While I lied still, pressed up against the bunghole of my girlfriend, sniffing her crap and kissing her pink flesh, I couldn’t help but laugh at my position. From the third person of course, there was no room for actual laughter in my place. If I could look forward in time, from before this happened, I would’ve laughed too. That’s the position I like to imagine myself in. Unfortunately, my imagination and hope is really all I actually have right now. And that’s one of the hopeless things for me, is that my imagination can turn on me, and break me down more than any physical torture imaginable.

Surprisingly, I feared her ass more than I actually hated enduring it. There were downsides, a lot of downsides as well as being extremely few benefits. But those benefits gave me the view that I could have it worse. That gave me hope, but that hope had made my imagination turn on me. Now, I was being pressed up against Elizabeth’s anus, being mushed against the rolling mounds that surrounded me, giving me no space to breathe or get comfortable. But my mind thought it could be worse, such as the prospect of Elizabeth deciding to pass gas.

That was a notion that first appeared I my thoughts when I first saw her butt at my new size. In my position, a fart could possibly kill me   - though I wasn’t dead from massive amounts of pressure – and rightly so, I feared my girlfriend indulging in unladylike behaviour. I never heard her fart when I was at my regular height, as I said; she was as feminine as they come. But in a day, she forced me to smell her old dry shit, sleep in her underwear, become so embedded within her cheeks that I am forced against her butthole so much that I am practically kissing it; releasing some gas was not something I should dismiss.

I play out the scenario in my mind, numerous times with different circumstances. In one, I am against her butthole, still and stiff. Then, I feel the anus flex, as if it’s about to suck me in, ‘it’s all over’ I think to myself, ‘I’m about to become a human butt plug’, but then, a burst of gas escapes from the depths of her bowels. I feel the force against my body, my hair blown back and the fat on my face barely able to stay on. I inhale what little oxygen I have, but it’s too late. It’s already been usurped by her fart. I unwillingly breathe in her toxic gas, and choke to death. But, I cannot die like that, so in my new scenario, my lungs have changed along with my new height. I am able to freely breathe in the fart to my heart’s content. But the smell still pervades the air, and I cannot bear to endure the smell any longer. I haven’t figured out what comes next though. In my head, it sounds like thunder, and I almost die from the sheer intensity of the heat. The heat in Elizabeth’s ass is actually satisfactory. The constant friction meant it never got cold and I’m able to sweat considerably. But her enormous gas leak would kill me; another humiliating way to go. A third possibility is a release of gas that we refer to as ‘silent but deadly’. I imagine with me being at the source, I most definitely notice a fart slipping out her butthole. They say they tend to smell worse, but in my experience – at my normal height – I’ve come to the conclusion that they are worse because they catch people by surprise. People are more offended that they’ve just inhaled somebody’s ass gas. Hilarious if you’re the one who caused the smell, the criminal is always blessed to enjoy the case of Schadenfreude. In my unfortunate case, I would be blessed to play the victim. But I would know if it were coming. Hopefully I would know, because in my head, I can see it playing out. I would hear slight rumble, maybe a small groan beyond the hole. I would feel the anus pucker, to deliver my kiss, and it would be sort of anti-climactic. It would seep through the opening that the hole made, or perhaps it would be a large quiet puff of gas. Both of them are different in a way, as if it were long and drawn out, it would flow into my nostrils and mouth and into my lungs. I could try and cough out the foul air, but with my entire front body against Elizabeth’s asshole, I couldn’t really move my body to my intentions. The large burst would be insulting to me, as it was basically a slap in the face; large, rotten, gesture of disrespect. But in the end, it would be her choice to let one rip on my poor defenceless body. It’s all disrespect; it’s all a punishment.

                I felt the giant, fleshy walls bring even more weight into my world – oh god, I just referred to my girlfriends ass crack as my world – so I assumed she must have lain down. In my thoughts about farting, I neglected to mention the specific smell. That detail was entirely out of my control. At most, I could think that my body would absorb most of the incoming winds and the sound and the eventual type of fart would eventually be affected by something blocking its exit. It was what she was going to have for breakfast. I believe she wasn’t one for eggs – thank the heavens – but I was in her butt crack, what did I know about her? She would eat eggs just to torture me, just like she ‘forgot’ to wipe properly. It made me realise once again that I am not only against her asshole, but my back is covered in a crap-stained cloth.  I tried to shudder, but my bonds wouldn’t let me. Then I realised that she was fond of coffee. I found it odd, because if she did continue her daily routine of a morning dose of caffeine, then her attacks of gas would emerge sooner rather than later. Then I thought of why that would happen.

I completely forgot about the main purpose of the butt. The removal of wastes, which would eventually be her coffee, was something I was most definitely going to experience and become familiar with. I’d rather take the worst farts than be forced upon a freshly used anus. And if she wasn’t strict on her hygiene habits, then I was soon to be in for what she would probably call ‘a treat’. A very unsanitary one at that was all of this really warranted?

                I felt her grind into her chair, rubbing me against her sensitive hole. I knew it was giving her a pleasure of more than revenge, because it was occasionally being interrupted by a slight jump. The jump was usually cause by me being partially inserted further – not full, fortunately, but enough to frighten me (and excite her). She was enjoying this, I knew it; I was now nothing but a pleasure toy for her. I was essentially an object, and I knew it. But I still hold strong, in my head. My body was limp and numb from the force coming from all directions. My nose grew tired of enduring the stench of ass and shit. My eyes still were not adjusting to the darkness of the cave. I was expecting to be absorbed by the flesh. The grinding was coming to and I prayed that it wasn’t because a pressure was building up within her. The gods are not kind to me. She was leaning, with one cheek in the air on an angle. I knew what it was. It was nothing like I imagined, I thought it would be quick, but it was a storm; an onslaught of gas that I couldn’t evade, with an abrupt end but the aftermath still prevalent. The fart seemed to replace what little air I had, and created an atmosphere of crap smelling fumes. The heat was worse than I speculated; it was a preview of her insides, and the constant process of refining her shit. This scared me, as I was now enduring a miniature heat wave and I couldn’t afford to pass out. An act of surrender so pathetic, to succumb to her fart was to rant her ultimate power over me. But for me, my body was weak, and I could no longer linger in that chamber of foul air.