#gggwriting

[gurglesgasgrunts]

Retail worker whos pent up with gas and has been waiting for work to die. When they think its dead, they sit their fat ass on the counter top where they check people out and rip a couple of huge wet nasty farts. They turn around and they see a cute customer waiting, face red.

Contains: farting, scat (kinda descriptive wet farts)

Ooo, maybe their farts are airy at first. They rumble and vibrate against the counter, and the worker's tongue is practically lolling out of their mouth in relief. They mash their fists into their pudgy belly, eager to get everything out before a customer enters the empty (or so they think) store.

Wetter, raunchier farts start gurgling and bubbling out of their plump ass. They're a slob and their underwear has no shortage of stains but it's a little too much to be coming out at work. They turn to run to the bathroom and their blood goes icy. There's a moment where they just stare at each other; the worker mortified and the customer surprised... but really turned on.

The cute, blushing customer approaches the check-out with a couple of items. Swallowing hard, the employee quickly hops off the counter and another wet fart is loosened out by the impact, much to their horror. What they wouldn't give for the floor to swallow them up right now...

Both items are rung up with shaky hands and just before the worker can announce the total cost, the customer raises a finger.

"Hang on, I forgot a few things. I'll just be a moment."

"Ma'am/Sir, wait I-", but the worker is addressing the back of their head which quickly disappears down an aisle. A high-pitched squealing from the lower left side of their belly finishes their statement. The worker grips the counter and scrunches their eyes shut.

They can tell the fart at their backdoor is just as wet as the others, maybe even more so. Their underwear is already dangerously soaked and they really, really don't want to chance letting another one rip. Spending the rest of their shift and walking home with a big brown stain on their pants was not appealing in the slightest.

Here's the customer now, back again, thankfully. The items are bagged in record time but then oh, how silly of them to forget the drinks for tonight. Well, they better pick up some chips while they're there, too.

The worker flexes their fat ass cheeks and has to stifle a frustrated growl. The growls coming from their stomach aren't as easily silenced and they rumble loudly against their belt. If the customer weren't so cute, they probably would've snapped at them a while ago.

The customer returns and it seems now they've remembered everything they had to get. The worker smiles and it's genuine even though this ditz has had them battling a fart for longer than they would've liked. Such beautiful eyes... eyes that witnessed them farting on the counter, oh lord.

"That'll be $103.50. Cash or card." The words tumble out so quickly they're almost incomprehensible but the customer pulls out their card, anyway. Of course, they don't tap it. A deep gurgling has them stop halfway through entering their PIN and they look up at the source of the eruption: the sweating worker's belly. And, judging by the way their body is trembling, it looks like something else is about to come out uncontrollably.

A loud, burbling fart squirts hot shit into their pants and all they can do is stare back at the customer through squinted eyes. It bubbles and spatters the cotton stretched over their fat cheeks, coming to an end with a jarring splort. It takes a few moments for the worker to muster up what little composure they can.

"I'm so sorry, I-."

"It's okay. Better out than in, right?" The customer giggles and... are those 'bedroom eyes'? They sure as hell aren't looking at them in disgust.

"Why don't I buy you some new pants? And," the customer gestures to the bagged groceries, "how 'bout you come over for dinner tonight? I'm a pretty good cook, if I do say so myself. Can't be a worse meal than whatever you ate to make you fart like that haha."

The worker starts blushing for a different reason. The customer stalled so they could hear more farts, they realize now. Well, wouldn't it be nice to spend the night with a cutie who appreciated their slobbishness?

"My pant size is __ and I wear __ sized underwear. Clothing's on your left. Surprise me."

[gurglesgasgrunts]

Story idea: guys goes in for a tux fitting but is so bloated the tailor is concerned he won’t get a good fit. The man is made to expel as much gas as possible by the tailor to the amusement of everyone else in the store

He hears the words but it takes a while to sink in. He- he’s asking me to do what? A small gurgle from his lower belly seems to affirm his situation. He shifts his weight from side to side on the short platform and glances around the fitting room as if looking for a way out of this predicament. There’s the tailor, looking up at him expectantly, his own mostly naked reflection in the mirror, and only a curtain separating him from the other clients in the main room. No, no everyone’s going to hear me…

“Sir, I cannot measure your stomach when you’re bloated like so. You can come back later, but I’m booked up for the next couple months. I’ve got customers waiting so I’m sorry, but you need to make your choice.”

The client’s breath quickens and his hands go clammy. There was no way he could wait for another appointment. The wedding was in a few weeks and needless to say the tux was a requirement. His belly had been roiling and rebelling all day, no doubt angry at all the greasy food he wolfed down the night before. Foolish of him to gorge right before the fitting, but what could he do about it now? Well, he knows what he has to do. There’s a feeling like a balloon being inflated in his lower gut and the urge that he’s been fighting since he walked through the door intensifies.

He closes his eyes and tries his best to imagine that he’s alone. He tenses his belly just a little, clenching his cheeks to try to stifle the sound and keep the blast to a minimum. A whistling fart tickles his hole and fades out almost as soon as it began. The client sheepishly strokes his gut, which is just as inflated as before.

The tailor plucks at his mustache. That was a man’s fart? A mouse, perhaps! Pathetic! He’s about to just call the appointment off when the pitiful look on his client’s face softens his demeanour.

“Okay, here let me help you.”

The tailor splays his hand over his client’s swollen belly. The soft, warm skin is a stark contrast to the tailor’s rough hands, made calloused by decades spent perfecting his craft. His belly juts over the waistband of his tight, white underwear and the tailor lowers his hand to cup the underside of the fart-filled gut.

“Tch tch tch. We have a lot of work to do. You ready?”

Even in the throes of humiliation, the client feels his body wanting to relax into the man’s touch. Wanting to arch his back and press his aching gut against the wandering hand. He swallows loudly and nods his head, already beginning to muster up the courage he’ll need to walk out of the room once he’s through.

It’s quiet at first. A barely audible rush of air and for that he’s thankful. He stares at the mirror, watching his eyes squint and his lips pout. Watches the tailor sink his palm into his tense gut. Part of him wants the tailor to stop because the pressure is making the fart louder and he’s sure that soon all the people beyond the curtain will be able to hear the dirty thing he’s doing. Part of him wants to grunt at the tailor to push harder, get it all out, It feels so good, ohhhh I need this.

The fart rumbles on and the tailor chuckles to himself at how much like a chainsaw it sounds. Discussions about fabrics and fits between customers and associates die down and all heads whip towards the curtain. Is that…? A throaty groan from the fitting room confirms their suspicions. Lips begin to curl and laughter bubbles up their throats.

With a series of short pops, the fart ends and the client’s gut relaxes and expands. He sighs but his breath catches in his throat. Laughter. From the next room and no doubt directed at him. His stomach sinks.

“I- I can’t do this,” he stammers. Fuck, this is embarrassing.

“It’s fine, sir. Pay the hyenas no mind. See,” the tailor hastily pats his client’s belly and places the other hand on the man’s lower back, “you already look a little slimmer. That was a good push. Let’s get the rest out, now.”

Before the client can agree or disagree, his belly is pushed inward and a short quack is forced out of his rear. Then again. And again. Quick thrusts inward and sharp farts of various pitches shooting out. The client huffs with each push, feeling like he’s getting an unconventional form of CPR. Between farts, he can hear the giggles from the amused bastards beyond the curtain. With the gas being pretty much expelled for him, he focuses on tuning them out and thinks about how he’s going to look like James Bond in his new tux. If this is what it takes, then so be it.

The tailor abruptly stops driving into his gut and rubs wide deep circles roughly enough to jostle the client around. His gut is given a slap before a groaning fart is forced out by the hand that seems determined to make his navel kiss his spine. It’s not as gentle as the client would like, but given the time constraints it is understandable. He pushes and grunts, doing his best now to let it all out.

“Okay, now squat down. Bend the knees. Good.” The new position he’s guided into makes it easier for the gas to wind through his colon and the farts fly past the cotton stretched around his plump cheeks. The fabric, of course, does nothing to filter the stench. It hangs heavily in the air and makes the small, classy looking room smell like a farm.

“Excellent, very good. Now, you look ready for me to do my job, just-“

“Wait,” the client grunts. “I’m not finished… unngh.” He clutches his stomach and strains. The gas isn’t ready to come out but he can feel it. It’s almost there. He bears down with a guttural groan and a loud fart rips from his ass with enough force that they’re both surprised he didn’t tear a hole through his underwear.

The tailor rubs his back, much gentler than he did his stomach, and the client basks in the pleasurable feeling of relief. No longer did he feel like a balloon about to burst. The embarrassment was worth it. His stomach, while a little sore, felt damn good.

“Stand up straight. Yes, yes, perfect. Okay, we take the measurement now.” The tailor unravels his measuring tape and loops it around the client’s gut. “5 inches less! My, my.”

The client smiles politely and slowly catches his breath as the tailor scribbles down the circumference. He can only hear the occasional giggle from beyond the curtain but he figures it’s alright. Let’s see how hard they laugh when they have to stand in this hotbox.

[gurglesgasgrunts]

thinking about a handsome silver fox of a man holding in all his gas... it's more difficult these days, so he plugs him self up, just for you

Oof, nobody would even dare to think that a man like him would be walking around with such a pretty looking plug in his ass. As the day goes on, his lower belly starts to feel like a balloon and he has to fight the urge to bear down and try to uncork himself.

First thing he does when he gets home is undress and stick his ass out towards you. Maybe you’re reading or scrolling through your phone on the couch. He bends at the hip right in front of you, waving his fart-filled ass in your face, moaning and asking for relief. He knows how much you love seeing him desperate. You make him wait.

“Just let me finish this chapter, and then I’ll let you fart. You can hold it for me, right?”

“I know, baby, you’ve been keeping it in all day. You’ve done so well. Just a little while longer, okay? ”

You reach out and lazily play with his plug. Just when he thinks you’re going to pull it out, you press it back in and watch him squirm. Setting down your book/phone/whatever, you finally give him your full attention. He moans as you gently massage under his belly button. There’s hardly any give.

“Mmm, your belly was busy today.”

He places his hand over yours and guides you to where he feels the most pressure.

“After lunch was the worst. It was like my stomach turned all that food into gas right away. I had to undo my pants… luckily nobody saw it behind the desk. I rubbed and rubbed, trying to calm down the rumbling,” he murmurs to you as he presses your hand deeper into his belly.

“There’s no way I could’ve kept it all in without the plug. I guess I’m just not as tight as I used to be,” he chuckles. He holds your hand there for a while until the tension works out a deep gurgling that ripples against your palm.

“Ohhhh,” he moans pitifully. “Please, honey. Oh, I need to fart so bad. There’s so much pressure… please let me fart. I need relief.”  

With a loving kiss on his ass cheek, you start to ease out the plug. He holds onto his knees and arches his back even more. The plug emerges with a little wet pop and a rush of smelly, hot wind.  You watch his hole wink and scrunch as he shuffles into a wider stance. His belly button slowly pulls inwards as he begins to push.

“Here it comes- ugggh.”

[gurglesgasgrunts]

Imagine 2 coworkers. They're both vying for the same promotion and they each have to make a presentation that will decide who gets to climb the ladder. Coworker A is cocky. They put down Coworker B every chance they get and even steal their lunch from the staff fridge. B decides that it's time for revenge.

The day of the presentations, B adds a generous helping of inulin to their burritos and places them in the fridge for A who chows down greedily. B's presentation goes smoothly and the boss is pleased. A steps up to the front of the room. They're not their usual, over-confident self. They stammer their way through the slides, sweating more and more with each loud tummy gurgle.

Halfway through their Powerpoint a deep, bubbly fart uncontrollably rumbles past their cheeks. They white knuckle the podium, clenching and tensing their body to gain control but it's no use. Fart after fart trumpets out of them.

A looks helplessly at the audience, at the crowd of horrified faces. They tearfully lock eyes with one particular person: Coworker B, who stares back with the smuggest look they can muster. A hangs their head as they rip another fart. It's safe to say they've just blasted away that promotion.