Misc Greentexts


                                            Reposting from my pastebin. Here are some miscellaneous greens written over the last few months, primarily on /trash/.


                                            Button's Mom


                                            >The three foals burst into Button's room with such excitement they almost sent his tower of collectable figures toppling to the floor.

                                            >School was out early today, and that meant it was time for video games, snacks, and sweet sweet procrastination.

                                            >"What should we play first? I got Dragon Knight II or Super Space Pony!"

                                            >"Ooh, Dragon Knight II? I heard that if you collect all the golden bits you unlock a secret level where you can totally make out with the damsel in distress!"

                                            >"No way they'd put that in a video game!"

                                            >"Yes way!"

                                            >The argument continued a while longer while Button fumbled to slot the cartridge into the console.

                                            >Being the only colt in class with a console meant Button would always have to endure a little bickering from his friends.

                                            >They weren't even arguing about the game anymore, as far as Button could tell they had moved on to feuding about who was the gayest.

                                            >But what happened next would shut them both up for good.

                                            >Something deep and loud came booming through the walls, like the muffled sound of a foghorn out at sea.

                                            >Button and his friends went stock still.

                                            >"What was that?"

                                            >Button returned with a nervous chuckle. He knew exactly what that sound was.

                                            >"Oh, it was p-probably the heater or something! This house is always making strange noises!"

                                            >Then, it came again, twice as long this time, rumbling through the walls, and followed by a blissful sigh.

                                            >"That's no water heater, dude..."

                                            >The three foals snapped round to the door, where Button's mom had a sweaty towel slung around her neck.

                                            >She was wearing her skin-tight, all-revealing yoga outfit. The one that really accentuated every curve and swell of her mature body.

                                            >Her afternoon yoga always got her stomach in a frenzy.

                                            >"Button, sweetie, nhhf... do you have the Gas-X in here? Mommy's got a little..."

                                            >Then, with only a soft grunt as warning, a fanfare of bubbling bass squelched through her sweaty lycra suit.

                                            >Button's friends went from silent to shocked.

                                            >She had just ripped flank right in front of them!

                                            >They didn't even know mares could do that...

                                            >"Whoopsie!" She flapped her hooves around in the air, not really achieving anything aside from stirring up the thick stench and wafting it right into her son's bedroom.

                                            >"See, I've been on this new all-veggie diet to slim down a bit, and..."

                                            >Her belly gurgled.

                                            >"Well, it gives me horrible gas! Sorry about all the noise! I'll just grab what I need real quick and leave you boys to it!"

                                            >Without even asking permission, she hobbled her way into Button's room and began to rummage around through the mess.

                                            >"Sweetie, you really need to..."

                                            PRRT

                                            >"...clean up more often! You're a pony, not a pig, so I don't expect to see you living in a sty, mister!"

                                            >"Y-Yes, Mom..."

                                            >Button couldn't even look his friends in the eyes. Every time another putrid fart plopped out of his mom's ass he withdrew into his shame even more.

                                            >By now the smell of momfarts had filled each and every corner of the room, and Button and his friends were surprised that vegetables could smell even worse than they tasted.

                                            >"Aha! Here we go... let's see... take two tablets a day...."

                                            >Her rump pushed out a wet squeak.

                                            >"...Ooh, the way I've been cutting these awful things all day I'll need at least four..."

                                            >"C-Can you go now, Mom?" Button pleaded.

                                            >His friends were already coughing on the smell of bitter asparagus, covering their muzzles with their hats to try and block it out.

                                            >"Hm? Oh, of course! Silly me, I don't want to cramp your style, but one last thing..."

                                            >She advanced towards Button and held out her upper limb.

                                            >"Pull my hoof! I got a real doozy brewing up in my belly!"

                                            >"Mo-om, I don't wanna-"

                                            >"Oh, just a little tug! Mommy's gotta rip one real bad and it's stuck!"

                                            >Her fat ass wiggled a bit, and Button's friends couldn't help but stare.

                                            >"F-Fine..."

                                            >He apprehensively reached forward, and yanked at his Mom's hoof.

                                            >She lifted her leg in the most obvious way possible, further spoiling the ambience in the room with her wettest, bubbliest fart yet.

                                            >Her face melted into relief as it churned out of her spanex-clad rump for what had to be at least ten whole seconds.

                                            >"Ahhhh... that's the ticket..."

                                            >With a gleeful giggle she shuffled back to the door, using her tail to spread the smell of fermented veggies around the room full of foals, giving them all a good taste of her leafy lunch.

                                            >Button would never, ever live this down.

                                            >He would henceforth be known as the colt with a Mom who can out-fart a heffer.

                                            >And the worst part was he was slightly proud of that fact.


                                            Nightmare Moon


                                            >Caramel Crunch never saw it coming.

                                            >He had returned to pay his respects to Nightmare Moon's statue when his world was turned upside and thrust between two endless moons.

                                            >It had started as a strange noise echoing between the trees, like mangled laughter, but soon this dark essence had coalesced into a physical form.

                                            >And that physical form was all of a sudden coming right for him.

                                            >He whited out for half a second, and when his senses returned he was pinned up against the base of the grand statue and unable to move.

                                            >He could see nothing but darkness ahead of him, and feel nothing but warm, supple flesh.

                                            >Shuffling around like she was breaking in a lumpy stool, Nightmare Moon gave Caramel a glimpse over the brow of her haunches.

                                            >He swallowed a cold lump of lead when he peered up through the steamy bodily heat to see her long, jagged smile starting right back.

                                            >"Comfortable?" She mocked, grinding her glorious black ass into Caramel's face, wiping his head up and down the cold stone and infusing his sinuses with the natural smell of dark, misty rump.

                                            >Caramel was so paralysed with fear that it took him a few seconds to register that his head was pushed up against the fatal flanks of the mare in the moon herself.

                                            >He panicked, thrashing his body about in a feeble attempt at escape.

                                            >"Now, now. Settle down, little one. You brought this upon yourself, so no quarrelling!"

                                            >Caramel tried to sputter out a string of excuses, but each and every word was muffled beneath her ass.

                                            >"I don't like liars." She hushed, quickly shunting all of her weight back into Caramel's head to remind him of her power and influence.

                                            >Years of candy tributes had made her ass so fat that it rebounded off his head slightly.

                                            >"And I know you were dishonest with your offering this year, dear Caramel. Eating all the lovely sugary sweets yourself and leaving me all the nasty, tacky, sugar-free ones? Tut tut."

                                            >As the taunting words slithered from her tongue she was massaging her blotched black meat all over Caramel's face, up and down, left and right, pressing that warm blubbery mass into each and every angle of his head so that he wouldn't soon forget the natural musk of a goddess.

                                            >"And not only was your tribute paltry and inadequate, it has stirred up something quite fierce inside me."

                                            >That's when, through all the sounds of butt rubbing and grinding and jiggling, Caramel could hear Nightmare Moon's innards twisting up in pain.

                                            >The sounds pealed around him, groaning like old creaky ship hulls, gurgling off into little bubbly flourishes.

                                            >His sugarless candies were causing quite a ruckus deep within the core of her stomach, and soon would be raising a similarly raucous stink all over Caramel's vulnerable face.

                                            >"But don't take my word for it. Smell for yourself~"

                                            >Entrenched deep between her tight ass-crack, Nightmare Moon's crater was puckering and flexing in preparation.

                                            >"Biiiig breaths now, little one..."

                                            >She grunted, her entire form shifting around on top of him, and then...

                                            prrt

                                            >The toot was anticlimactic to say the least.

                                            >Or rather, that's what Caramel thought to himself before he caught a whiff.

                                            >For in that one tiny burst of air was an entire night of fermented, soured candies.

                                            >His floundering returned as he choked down the noxious fumes, but Nightmare Moon was sure to keep him locked in place, easing out a much longer volley of murky, bubbly flatulence for him to feast on.

                                            >"This is all your fault! It was those peppermint creams of yours that kicked this tummyache off! Go ahead, see if you can pick out that little minty kick!"

                                            >Her ass regurgitated another wet, trumpeting fart to ensure Caramel's every breath was filled with the thick, cloying stench of caramelized sulfur.

                                            >He tried holding his breath, for a little while at least, but that only made the eventual inhale twice as soul-withering.

                                            >He didn't think candy could ever reek this badly. He didn't think ANYTHING could, but the swampy ambience in the air was proof.

                                            >"I hope now you shall think twice before hoarding the good stuff and offering up the dregs to your beloved empress of the night!"

                                            >Yet another wretched fart burbled through Nightmare's moons, holding off the cold of the deep October night with its sickening humidity.

                                            >"But I will accept another form of worship, little one, for I am kind and quite benevolent tonight. A kiss. One little kiss, betwixt my plump crescents."

                                            >She shook her ass about, parting her cheeks and enclosing Caramel's muzzle between them to show him where she wanted it.

                                            >Her ass was even hotter inside, and stunk of residual vapors.

                                            >But Caramel knew he had no say in this matter, so he struggled to pucker his lips in the marshy darkness.

                                            >The moment Nightmare Moon could feel his mouth bumping up against her hole, she smashed herself back into it, taking Caramel by surprise and sealing his parted mouth around her wrinkled asshole.

                                            >Before he had a chance to accustom himself to this forced kiss, his cheeks were flooded with a foggy hiss of flatus.

                                            >Thick, acrid smog poured over his tongue and down his throat with a hollowed-out ripping sound.

                                            >Nightmare Moon was delighting in the relief of pumping this pony's face full of her cadaverous fog, moaning and chewing on her lip.

                                            >This was her longest fart of the night, finally concluding at a whopping eighteen seconds.

                                            >And every pound of that gas had rushed down Caramel's gullet. He could feel it warming his body as it went, slowly filling his stomach with the taste of sour candy.

                                            >More farts came, and he gulped down each one.

                                            >The sound of Nightmare Moon's ass rumbling down his throat was glorious. The highlight of her evening.

                                            >She peered back at the tuft of mane sprouting out from her crack, then up to the imposing statue of herself.

                                            >It wasn't bad, but there was one glaring mistake.

                                            >The ass had not been sculped nearly big enough.


                                            Autumn Blaze x Anon


                                            >Autumn Blaze bursts through the bedroom door with a bundle of apple pastries still stuffed into her cheeks.

                                            >A few flecks of snow from outside melt away as she struts into the warmth of your shared abode, and even though she's in the middle of tackling her carnival fare that doesn't stop her from talking.

                                            >"Wow! Anon, th hearthswarming festival is a success! I've nevehr tastehd so musch great food in all my life!"

                                            >She gulps it all down to continue speaking, giving you a brief interlude to try and take it all in.

                                            >Something tells you that the good night's sleep you were hoping for might not be so easy to obtain.

                                            >"There were carnival games and presents and so so many treats from Ponyville! Y'know, I never had an apple fritter before tonight! I must've eaten like fifteen of them!"

                                            >You simply breathe through your nose, quite indignantly, and watch her skipping over to the bed.

                                            >Ever since your little dip in the stream of silence, you've found yourself defaulting to inhaling through your nostrils instead of your mouth.

                                            >It just makes things easier, but introduces a problem whenever she overeats or gets herself too worked up.

                                            >Peering below her, you feel your heart drop when you notice just how bloated her stomach is.

                                            >That can't be good.

                                            >"I was eating so much food that they had to introduce a limit per kirin! I cleared out the entire buffet table, and the chocolate fountain was running dry by the time I was through with it! Don't even get me started on how good the fried pickles were!"

                                            >With a bright, merry little giggle she hops up onto your side of the bed, awkwardly clambering and rolling over your body.

                                            >As she tumbles past, her ass comes within a few inches of your face.

                                            >And of course the moment she puts some pressure on her belly, it shakes something loose.

                                            >A quick puff of torrid air blows into your face, small but filled with the stench of greasy meats and cheeses all condensed and simmered down in her stove of a belly.

                                            >"Ah! Sorry there, Anon! I'm thinking something I ate maybe isn't sitting right with me, if only I could remember what it was..."

                                            >Judging by the smell, it was some kind of oil-soaked veggie dog monstrosity. The kind that probably only scarcely passes kirin consumption laws.

                                            >Dazed from the smell and heat, you white out for a few seconds until Autumn nuzzles into your side.

                                            >She's under the covers now, getting comfy against you as her limbs sprawl out across the mattress.

                                            >Aside from her snout drilling into your shoulder, you also feel her drum-tight belly resting against your lower body.

                                            >It seems to be stewing up quite a commotion, you can hear and feel the busy bubbles clamoring deep inside, desperate for release.

                                            >"Hope you don't mind a few more like that, I really gotta air out some of this carnival grub. Just tell me if it gets too stinky!"

                                            >She giggles at your inability to do so and turns onto her back.

                                            >This position must be better for venting out her built up fumes, because not two seconds pass before a crack of deep, fiery thunder tears through the bed, powerful enough to flutter the sheets.

                                            >It's unfortunate that her ass is as loquacious as her lips; just when you think she must be done, you feel her tense up against you and then drum another several pounds of white hot flatulence into your shared mattress.

                                            >Her cheeks let off more heat than a freshly-filled hot water bottle, you're actually concerned that she's going to singe your skin whenever her butt angles towards you and sounds off.

                                            >"This next one is gonna be the last, I promise!"

                                            >*grrrgl*

                                            >"...maybe..."

                                            >The bed frame rattles with every aftershock she delivers into it.

                                            >Her deep-fried farts are now swirling and coalescing under the blankets in such a thick, saturated cloud that you can feel the pressure of it bearing down on your body.

                                            >And that's when Autumn makes the mistake of opening the seal in the covers.

                                            >The heat was tolerable enough, but when it's paired with the smell it becomes a whole different beast.

                                            >Dozens of trapped farts come storming out in a horde of stench, you attempt to hold your breath until it passes but even a minute later the aroma is just as strong.

                                            >Autumn, however, couldn't be more amused.

                                            >"Peee yew! That came outta me? What crawled into my colon and died, am I right?"

                                            >You simply stare at her in silence, your eyes wet from the exposure to her flatus.

                                            >You're trying to telepathically tell her to please shut up for a moment, from both ends preferably.

                                            >But she just can't take the hint.

                                            >"Hey! Pull my hoof! Come on, this is something Applejack showed me!"

                                            >She waves it up in the air for you, but you refuse to take the bait.

                                            >"Fine, spoil sport. Guess I'll have to do it myself!"

                                            >She gives it a tug and self ignites.

                                            >A scorching heat sputters into the bed, this has to be her hottest fart yet and almost all of it is hitting you directly with a solar intensity to rival Celestia herself.

                                            >Spilling out of her in a steamy plume, the densely sweltering storm quickly floods all the space under the covers and rushes out over the top to torment you again, aided by a few playful wafts of Autumn's hoof.

                                            >Your nosehairs sizzle as you sniff, eaten away like candle wicks at the smell of spoiled carnival food with a sharp smoky afterscent.

                                            >Ten seconds pass, fifteen, and the same fart continues without pause. You swear it's even getting louder.

                                            >Just as amazed as you are that it's still going strong, Autmn hikes up her hind leg with a blissful sigh, shifting the pitch and timbre slightly along with her position.

                                            >As she does so her tummy brushes up against your arm.

                                            >You feel that it's nowhere near empty and your blood runs ice cold (but is promptly heated back up by exposure to her gassy furnace blast).

                                            >You're going to be dreaming of smelly kirinbutt for weeks...


                                            Spike x Anon facesitting


                                            >"Okay okay! Fine, I'll do it! But you're sweeping the floor for the next month. AND taking over my bookcase reshelving duties every other Thursday."

                                            >You thank Spike profusely, and he can't help but blush at your enthusiasm to sniff his little dragon butt.

                                            "Maybe... we don't tell Twilight about this?"

                                            >"Don't worry, dude. Our little secret. But don't go thinking this is anything more than a one time thing! Now, hurry up and lie down, those nachos are tearing me apart..."

                                            >He rubs a claw over his bloated, groaning stomach, actually motioning you to lean in and listen to it just to hear how ferociously all those bubbles are cooking up inside.

                                            >With you on your back, and everything in position, Spike steps up onto your chest, struggling to balance as he turns around and drops his butt right down onto your available face.

                                            >The first thing to hit you is the lack of heat.

                                            >His smooth, scaled skin presses onto yours like an ice pack, drawing the nervous warmth out of your cheeks as he shifts around.

                                            >The second thing to strike you is his teeny dragon cloaca, wrinkling up against your upturned notsrils, already smelling slightly musty.

                                            >"How's that? I'm in position, right?"

                                            >He can't even hear your answer. His belly is roaring so loudly it's all he can focus on.

                                            >With his cheeks comfortably formed around your face, and his fleshy dragonhole in prime position, Spike gives a boyish grunt and squeezes out a short, sharp fart for you.

                                            >The heat is intense; it blazes into your nostrils like a bunsen burner, so blindingly hot that it actually numbs face for a few seconds.

                                            >Jeez, you're surprised that little blast didn't singe your nose clean off.

                                            >And as soon as you get over the heat of it the stench hits you even harder.

                                            >Spike's bowels reek of raw, unfiltered sulfur and something sour and smokey.

                                            >You writhe around a bit, just impulsively, Spike giggles above you.

                                            >"I warned you! My taco farts are not friendly! But hey, they still got nothing on Twilight's morning thunder. Believe me, that pony could clear a cathedral with how bad her farts stink."

                                            >The humidity lowers back to a tolerable level, leaving you to sniff up the last few traces of gas that linger around his winking hole.

                                            >All this time, without you even considering it, your cock has been steadily growing in your pants.

                                            >At first, Spike could ignore it, but now your bulge is massive enough to fill up his entire field of vision.

                                            >"Hah. Looks you do enjoy this stuff after all. Even with all that jolting around, I'm actually kinda impressed!"

                                            >He rubs his warm hole against your nose, like he's thanking you for a job well done.

                                            >"But they're only gonna get gnarlier from here on out..."

                                            >Uh oh.

                                            >That last one was bad enough.

                                            >You actually start to doubt yourself as Spike readies another fart.

                                            >He balls his fists, straining with even more exaggeration this time, really pushing his ass down hard on your face.

                                            >His wrinkled anus opens wide around your nose and belches out a long, howling wind, hotter than lava.

                                            >You have to close your eyes to stop them from tearing up as the sweltering breeze rolls across your face, flooding your nostrils with hot salsa-tinged stink.

                                            >Your feet curl, your hands grip into fists.

                                            >Holy shit, it's like your airways are peeling.

                                            >And yet despite the heat, and the smell, and the fact it bastes your face for almost twenty seconds, you can't get enough of it.

                                            >Spike leans forward, lifting his rear up off your head, peering back to see his fumes steaming out of your nostrils.

                                            >"Haha! Your face! Man, you look about ready to surrender!"

                                            >Some of his own fiery brand wafts up to him.

                                            >"Ew, I'm not surprised! That is nasty!"

                                            >His ass thumps back down, trapping you with the heat and the smell.

                                            >"Oof, I'm gonna be here for a while, Anon. Better get used to it!"


                                            Twilight x Anon hayburger facefarts


                                            >Twilight is always so lazy after eating.

                                            >Especially a big meal like the one tonight.

                                            >But she uses these moments of sluggishness to appease your more deviant side.

                                            >And so every evening, while her belly is working away on breaking down the pounds of hay, cheese and fat, she plops her plump self over you.

                                            >With your face tucked nice and snug into her warm rump.

                                            >Twilight stirs.

                                            >She lifts her ass away from your face, wiggling it before releasing a wet, quacking fart all over you.

                                            >With a sigh, she rests back down, blocking out the light again.

                                            >"Mhh. Was that one good enough? Or, uh, bad enough, I guess..." Twilight giggles.

                                            >Oh, it's more than good enough.

                                            >It's moist, warm, and smells exactly like the double-stacked hayburger you watched her wolf down an hour ago.

                                            >You can hear something coming from outside the mask of Twilight's bubbly ass.

                                            >Chewing sounds.

                                            >She's still eating!?

                                            >"Sorry.. mnf... hope you don't mind if I finish off these onion rings. They're just sooo good with the ranch dip.."

                                            >Twilight blows a thick trumpet fart into your face, the meaty stench rings around your nostrils as you inhale.

                                            >Something tells you you'll be smelling those onions soon.

                                            >"Ahh! Just let me know if it gets too bad, okay? We wouldn't want you passing out or anything!" She says with a little teasing lilt in her voice, joggling her heavy rear left and right over your head.

                                            >In the little interlude between farts, when Twilight's gut is squirting and churning up your next batch of fumes, you focus your attention downwards to her sticky marelips.

                                            >You lick blindly up and down along her slit, savoring her tangy juices and she certainly doesn't seem to mind.

                                            >Not even when your tongue slips inside.

                                            >Between enjoying the remainders of her food, relieving her gas pains, and having you back there tickling her snatch with your tongue, she is feeling beyond blissful right now.

                                            >You hear the roar of Twilight's stomach, followed by a groan from up above.

                                            >"Urgh... Think you could rub my tummy a little, Anon? I wouldn't want to spoil your fun, it's just... I maybe overdid it with the cheese this time, just a little..."

                                            >Her stomach sounds again with a long, wet gurgle.

                                            >You rush to her aid, your palm squishing into the side of her full belly.

                                            >You start to circle your hand, nice and delicately, the way she always likes it.

                                            >In response, her belly begins to stir up twice as loud, she winces.

                                            >A few short, rancid puffs of gas blow into your face, but nothing noteworthy.

                                            >You can feel a doozy of an air pocket trapped inside still.

                                            >"A little lower... just a couple inches down..."

                                            >Kneading her pudge, you stroke downwards and find the perfect spot.

                                            >The instant you start to rub in that tender area, Twilight's pucker opens against the tip of your nose, and gushes out a long, growling fart.

                                            >"Oh sweet Celestia yes..." She grunts out a desperate sigh of relief.

                                            >Her puffy pussy lips ooze onto your chin.

                                            >This one is her longest of the night thus far, almost fifteen whole seconds of thick, meaty winds bathing over your face.

                                            >Twilight collapses, dizzy from the release, letting a few silent toots pepper your face in the afterglow of her colossal burger brap.

                                            >You're actually a little dizzy yourself from the soupy haze condensed like a sauna around you, sealed in place by her blubbery cheeks, ensuring it goes nowhere but your lungs.

                                            >Her beefy miasma drifts up past her own face, she can't help but take a few whiffs of what she's been putting out.

                                            >"Oh, gosh... still breathing back there?" She giggles and playfully clenches her flanks around your head.

                                            >"I better give you a little air, with how pumped up my tummy is, we're gonna be at this all night..."


                                            Celestia x royal guard


                                            >Marching his way down the corridor, Valiant Blaze can hardly conceal the smile on his face.

                                            >It isn't every day that a nobody guard from the third regiment receives a personal letter from the princess herself.

                                            >One that singled him out by name and requested his services immediately.

                                            >In her personal quarters.

                                            >Most guards are restricted from even setting hoof within the castle's western wing, let alone in the sleeping chambers of Celestia herself!

                                            >He knocks upon her door, sure to keep his manners about him as she instructs him to enter.

                                            >Valiant finds Celestia at her writing desk, a huge mismatched pile of papers overflowing onto the floor.

                                            >And her royal plot engulfing his field of vision.

                                            >"Your heinieness... UH- highness."

                                            >Celestia either doesn't hear his slip up or chooses to ignore it.

                                            >Now that Valiant can see her face turned to him, he notices that she's in distress.

                                            >Quite a lot of distress. She's wincing, sweating, her eyes are strained. Something is evidently wrong.

                                            >"A-At ease."

                                            >Valiant rises from his bow to find his head level with Celestia's immaculate orbs.

                                            >A radiant warmth meets his face, her cheeks pleasantly toasty to match their twin cutie marks.

                                            >But he's distracted from them by a strange odor.

                                            >It's been in the air ever since he entered, but he didn't notice it until right now.

                                            >He sniffs. It's almost like... sour broccoli, vanilla frosting and-

                                            >"I have called you today for a very p-private matter, Valiant."

                                            >"Anything, Princess."

                                            >"The nature of your duties are to remain here in this room. Once you leave, you are not to speak of them to anyone. Not even my sister. Is this understood?"

                                            >About halfway through the sentence she falters and her voice grows desperate.

                                            >A wet growl sounds from her stomach.

                                            >Maybe she's just hungry?

                                            >"Understood, Princess. What aid can I bring you?"

                                            >Celestia opens her mouth to answer his question.

                                            >But unfortunately her plot decides to do the talking for her.

                                            >A wet, melodious fart rings out around the room.

                                            >Celestia groans, using a quick nudge of magic to push Valilant right between her mounds, letting him silence the last couple seconds.

                                            >He hardly has time to react before warm, soft fat has surrounded his face.

                                            >Celestia's trunk eats his entire head up in an instant, trapping it with her pucker and the steaming remnants of her previous outburst.

                                            >"I simply cannot focus with that awful stench... the midday ones are always the worst."

                                            >As she returns to her work, Valiant notices the pressure on his head increasing.

                                            >In one swift movement, Celestia flips him over onto his back and rests herself down comfortably onto his face.

                                            >"It's all Luna's fault! This always happens when I let her make dinner. I don't know what she cooks her vegetables in but it always tears my tummy to shreds..."

                                            >Valiant's face buffers a loud, brassy blast of hot flatulence.

                                            >Not wanting to upset his glorious ruler and head honcho, he begins to take small, hesitant sniffs, and it's immediately clear why she required his services in the first place.

                                            >The smell is unbearable.

                                            >Celestia then leans herself to the side and unleashes a cluster-bomb of percussive pops.

                                            >Even with Valiant's head there to muffle the sound, they create quite a noise and reverberate around the room.

                                            >"Oh, goodness..."

                                            >She pants, still sweating profusely from the effort of deflating all this built up pressure.

                                            >And while the smell up above has improved considerably, Valiant feels like he has been thrust into a vegetable steamer down below.

                                            >Celestia's farts stink of cabbage and broccoli, stirred in with something a bit more sour and sinister, topped off with what smells like expired cake frosting.

                                            >He can actually feel his lungs shrivel up in protest with every breath he is forced to inhale.

                                            >Nopony would believe this even if he did break his promise to the princess and tell them.

                                            >All of his assumptions about Celestia being graceful and divine are shattered with every passing windstorm.

                                            >Each mane-rustling, eye-watering, nose-burning windstorm.

                                            >Valiant remains beneath the princess for the rest of the afternoon.

                                            >Every half an hour or so, her rear will lift to give him a quick fresh breeze.

                                            >But the rest of the time, it is rumbling his head with all manner of toots; long, drawn out groaning ones, short smelly bursts, even some that come out in little spurting triplets.

                                            >And over time, as foul as it is, Valiant finds the reek of Celestia's bowels to be oddly agreeable.

                                            >He eventually starts nuzzling her overworked plothole just to ask for more.

                                            >At last, she stands and tells him his duty has been fulfilled.

                                            >"You did a wonderful job, my beloved subject."

                                            >She leans in to kiss his forehead, but after catching a whiff of him reconsiders, and instead just blows him a kiss (from both ends).

                                            >Woozy and oxygen-deprived, Valiant salutes one last time before staggering off to go and lie down in his bed and take care of the unexpected boner sticking out through his armor plates.


                                            Rarity Hearth's Warming gas


                                            >”Wow, Rarity! You made all of these in one week?”

                                            >”Why, of course, Twilight! The Ponyville Hearth’s Warming fete is one of my most anticipated events of the entire year! Wintery chique is so IN this season!”

                                            >Rainbow Dash cocked her brow.

                                            >”Uh... yeah? It’s winter. What else would be in? Shorts and sunglasses?”

                                            >”Oh, Dashie. So uninformed!”

                                            >Rarity whisked away to attend to a flock of customers, who all took one look at the number of digits on her price tags and politely informed her they’d come back later.

                                            >She couldn’t help but feel a bit glum; a whole day of ponies bustling around the market and not a single sale had been made.

                                            >Not unless she counted Spike’s consolation purchase of a two bit button, and she didn’t.

                                            >But her lack of patronage was not the only thing stirring up concern for the fashionista.

                                            >For lunch she had popped across the way to eat at one of the festive food carts.

                                            >Only, instead of stopping at just one, she had slowly worked her way around all of them until her belly was ashamedly full of greasy festival grub.

                                            >And to make matters worse it hadn’t stopped murmuring and complaining since lunchtime.

                                            >Nature’s little sister was knocking on her backdoor, she could deny the needs of her body no longer.

                                            >She really had to let one loose.

                                            >Or... two loose, maybe even three. It felt like quite a lot was trapped in there, confirmed by just how taut and swollen her tummy had become.

                                            >Fortunately for her, she was a lady through and through.

                                            >And a lady knows how to pass flatulence in the most discreet and inoffensive manner.

                                            >But UNfortunately for Rarity, her friends had now stopped by and they showed no signs of leaving anytime soon.

                                            >As she searched around for a nice bush to dash behind and unload, an angered snarl came from her stomach.

                                            >She tried sucking in her gut to silence its protests, but only made things louder.

                                            >”You girls hear that?”

                                            >Pinkie Pie’s ears perked up, as if each one had its own in-built radar that was specifically designed to root out the tummy toils of her friends.

                                            >”It’s all like GLOOORRRRK!”

                                            >”O-Oh, it’s probably just the wind, o-or something!”

                                            >Rarity stammered, a trail of sweat rolling down her face.

                                            >Her asshole was twitching madly, trying to loosen against her permission.

                                            >So she crammed her haunches together, her hind legs twisting up in an effort to keep her farts from escaping.

                                            >”But there’s no breezes scheduled for today.” Rainbow Dash cast a scrutinizing glance at her flustered friend. “Not all week.”

                                            >Another long creak came from her stomach.

                                            >A warning of Rarity’s own case of unforecasted breezes.

                                            >She could feel it bubbling up right against her exit, it was all about to pour out and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

                                            >”L-Look, o-over there!”

                                            >She thrust her hoof into the air and her friends all turned in the direction of this improvised distraction.

                                            >Rarity saw her window of opportunity.

                                            >Her face screwed up, her teeth crunched into her lower lip as she raised her tail and evacuated a long hissing steam into the brisk winter’s air.

                                            >A visible plume of humid vapors gushed out of her, hot and sweaty between her rump.

                                            >The moment her friends turned their attention back, she pinched her pert little hole shut and stopped the flow.

                                            >”A-Ah, I must have imagined it! I c-could’ve sworn I saw Photo Finish! It’s been a long shift, ha ha ha!”

                                            >”Rarity... are you alright? Yer actin’ nuttier than an apple walnut cobbler!”

                                            >Her friends all stared at her with concern. Rarity’s eyes had opened wide, tears were trickling down her cheeks, she looked like she was really suffering.

                                            >But it wasn’t for fear of being found out, it was because the smell of her steamy release had just wafted back in her face.

                                            >And she was really regretting that second helping of Brussels sprouts.

                                            >Her friends would smell it, it would be impossible not to.

                                            >And then she’d be done for.

                                            >Rarity let out a helpless squeal and doubled over as her posterior assumed control of the situation.

                                            >A chorus of squeaks and breathy hisses spewed from her fluttering anus, each one accompanied by a cloudy, clearly noticeable burst of condensation behind her.

                                            >Her butt chuffed off like an overstocked chimney, soupy swirling fog coming out in loud unstoppable spurts.

                                            >And if the raucous sounds weren’t bad enough, with them came a far stronger dose of stench.

                                            >The entire area around Rarity soon stunk of a Christmas dinner from hell; sprouts, fermented cranberries and sour cheeses formed some of the more noticeably acrid flavor notes.

                                            >Rarity’s mortifying display ended with a long, ripping breeze that was so hot it fogged up the empty money jar laid out on the table.

                                            >And then came silence.

                                            >”A-Aha, w-well, I suppose we found out what that mysterious noise was!”

                                            >Her friends all exchanged glances for a second, and then burst into a giggling fit.

                                            >Rarity couldn’t help but crack a smile herself, desperately wafting one of her winter hats at her bottom to dilute the odor.


                                            Derpy x Anon Hearth's warming farts


                                            >You stagger down the stairs as the door knocks a second time.

                                            >Not only are you slightly miffed to be pulled from your comfy blankets by this midnight visitor, you have to ask yourself just who would be stupid or brave enough to be out in such a violent snowstorm anyway.

                                            >From inside, it's rather relaxing; the sound of snowflakes sprinkling the windowpanes had actually been working as an effective sleeping aid.

                                            >But outside it has to be absolute hell.

                                            >You swing open the door, shuddering at the frigid breeze you welcome inside.

                                            >And standing on your doorstep, with the biggest most sincere smile on her face, is Derpy Hooves.

                                            >"I brought you a letter!" She chimes, her voice muffled slightly by the envelope in her mouth.

                                            "They're still making you deliver mail in these conditions?"

                                            >"Oh, no, they actually sent the rest of the mailmares home for the night, but I noticed this Hearth's Warming card addressed to you and I didn't want to keep you waiting!"

                                            >You invite her inside despite her modest refusal, where she shivers the dusting of snow from her wings and rushes to the fire for warmth.

                                            >"Brr! Oh, that's wonderful... it's so cold out there I can't even feel my hooves!"

                                            >She holds each one up to the hearth, sighing as the numbness quickly subsides.

                                            "Well, while you're here, would you like some milk?"

                                            >"I'd love some!" She chirps, her damp satchel sliding over her neck and thumping to the floor.

                                            >You pour her a nice, tall glass which she gulps down in just a few seconds, poor mare must be thirsty.

                                            >"Mmh. Thanks, Anon!"

                                            >With a giggle she turns her plot to the fire and waggles it in the toasty heat, a gentle sigh leaving her lips as her body temperature climbs back to acceptable levels.

                                            >But something's wrong.

                                            >The dreamy smile on her face shifts in an instant. Her eyes pop open wide and she springs up in alarm.

                                            >"Uh oh..."

                                            >Just as you're about to ask what the problem is, you hear it.

                                            >A wet, swirling gurgle rolls around in her belly. She places one of her hooves on her midsection before hurrying to the door.

                                            >In all her excitement and butt-warming the silly mare has forgotten all about her lactose intolerance.

                                            >"Th-Thanks for the milk, Anon, but I gotta go!"

                                            >You approach her, hoping you haven't said or done something to scare the ditzy mailmare away, and end up standing right in the line of fire for what's coming next.

                                            >Her body jerks forward and she gasps, her wings snap out at the sides as the roaring sound of poor plumbing crescendos from within her.

                                            >With her tail flipping up as a warning, her cheeks roar into life with a watery, flab-wobbling growl.

                                            >Derpy clamps her teeth, the bubbly mess of a fart spilling out of her and gusting all over you.

                                            >It lowers to a guttural puttering tone before finishing with a stark, airy squeak.

                                            >She turns back with a sheepish simper wobbling over her lips, her tail wafts to fan away the stink.

                                            >"Excuse me!"

                                            >Dextrously tossing her mailbag over her neck, she bursts through the front door and sweeps up into the thick wintery night.

                                            >You quickly realize that Derpy left you with a little parting gift though.

                                            >The smell of curdled dairy and questionable eggnog surrounds you in a muggy cloud.

                                            >Scoffing lightly to yourself, you take in a few more shameful whiffs of Derpy's hot, milky brew before it eventually disperses.

                                            >With that, her lingering presence in your house has gone.

                                            >And with it the humid warmth her little accident had provided.

                                            >You shut out the freezing cold with a slam of the door, grab for your letter and climb the stairs to return to bed and dream of smelly bubblebutts.


                                            Floor Bored


                                            >Floor Bored wriggles her way from her damp, sweaty, crumb-encrusted cocoon of a bed and plods across the room to her computer desk, itching her plot as she goes.

                                            >The chair complains under the weight of the mare as she plants herself down onto it, her flanks spilling over the edges where they didn't before.

                                            >Despite frantically jilling before bed last night, and then waking up at 3am to pet her pussy thrice more to the thought of how good it felt that first time, a familiarly lusty fire begins to spread through her lower body.

                                            >It really is quite remarkable how often the need to masturbate surfaces. If only there were some way to monetize gratuitous masturbation, she'd be a billionaire.

                                            >It's clear that her day can't start without taking care of her nagging libido, so she manoeuvres to her secret bookmarks folder and pulls up the one site that never lets her down.

                                            >Horsechan.

                                            >As she types 'brap' into the search field, a piping hot silent fart seeps out into the fabric of her chair.

                                            >Her trusty old chair that has weathered many, many storms.

                                            >If it were sentient it would probably be pleading for suicide.

                                            >Floor pauses.

                                            >That idea has her crotch soaked, but she can't be distracted.

                                            >With an absentminded lean to the side another full, thundering fart beats against the chair, vibrating the entire thing like one of those massage chairs at the mall she always sat for hours in as a filly.

                                            >Her ass has been putting out fetid fumes all morning, the fierce rippers she had blasted under the covers were so impressive she almost wished she'd recorded them to listen back to later.

                                            >Scrolling down past another torrent of image bumps, Floor can't help but feel slightly disappointed.

                                            >The images are great, sure, but she's shlicked to them a million times before, and none of them are human.

                                            >Human. Just that word alone makes her pussy drool. The thought of one of them using his big powerful hands to plaster her against the bed and showering her face with meaty human farts has her in an absolute daze.

                                            >Another grumbling blast rumbles out into the chair. Floor, her mind addled with pure, uncontrollable horny, types out a request for some human fart green, spelling errors galore.

                                            >Now, she waits.

                                            >The smell of her flatulence wafts up from between her legs and makes her wince.

                                            >They are absolutely deathly this morning.

                                            >But despite that she can't help but take a few more deliberate whiffs.

                                            >Her own brand is always a treat, even when it literally smells like decaying flesh and garbage.

                                            >Every few seconds, Floor bumps the thread, and her face falls at the sight of no new responses.

                                            >Meanwhile her ass continues to put out more bursts of gas, some of them silent and some of them rushing out of her so noisly she's worried about her neighbours hearing.

                                            >While at first the stench is more intermittent, pretty soon Floor is sitting in a thick, pervasive cloud of it.

                                            >With the thread deader than her social life, Floor fills her time by huffing her farts and trying to work out just what it was that made them smell so atrocious.

                                            >Just as she has it narrowed down to either burritos and pizza, the thread updates.

                                            >A block of green text.

                                            >Floor's heart lifts, an excited fart spills out of her greasy plot.

                                            >With her hoof digging into her groin repeatedly, she reads her way down the wall of text.

                                            >Her mind is racing with lurid images of humans bending over into expressive poses, asking her to pull their fingers, using their hands to stuff her head between their cheeks.

                                            >A series of muffled moans escape her lips, as she masturbates furiously she continues to let out frequent, bassy blasts from her ass.

                                            >Feeling a particularly turbulent one bubbling up in her bowels, she slants her body to the side, her sheeny asshole on full display with a raise of her leg.

                                            >A long, progressively juicy gust of raunchy air spews out into the atmosphere of her room.

                                            >And it just keeps going and going.

                                            >In her head she silently cheers; this has to be breaking some kind of record for her, and even if it wasn't the sheer knowledge that her body can crank out such a long, foul-smelling breeze has her loins quivering.

                                            >Her sloppy pussy-mashing grows more intense as her behemoth of a fart dips down into a beefy low frequency and slowly sputters to an end.

                                            >Floor sits back down and the humid wave of gas almost knocks her out.

                                            >Her eyes closed, she takes greedy sniffs of her own putrid pollution. How is it that a smell so abhorrent can be so satisfying to her?

                                            >Never a mare with much stamina, Floor tenses up and explodes mere moments later, filling her lungs to the brim with her own lingering scents as her brain explodes with arousal.

                                            >This heady smell married with all the vivid mental images of humans letting loose is heaven.

                                            >She collapses back into her seat, a shuddering and sweaty mess.

                                            >And lets out one last squeak from her tush.

                                            >What a great start to the day.


                                            Trixie x Anon facesitting farts


                                            >"The great and powerful Trixie wills you to be quiet, stool! Quiet!"

                                            >She's been like this for almost an hour.

                                            >You understand of course that Trixie is always wracked with nerves before her shows, but it's always you that gets the brunt of it.

                                            >Or rather your nose.

                                            >Trixie shifts above you, her supple ponut stretching across your nostrils.

                                            >She grunts and a hot gust of stench washes over your face, accompanied by the sound of a wavering trombone that descends into a sputtering growl for the last three seconds.

                                            >It's getting harder to suck these in but you loudly inhale anyway.

                                            >Her fumes are worse than usual tonight, you're trying to work out if it was the streetside chili dog or the several cups of black coffee when you hear her speak up again.

                                            >"Ooh, I'm on in five minutes! And my stomach doesn't feel any better. I can't risk a repeat of that one show in Trottingham. I'm never showing my face in that town again after taking a bow and... well, you don't need me to remind you."

                                            >She lifts a cheek away from your face and blasts you again.

                                            >It's so thick you can almost chew on it.

                                            >As you dutifully inhale you can practically feel the grease from that one coating the lining of your nose and mouth.

                                            >"Well... I'm just lucky I have you here."

                                            >She peeks down between her legs with a grin, and you see that she has her cape concealing her muzzle like a makeshift mask.

                                            >"I always get anxiety toots before a show, and I can't stink up ANOTHER dressing room. They really don't like it when I do that."

                                            >You jolt.

                                            >She just hit you with a silent one and you didn't even see it coming.

                                            >Trixie sighs with ragged relief and swivels around on your face as if you were an office chair.

                                            >You can hear her tinkering with something, probably making some last minute adjustments to one of her tricks.

                                            >Though the sound of her belly brewing up her next volley soon eclipses that.

                                            >Like a countdown to new years fireworks, you anticipate the explosion coming your way with gritted teeth and balled fists.

                                            >Trixie grunts and grinds her asshole into your face.

                                            >It's close.

                                            >Anchoring her hooves against her dressing table for support, Trixie opens the floodgates all over your face with her loudest eruption of the night.

                                            >The thick, beefy flow hammers against your face as it strains through her puckered ponut.

                                            >Realizing that this could probably be heard from two rooms over, Trixie bears down into your face harder to muffle the sound.

                                            >Even though you can't see her face right now, you know exactly what expression she's pulling.

                                            >Bared teeth, trembling lip, sweat dribbling down her brow, she's really pushing this out as hard as possible to make sure she's empty for her show, and of course that means you have to work overtime.

                                            >Every intake of air is hot, swampy and tastes like deep fried onions.

                                            >At this point your lungs are 0% oxygen and 100% Trixie fart.

                                            >But that doesn't break your resolve.

                                            >You continue to draw in full, determined breaths loud enough for her to hear it over her lengthy release.

                                            >All at once the vibration ceases, leaving your cheeks numb.

                                            >Trixie collapses forward onto her dresser with a heaving sigh.

                                            >"Oh, sweet Celestia..." she groans under her breath.

                                            >Clearing her throat and straightening her cape around her neck, Trixie finally stands up off your face.

                                            >The rush of outside air is stark as can be.

                                            >"Oh, that reeks! Do me a favor and whiff all of it up while I'm out there doing my thing. I don't want to come back to a dressing room smelling like THAT..."

                                            >After one final glance in the mirror Trixie leaves the room in a saunter, clearing her throat for her grandiose announcement.

                                            >Meanwhile, she's left you with more that enough of her signature stink to keep you occupied for the next two hours.

                                            >And, knowing Trixie, she'll have even more for you to enjoy on the carriage ride home.