As I settled into my comfortable chair, my mind began to wander towards the emails I needed to answer. The hum of the fan provided a soothing background noise that helped me concentrate, but it wasn't long before an unwanted thought invaded my mind: I really needed to fart.
I'd had a cup of coffee earlier, and the gas was building up uncomfortably inside me. I glanced at my desk, my eyes landing on the fancy leather fart seat that my slave had bought me. With a sigh, I stood up and grabbed the seat, placing it carefully on the floor in front of my chair.
"Now, where was I?" I muttered to myself, sitting down again and opening my laptop. I ignored my fart slave for the most part - sending him a few humiliating sentences here and there about how he was there to inhale and taste my farts, but otherwise leaving him to his own devices.
The gas pains grew more insistent, and finally, I couldn't stand it anymore. I stood up again, kicking the fart seat away and pulling off my skirt. The moment my bare bottom made contact with the cool leather of the seat, I let loose a huge, satisfying fart.
"Ahhhh," I moaned, closing my eyes and savoring the feeling of the hot, putrid air escaping my body. My slave whimpered in anticipation, eagerly awaiting his turn to be gassed and humiliated.
I took my time, enjoying the comfort of the chair and the warmth of the farting. Finally, when I was good and ready, I stood up again and bent over, presenting my ass to my fart slave. "Go on," I said, "deep sniff, open wide for your queen."
With trembling hands, he reached out and pressed his face against my ass cheeks, inhaling deeply. I felt his warm breath on my skin, and then the coolness of his tongue as he tried to lick up the remnants of my fart.
I let out another loud fart, this one aimed directly at his face. He sputtered and coughed, trying to swallow the thick, noxious gas that invaded his mouth. I laughed heartily, enjoying every moment of his discomfort.
After a while, I grew bored and moved on to other tasks, leaving my fart slave to deal with the aftermath. I felt a twinge of guilt as I thought about how he must be feeling, but it was quickly replaced by a sense of satisfaction at having found a comfortable way to relieve myself.
As I worked, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in the power I held over him. I was his mistress, his queen, and he would do anything for me - even endure the stench and humiliation of being used as a fart seat. It was a strange kind of comfort, but one that I had grown to rely on in our twisted relationship.
Later, as I drifted off to sleep, I remember thinking about the emails I had answered. I couldn't quite recall what they had been about, but I didn't really care. All that mattered was that I had found comfort in my farting slave, and he in me. We were a terrible pair, bound together by our perverse desires, but somehow, we made it work.
