded in approval, impressed by his progress. But there was still work to be done. We leaned back in again, smothering him once more with our perfect asses. This time, we set the timer for three minutes. We knew it would be tough on him, but we also knew that it was necessary for him to become the perfect fart slave.
As the seconds ticked by, we could feel his body shuddering against our asses, his lungs burning for air. But he didn't give up. He knew that this was his destiny, that he was being groomed to be the ultimate fart slave.
Finally, the timer went off, signaling the end of his ordeal. We sat up, allowing him to gulp in the sweet, sweet air once more. He collapsed on the floor, exhausted but satisfied. We'd pushed him further than he'd ever been pushed before, but he'd come out stronger on the other side.
We patted him on the head, our fingers tracing the outline of his head. "Good job, slave," we said, our voices soft but commanding. "You've made us proud."
Our fart slave looked up at us, his eyes shining with gratitude and admiration. He knew that we held his fate in our hands, that we could make him suffer or make him happy. For now, he was content to bask in the glow of our approval, knowing that he'd done well and that there was still so much more to learn.
We smiled down at him, our hearts filled with a sense of satisfaction. We'd found our perfect fart slave, and we were going to make sure that he stayed that way. There was no limit to the lengths we'd go to ensure his training was complete, and his loyalty to us was absolute.
