Futon Farters


Living life in bed all day can really start to stink.

It was my calling, my mission, my dream, my mother fucking fantasy! They greeted me at the door of their shared house. Four men all young and hot smiled as they met their new slave. I was going to be living underneath a futon that they played video games on. I was intended to be their fart sniffer. Ever blast of gas they ripped was to be sniffed up by me so they wouldn't have to smell it.

"Haha! Take that dudes, that's number 8 for me." Mike was in last place actually. In less than half an hour he had farted eight times. The other guys had ripped 12-15 farts a piece. I was breathing in pure methane from four men with some of the most constant gas I had ever experienced.

I was furniture. Inanimate. At points in the day, a guy would be home alone with me. They still farted into a hole to trap their gas in my living space. My existence was only to serve my masters. My four gassy masters for life.

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