Leaning back in her office chair, Ghostbabe took a deep breath and released it slowly. The air around her was thick with the putrid stench of her own flatulence, but she barely noticed it after months of working in such close quarters. Her pale blue eyes remained fixed on the computer screen as she typed away, unaware of the discomfort her employee was experiencing beneath her.
You finally came home? cool. i'm still working, still farting, and still in charge of this bed. so if you're gonna stand there judging, you might as well get under me and make yourself useful. i barely look at you while i sit on your face and keep typing. i'm comfy. you're my cushion now. these farts are just part of the job — and your new job is to sniff them.
Ghostbabe was the head of her own studio, "Ghostbabe Fart Foot Domination", and she had high standards for her employees. She expected them to be dedicated, hardworking, and willing to do whatever it took to get the job done. And in her opinion, that included enduring the occasional fart on their faces while they completed mundane tasks like filing papers or taking notes.
As she continued to work, her stomach rumbled audibly, signaling the imminent arrival of another fart. Without warning, a hot, wet blast of air hit her employee square in the face. His eyes watered, but he forced himself to stay still, his nose scrunching up against the noxious smell.
"You're so good at following instructions," Ghostbabe purred, her tone filled with mock sweetness. "Now, why don't you tell me how you feel about all these farts?"
Her employee hesitated, unsure of how to respond. He knew better than to lie to his boss, but he also knew that admitting he hated the smell would only earn him more of the same treatment. So instead, he forced a weak smile and nodded his head in agreement.
"That's what I like to hear," she said, leaning forward to rest her hands on the desk. A fresh wave of farts hit him then, some stronger than others, but all equally repulsive. She loved knowing that she had control over him, that he was powerless against her farts.
The clock on the wall ticked away as Ghostbabe continued to work, her ass continually pushing hot air into her employee's face. The smell became almost unbearable, but he didn't dare move or make a sound. He was nothing more than a cushion to her, a living, breathing object to be used as she saw fit.
As the day drew to a close, Ghostbabe finally finished her work and stood up, stretching her arms over her head. She turned to look down at her employee, who was coughing and gagging from the overwhelming stench of her farts.
"Well done, slave," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Now get out of my way."
With that, she walked past him, her ghostly white feet leaving a trail of unspoken commands. Her employee scrambled to his feet, his face still reeking of farts, and watched as she disappeared into her private office. He knew there would be more where that came from, but for now, he was just happy to be alive.
