Royal Gas Chamber - Anon x Celestia (face farts)


                                            >"Now, do you remember our signal?"

                                            >You nod, resting your head into the plush pillowy lining of Celestia’s rather unique contraption.

                                            >She flashes you a smile in response and dips her head into the box to lay a motherly kiss on your forehead.

                                            >One short close of your eyes later and the sight of the princess’ face is replaced by her royal plot lowering onto the opening of the custom-built dinner chair.

                                            >Being Celestia, she sits at the head of the table, her dining chair closely resembling her throne.

                                            >What other ponies don’t realize, though, in the base of this chair is housed a perverted little human with one solitary purpose.

                                            >She wastes no time in letting you fulfill this purpose by loosing a low, guttural fart that floods your enclosure with thick cabbagey fumes.

                                            >There’s still about five minutes before her guests arrive, so she takes the opportunity to air herself out as much as possible.

                                            >This is partly to make sure she’s not too bloated for dinner, but also because she knows how much you adore her flatus.

                                            >It’s embarrassing, and anypony other than Celestia might not understand.

                                            >But even if she doesn’t really get your attraction, she seems to respect it.

                                            >Perhaps there’s something empowering about knowing someone appreciates even the sour wind that expels from her behind.

                                            >Or perhaps she just likes to see you happy.

                                            >With the guests still on their way, Celestia makes no attempts to quiet her raucous rump, letting each burst rumble and roar against your head as if she’s trying to break the sound barrier.

                                            >At certain points it feels like a tuba blasting point blank into your face.

                                            >Despite their bombast though, every fart is a literal gift from God.

                                            >But unfortunately for you these five minutes of gassy heaven soon come to an end.

                                            >All of a sudden, Celestia’s tailhole pinches shut.

                                            >She plants her plot more firmly on your face, as you hear the sounds of haughty chatter occupying the room outside.

                                            >"Oh, Celestia, honestly! This castle has too many wings!"

                                            >"Oh?"

                                            >"I just spent the last ten minutes wandering around looking for the dining hall, do you really need all these rooms?"

                                            >"Too many wings..." one of the male attendees adds, "just like Princess Twilight!"

                                            >A ripple of toffee-nose laughter crests through the room.

                                            >Celestia pinches your nose with her sphincter, just to let you know she hasn’t forgotten you’re down there, and in response you give her coochie a cheeky kiss which almost makes her lose her cool.

                                            >What little you hear of the conversation above quickly devolves into tedium.

                                            >Something about securing the castle gardens for a party, passing some new laws on littering in the city parks; bureaucratic drivel that loses you entirely.

                                            >Your attention is focused more on the warm, fleshy private parts squished into your face.

                                            >Strangely though, even after several minutes Celestia hasn’t released a single peep into your face.

                                            >You start to worry that she’s getting cold feet (or hooves, as the case may be) about the whole idea, worried that her friends might somehow clue in to your little arrangement.

                                            >But that’s when you hear the rattle of plates and dishes as the first course arrives.

                                            >The head waiter announces it: rigatoni pasta in a rich marinara sauce served with a generous coating of Parmesan cheese.

                                            >Sounds delicious.

                                            >The dinner guests all tuck in at once, and judging by the sounds of approval it must be as delectable as it sounds.

                                            >Too bad you’ll have to wait a little while longer to experience it yourself...

                                            >At this point, Celestia’s bottom begins to fidget on your face, rubbing across your nose as if trying to line up correctly.

                                            >Your heart beats faster at the prospect of finally having something to inhale.

                                            >"Absolutely divine, Celestia!" One of the guests warbles.

                                            >You hear a modest laugh from above you in response.

                                            >"Well, I’m proud to say I have some of the finest Chefs in Equestria here in my... k-keep!"

                                            >Her voice strains on the last word as a silent gust pours into your face.

                                            >It’s been so long since the last fart that the strong scent actually takes you by surprise.

                                            >Your eyes burst with tears at the acrid stench. It’s a good thing she thought of installing this fart chamber or else her dinner guests would be choking to death right now.

                                            >A lesser man might have a hard time huffing down such pungency, but having spent the last several weeks by Celestia’s side you’re starting to become used to the powerful smell of her flatulence.

                                            >At least... that’s what you think until the next silent breeze hits you.

                                            >You almost cry out in shock and blow your cover then and there.

                                            >The food has just kicked in.

                                            >Quickly remembering your agreed-upon signal you tap your nose into the center of her anus thrice, causing it to clamp shut in response as Celestia gives you a moment to recover.

                                            >The stench gets no more manageable even after a few more whiffs, but eventually the cloud dissipates, leaving you with both a light head and an appetite for more.

                                            >You’re never one to shy away from a challenge, and Celestia’s pasta farts are surely that.

                                            >Your tongue darts out against the princess’ velvety lower lips, a sign that you’re ready for her to continue.

                                            >She doesn’t waste a second in getting back to business, blowing out a steamy fog that manages to fill the entire seat chamber in under a second.

                                            >Getting a little too carried away, Celestia continues releasing for several more seconds, until you’re forced to tap your nose at her again just to make it stop.

                                            >It takes every ounce of willpower you have not to retch or gag at the stifling air now swarming around you.

                                            >The humid heat is rich with the scent of spoiled tomatoes, burnt Italian herbs, and a rotten undertone of spent cheese mingled with olive oil.

                                            >By the time you’ve huffed it all down you doubt you’ll ever look at a plate of spaghetti Bolognese the same way again.

                                            >Celestia’s marinara methane becomes slightly easier to handle with every passing puff, wheeze and creaking gale that washes into your gas chamber as the evening proceeds.

                                            >She even does a spectacularly good job of keeping up a composed demeanor while carrying conversation with her distinguished guests, the only sign that she’s letting one go being her voice slightly straining mid-sentence.

                                            >At one point she even keeps one spurting out for twenty whole seconds while casually talking with one of the dignitaries about last year’s gala.

                                            >She’s a real pro at this.

                                            >Quite soon you and Celestia adapt to the situation, and no more than a couple minutes pass between each hot serving of divine stink.

                                            >However, seeing that she can get away with breaking this much wind under her friends' noses leads her to do something a little too brazen.

                                            >Growing overzealous, Celestia raises her pucker from your face and lets loose.

                                            >Your eyes bolt open as a thunderously loud, brassy bum note amplifies around the wooden box.

                                            >Celestia cuts it off immediately in a tapered squeak, slamming her full weight back into your face.

                                            >"What in Equestria was that?"

                                            >Sweat begins to build in Celestia’s crack as her nerves twist into knots.

                                            >The other guests start to murmur in disgust.

                                            >"Why it was... the... castle brass band, of course. They must be practicing. There’s a concert taking place in the gardens later this week."

                                            >A painful silence follows, even from down in your box you can tell the attendees are narrowing their eyes and staring daggers at the Princess.

                                            >But her lie must be just believable enough, as they all seem to fall for it.

                                            >"Dreadful row. You should really tell them not to practice so late at night."

                                            >"Quite..."

                                            >You and Celestia both expel a sigh of relief at her quick thinking.

                                            >And her asshole follows with a few soft poots that brush against your nostrils.

                                            >The rest of the evening marches along without further incidents.

                                            >With each additional course of food Celestia's winds grow slightly more acrid, but you handle them like a champ.

                                            >Her guests probably wonder why she stays planted on her chair the entire evening but raise no objections, and before long the dinner winds down to a close.

                                            >Celestia has kindly lifted herself away from the chair to give you little hits of oxygen every now and then, but the sheer amount of heady fumes funnelled into your lungs have left you dizzy.

                                            >So you listen keenly for the last of her guests to finally finish their blancmange and depart.

                                            >Celestia bids them a friendly goodbye, and with an echoing slam of the door you are both alone once more.

                                            >At last, with a heaving pfffrrrt! Celestia's fat ass lifts away from your face, light rushing into the box.

                                            >Wisps of hot steam ooze from your chamber—Celestia catches a whiff of her own baked braps and yelps.

                                            >"Oh, my! I’m sorry about the smell!"

                                            >She coughs between giggles, using her wings to water down the stench a bit as you woozily dismount from the custom-fitted fart throne.

                                            >A deep blush rises on her cheeks as she realizes just how dreadful her output must have been this evening.

                                            >You and Celestia meet in a tender embrace, though you can’t help but notice her craning her head away from you slightly, holding her breath.

                                            >"Now, I think a shower is in order."

                                            >Shoulders sunk, you give the princess a soppy grin and let her lead on to the bathroom.