Hot Boxed - Spoiled Rich x Anon


                                            >You break into a sprint across the hotel lobby.

                                            >You were never much of an athlete, your flabby sausagelinks of legs doing a mediocre job of reaching the elevator before the doors shut.

                                            >But you make it, just about.

                                            >Catching your breath, it takes a few moments to realize you’re not alone.

                                            >You jam the button for your floor and look around to the sight of a disgruntled pony.

                                            >It’s Spoiled Rich.

                                            >Professional trophy wife.

                                            >Now you feel foolish for bursting into the elevator like a flatfooted troll.

                                            >Her opinion of you has probably bottomed out.

                                            >Although it was assuredly already pretty low.

                                            >The Rich family are notorious for their stuffy arrogance.

                                            >Anypony, or human, not a part of their tight social circle is a peasant as far as they’re concerned.

                                            >Her eyes roam up and down your body, face wrinkling in disgust at the mere sight of you.

                                            >However something more pressing seems to be on her mind.

                                            >Now you look closer, she is bouncing up and down on the spot, eyes darting to the floor number above the door as if she can’t wait to get out.

                                            >Sweat breaks out on her brow and drips across her face.

                                            >"T-Tenth floor." She barks, deigning to address a lowly ape like you with no other option in sight.

                                            >You nod, click the button, and recline against the polished steel wall as the elevator jolts and begins its ascent.

                                            >Things are going smoothly.

                                            >Aside from the occasional whine or plaintive groan from Spoiled.

                                            >Until you find yourself halfway between floors four and five and everything comes to a violent halt.

                                            >You try the buttons, with no luck.

                                            "Dammit."

                                            >Spoiled lets out a cry of submission, doubling over with a hissing grimace.

                                            >Suddenly, you hear something.

                                            >A low, droning noise that reminds you of a trombone.

                                            >You assume it’s the machinery in the elevator trying to struggle into life.

                                            >That is until you look over and notice a strained expression on the mare’s face.

                                            >The rumble ends in a low, muddy note and she sighs.

                                            >Hold the fuck up.

                                            >Did she just rip ass?

                                            >Instead of an apology or excuse, Spoiled just glares at you.

                                            >As if it’s YOUR problem that she just cut a raunchy one in your presence.

                                            >And that’s when the odor hits.

                                            >It’s safe to say that Spoiled’s flatulence is one of the worst things you’ve smelled in your life.

                                            >Your eyes begin to sting and blur; all you can do Is gape at her in slack-jawed horror as her eyes tighten on you.

                                            >"Don’t look at me like that! It’s not my fault they had an all-you-can-eat buffet! I’m paying for this hotel and I want to get my money’s worth!”

                                            >Another sputtering fart rushes out, its sloppy tone making you cringe.

                                            >It defies nature that a fart can sound so wet.

                                            >But you’re more disgusted at the fact that she didn’t even attempt to hold that one back.

                                            >Warm fumes swarm around you, filling the air with the stench of rancid hummus mixed with tomato juice left to sour.

                                            >Whatever it was she picked off that buffet table, her stomach is having a hard time digesting it.

                                            >It’s not just you struggling with the odor, too.

                                            >Spoiled’s lip curls in disgust.

                                            >She tucks her snout under the collar of her shirt, her tail fanning.

                                            >"Ghastly..!” Her voice strains, three clear wet bubbles of rancid air bursting through her plump ass.

                                            >You just want it to stop, but each time you think she might be done her backside starts buzzing again.

                                            >The fermented aftermath of various onion and roasted pepper dips bites at your tongue, forcing down your throat.

                                            >It’s not enough that the stink of pony flatus rings around your nostrils, now your mouth is suffering too.

                                            >A ten second long, bubbling rip marks the end of your tether, and you lunge forward to punch the help button on the elevator panel.

                                            >"Don’t you-!”

                                            >Her jaw hangs wide.

                                            >Looks like you really pissed her off now.>As you turn back, shoulders sunk, Spoiled gives you a deep scowl that reaches into the depths of your soul.

                                            >"You stupid ape! When they come and get us out, I’m telling them this was you.”

                                            >No fucking way.

                                            >"I shall tell them you were the one breaking wind like a pig, and they’ll never believe you if you say otherwise.”

                                            >She’s going to frame you, all for the sake of her precious reputation!

                                            >Quite proud of her quick thinking, Spoiled gives a haughty scoff, and then does the one thing you really hoped she wouldn’t do.

                                            >She turns her ass towards you.

                                            >Her modest dress hangs halfway down her hefty orbs, as if it had once been a perfect fit before her ass caught up.

                                            >"You know that buffet was twenty bits per pony.”

                                            >A sly smile cracks her lips.

                                            >"So the way I see it, these farts are at least five bits a pop!”

                                            >You only have about half a second to take in that thought before you hear a grunt and Spoiled lets loose again.

                                            >A thick breeze breaks free, fluttering the hem of her dress.

                                            >You can physically feel the change of air pressure as it storms past you.

                                            >The sensation is like being caught in a rainforest during a windy day.

                                            >As soon as the first fart ends, Spoiled gives a hearty push and another begins to bubble forth to keep the pace steady.

                                            >Her hind leg lifts, spreading her cheeks to give a bit more room for exit.

                                            >Even if you wanted to move from the line of fire the stench has you paralyzed.

                                            >And there isn’t anywhere to escape to.

                                            >All four corners of the elevator are swamped thoroughly with her reek.

                                            >You quickly catch on to the fact that she is trying to force out every last puff before the maintenance pony turns up, and then she’s going to blame all of it on you.

                                            >You’d be impressed at how much she’s got in her if you weren’t the one staring down the proverbial barrel.

                                            >After a long winded ripper comes a string of quick wet blasts, each one soggier and smellier than the last.

                                            >The humid windstorm rages on in your little hotbox of an elevator, leaving you no option other than breathing pure mom farts with every painful breath.

                                            >You’re not sure how much longer it is you remain there huffing salad fumes.

                                            >At a certain point the doors pry open, daylight slithers in through the fog of flatulence.

                                            >Woozy from lack of oxygen, you don’t quite follow everything that happens next.

                                            >Though you do remember Spoiled dashing out of the elevator, screaming at the top of her lungs about being trapped with a gassy slob of a human.

                                            >As you topple over the edge of consciousness, you know for a fact you’ll never prove your innocence.

                                            >But that isn’t the worst of it.

                                            >What’s worse is the fact that as you drift into darkness, the foul scent surrounding you actually becomes pleasant.

                                            >The hotel staff all arrive to the sight of you willfully huffing down the rotten air, a dopey smile on your face.