As I sat cross-legged on my couch, lost in the world of my favorite video game, I couldn't help but feel a slight discomfort in my rear end. It was nothing compared to the humiliation my slavefart was currently experiencing, though. He knelt before me, his body tense and ready for whatever I might ask of him next. His job was simple: to be there when I needed him, whether that meant fetching me snacks or serving as a human footstool when I felt like playing games.
Today, I decided to take things a step further. I stood up and motioned for him to come closer. He hesitated for a moment before managing to force himself forward, his eyes locked on mine. "Slave," I commanded, gesturing towards the spot where he was supposed to wait patiently for my next order.
As soon as he was in position, I stepped over him casually, using his body as a makeshift stool while I continued playing. The sensation wasn't entirely unpleasant; his warmth seeped through my thin thong panties and into my skin, reminding me that he was there for my every whim.
The sound of his stomach rumbling caught my attention, and I glanced down at him out of curiosity. His face was red with embarrassment, but he couldn't hide the bulge in his pants that indicated he was about to relieve himself - again. I chuckled darkly, my fingers dancing across the controller as I contemplated what I should do with him next.
"You know what would make a great chair?" I mused aloud, not waiting for him to respond. "Your farts, that's what."
Without warning, I shoved him roughly off my feet, sending him sprawling onto the floor. "Start farting," I commanded, my voice hard and unforgiving.
At first, he hesitated, but when I didn't issue any further instructions, he knew what he had to do. His cheeks hollowed out as he strained to release his first fart, and when it finally escaped, it was loud and proud. The acrid smell of his flatulence filled the room, causing me to wrinkle my nose in disgust. But that was his duty - to serve me in any way possible, regardless of the humiliation he was forced to endure.
"That's it, slave," I said, my voice taking on a cruel edge. "Keep farting. Maybe I'll let you use your face as a pillow next."
I continued playing my game, ignoring him for the most part as he lay there on the floor, his body shaking with each successive fart. It was almost as if he were performing some bizarre dance just for my amusement. And that thought made me chuckle even more.
As the hours passed, my amusement eventually gave way to simple disregard. I didn't bother to acknowledge him as I stepped over him once again, using him as nothing more than a footstool. He was just a tool to me, a means to an end, and I had no qualms about treating him as such.
Near the end of my gaming session, I glanced down at him one last time. His eyes were closed and his face was pale, but there was still a faint hint of pride on his features. Despite everything he had endured, he still found some small measure of satisfaction in knowing that he had served his purpose. And in that moment, I realized that there would always be a certain twisted allure to having a slavefart at my beck and call.
