Chapter 6: Fart sex
The change in diet was chemical warfare. Ellie had switched them entirely to a slurry of canned beans, cheap protein powder, and lactose-heavy dairy supplements, all blended into a thick, beige paste. The results were immediate and seismic.
It started in the morning, a low chorus of gurgles from the tangled bodies in her bed. Then the first release, a long, shuddering braap from Brianna that vibrated through the mattress. Ellie, already awake and scrolling her earnings report, giggled. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”
It never really stopped. Every movement, every shift in position, elicited a gaseous reply. When Ellie rolled Kendra onto her stomach and pushed inside her, the force of the thrusts compressed the built-up fermentation in Kendra’s gut, creating a percussive, wet accompaniment to the slap of skin. Thrust. Pffft. Thrust. Brrrrrp.
Ellie, breathless, buried her face in Kendra’s neck. “You’re like a living whoopee cushion,” she gasped, not stopping. “It’s amazing.”
The filming sessions became longer, more ambitious. She bought a better microphone to capture every nuanced rumble and explosive release. She set up scenes.
“Okay, piggy pyramid!” she directed, clapping her hands. Brianna on her hands and knees at the base, then Kendra draped over Brianna’s back, and Maya atop Kendra. Three oiled, colossal asses stacked vertically. Ellie, dressed only in an oversized band t-shirt, walked into frame. She pressed a hand against Maya’s lower back, just above the red collar. “Group effort, on three. One… two…”
She pushed. A cascade of sound erupted, a layered symphony of pitches and durations, from Maya’s sharp toot down to Brianna’s deep, floor-shaking blast. The pyramid wobbled, giggling. Ellie beamed at the camera, adjusting her glasses. “Science! It’s all about directed pressure and internal biogas production. My little biogas factories.”
The comments rolled in. The money flowed faster.
It was the money that made her bold enough to think bigger. Three was a collection. Six would be a catalogue.
She needed air, or a version of it. She left the girls napping in a gas-filled, contented heap and stepped outside. The afternoon was bright, normal. She felt like a ghost among the living, her clothes smelling faintly of musk and coconut oil. She walked towards the park, a vague idea of clearing her head.
That’s when she saw them. Three women power-walking on the jogging path, all in matching, high-end leggings. They were different—one brunette, one a redhead, one with a blonde ponytail—but they shared a single, impossible trait: their asses. Each one was a monumental, gravity-defying sphere that strained against the slick fabric with every stride. They weren't just thicc; they were architectural. Ellie’s mouth went dry.
Her heart did a nervous, excited flutter. This was fieldwork.
She altered her course, intercepting them near a water fountain. She pretended to fumble with her phone, dropping it just as they approached. The blonde, the leader, slowed. “You okay?”
“Oh, jeez, total klutz,” Ellie said, bending over. She made sure to exhale deeply, letting her scent roll off her. She stood, phone in hand, and smiled her most awkward, non-threatening smile. The three women had stopped. The redhead’s nose twitched. The brunette’s eyes lost their focus, drifting to Ellie’s neck.
“Thanks for stopping,” Ellie said, her voice light. “I’m, uh, actually having a thing at my place? Just down the block. A post-workout… refuel party? My roommates and I made way too much protein shake. It’s, like, seriously too much. You look like you could use it.”
There was no hesitation. The blonde nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, a refuel. That sounds… really good.”
They followed her like sleepwalkers. In the apartment, the smell hit them—the layered pheromones, the lingering traces of the girls’ emissions. Their eyes glazed over completely. Brianna, Kendra, and Maya wandered out of the bedroom, curious. Seeing the three new, magnificent behinds, they didn’t get jealous. They just looked at Ellie with a kind of awe.
“More sisters,” Brianna slurred happily.
Ellie was a whirlwind of dorky efficiency. She pulled three more ceramic bowls from a cabinet—she’d bought extras, just in case—and mixed a fresh, enormous batch of her bloating slurry in the blender. The machine screamed. She poured the glop into the bowls, lining them up on the kitchen floor beside the original three.
“Okay, new piggies! Rules are simple. Get on your knees. Collars come after you eat. And don’t be shy.”
The joggers—Stacey, Chloe, and Jordan, as they’d mumbled—dropped to the linoleum without a second thought. The sound of their eating was a messy, hungry chorus. Ellie fetched the new collars—purple, blue, and green. She buckled them on as they fed, the leather stark against their sweating necks.
Later, in the main room, she had them all on display. Six women. Six of the most spectacular asses she’d ever seen, oiled and twitching under the ring light. She weaved between them, a scrawny conductor before an orchestra of flesh.
“This is progress,” she narrated softly to the camera on its tripod. “This is growth. Say hello, everyone.”
A mumbled, polyphonic “hello” drifted up.
Ellie smacked Chloe’s behind, the new blue collar tight against her skin. The resulting fart was a masterpiece, a long, trumpeting declaration of presence. Ellie laughed, a genuine, giddy sound. “See? They’re all so talented. So productive.” She walked to the head of the line and looked down at Brianna, her first. She ran a hand through Brianna’s hair. “You started this, you know. My perfect, nasty little pig.”
She addressed the camera directly, her glasses slipping down her nose. “Subscription just doubled. Worth it.” She reached for the zipper of her jeans. The six figures knelt, waiting, breathing heavily, the air thick and warm and humming with promise. Ellie smiled. The feed was live.