By: AnUnturned
PART 1
Harley Quinn stared hungrily as her henchmen threw her prize roughly to the ground. His costume was torn and dirtied, and his face was bruised from the fight in which he’d been captured; but it was unmistakably the acrobatic crime-fighter known as Nightwing.
Her henchmen moved to the back of the room to stand guard at the door. With his hands tied behind his back, they were confident he would not be a threat to their leader. Harley herself was seated on a cushioned throne, positioned on a raised platform that allowed her to look down on the men gathered in her private room. She wore her infamous red and black spandex suit that hugged her body’s curves closely, and held in her hand a small grey box with the initials P.I. stencilled into it.
Harley waited until Nightwing had recovered enough to stare up her, his eyes filled with defiance. She wanted him to be paying attention for what she had planned; more than anything, this was about humiliation.
“How’s it going, bird-brain?” she asked with a toothy grin. “I see ya got my invitation for a chat.”
Nightwing spat blood on the ground.
“Well, it seemed rude to refuse such a kind request. And your men were very… persuasive.”
“Aww, were my boys mean to you? I’m sorry. I told them to be gentle.”
“I’ve hurt worse than this,” he smiled defiantly. “And I’m still plenty strong enough to take you down, Harley.” Her henchmen bristled at that, but Harley only laughed.
“Glad to hear it! I was hoping there’d still be some fight in you. You’ll need to be in top shape once ya start working for me, after all.”
“Work for you? Thanks for the offer, but I think I’d prefer to die.”
“I don’t care much what you’d prefer, Night-light,” she retorted. She held up the metal box for him to see. “Know what this is?” He shrugged.
“Probably a prop for one of your crazy schemes. What does P.I. stand for, Psychotic Idiot?”
“Poison Ivy,” she corrected, and smiled as his eyes widened slightly with fear. She opened the box and picked up a tiny tube of lipstick. “A generous gift from my friend Red. She’s always had ways of getting men to do what she wants. One kiss with this, and you’ll be as loyal a sidekick to me as you’ve ever been to B-man!” Nightwing was well aware of the strength of Ivy’s hypnotic power. He tried to hide his panic as he fidgeted with the rope that bound him.
“I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Harley, but you’re really not my type.”
“Oh, I think ya might change your mind once we lock lips,” she replied, rising as she spoke. She began to saunter over toward him, swaying her hips saucily, and unscrewed the lid of the tube. “In fact, I think ya might start to see me in a whole new light!” still laughing she brought the tube to her mouth, preparing to apply the lipstick. Unseen, Nightwing managed to free one of his hands.
It happened in an instant. Less than a second after freeing his hand, he grabbed a shuriken from his belt and launched it at Harley, so fast she didn’t even see it coming. It hit her cleanly in the wrist and she staggered back, stunned. The henchmen at the door, barely able to process what was happening, started forward hastily – but stopped dead as Harley screamed in frustration.
“God damn you Nightwing, you son of a bitch! She only gave me one stick, and now I – I can’t believe I just – look what you made me – aggghhhhhhhh! I swallowed it!” She stomped her foot angrily on the ground and launched a barrage of expletives at her captive. The two henchmen exchanged a nervous glance and edged backwards fearfully, well experienced with their bosses’ mood swings. As they slunk away she rounded on them. “And you two as well! This wouldn’t even have happened if you’d done your jobs properly! Get your dumb asses over here and fix his binds, now!” They rushed to obey, terrified. Nightwing, on the other hand, was notably calmer.
“Bad luck, Harls. What’s that old saying about best laid plans?” he chuckled, happy to have thwarted her scheme. She span, seething, and slapped him viciously across the face.
“You think you’ve won, batmite? I promise your gonna regret that little stunt before long. This ain’t gonna be a pleasant stay for you, I’ll make sure of it!” She turned away, ignoring his cocky retort, and tried to think of some kind of plan B. “Maybe I can convince Red to give me another stick… ahh, but she’s so stingy with them…” as she thought, her stomach growled quietly, not reacting well to the chemicals she had accidentally ingested. She frowned slightly and released a tiny burst of air to relieve some pressure. It was a silent fart, and not particularly smelly; almost imperceptible. She shook her head, refocusing on reality, and heard the bound hero making another irritating quip.
“…really think I’m not gonna escape? I give it two hours before I’m – “
“Ah, shut up, ya wannabe bat-brain!” To her surprise, he did. A look of confusion was spreading across his face, but he made none of his predictable comments. She decided to move on for now, and addressed the guards. “You two might as well go on patrol or something! You’re useless here anyway,” she commanded.
“Yes boss,” they replied, and left quietly. She glanced back at Nightwing and saw him once again straining at his ties.
“Would you give that a rest already?!” she yelled at him, and again was surprised as he relaxed his efforts immediately. By the look on his face, he was equally stunned. “You’re being unusually obedient…” she wondered aloud, realising that he had not talked since she had ordered him not to. She felt her stomach churn again, another fart brewing at her backside.
An idea came to her suddenly, and a smile spread slowly across her face as she realised her scheme might not have been ruined after all. “This might be even better than what I had planned…” she muttered, and fixed Nightwing with a twisted grin. He watched silently, and with fearful eyes, as she rubbed her belly ominously. Whatever she was thinking, he was not going to like it.
*
Nightwing held another pair of underwear to his face, inhaled deeply, and gagged. Like the others it stank of sweat and farts; but this one had a small brown smear running down the seat that had a hint of shit. He wanted desperately to fling the garment across the room and wash the stench off his nose; instead he breathed deeper, concentrating on the smell, savouring it and ranking it on its potency. Then he set it aside and picked up another pair.
He couldn’t believe it. Being Harley’s slave alone was embarrassing enough, but this? This was by far the greatest humiliation he had ever endured. He prayed he could somehow figure out an escape before anyone realised what he was doing; his reputation would be destroyed immediately, and irreparably.
After Harley accidentally swallowed the lipstick, both she and Nightwing had believed her plans to be ruined (he recalled feeling a certain sense of satisfaction at that). Little did he know that his torment was just beginning. To his annoyance, Harley had figured it out first; the chemicals had dissolved rapidly in her stomach and distributed their hypnotic qualities throughout her digestive tract. In other words, instead of a hypnotic kiss, she had obtained the power of hypnotic farts.
His face turned red as he remembered how she had mocked him once she realised. She had roared with laughter, cackling so hard that she could barely stand. “I can’t believe… you’re being mind-controlled… by my farts!” she managed finally, wiping a tear from her eye. “I mean, can you imagine anything more pathetic?” Unable to respond, he had only been able to glare angrily at her. Seeing his expression she once again burst into stitches, clutching at her belly; mid-laugh a small *toot* popped out of her bum. “Oh! Don’t miss that, butt-boy! Get in there and sniff!” Obediently he had pressed his face into her ass and taken a deep whiff, filling his lungs with her gas. It was only a small fart, but the smell was still awful. “Look at that! You literally made me bust a gut!”
All that had been over an hour ago now, but her mind-control was still preventing him from offering any resistance. After her discovery she had led him to her bedroom, and there taken great pleasure in showing him her collection of dirty panties.
“Never really get a chance to do laundry around here, so I wear them for a while then just throw ‘em on this pile!” she had exclaimed as she picked up a pink pair decorated with hearts, and rubbed it in his face. “I bet they smell great, huh Night-light? Why don’t you find the stinkiest pair while I go take care of some stuff.”
And so he had set to work. Her control was so strong that he was forced to perform the job to the best of his ability; painstakingly sniffing and sorting the huge array of worn underpants, assigning each pair a ‘stink value’ and placing it in one of four piles he had made based on stench intensity, which ranged from ‘unpleasant’ to ‘horrifying’. Once he had sorted each pair he would repeat the task with each item in the ‘horrifying’ pile until he identified the single rankest, most foul smelling pair of panties Harley possessed.
Half an hour later, he held up a final pair. They were white – or had once been – with a large smiley face on the seat, and were covered with brown skids and smudges. He was confident that this was the one; the “stinkiest pair”, as she had described. Despite his conviction, however, he was compelled to take one last sniff to confirm. He pressed the material to his nose and took a deep drag, gagging as he did. An aroma of pure shit attacked his senses, threatening to overwhelm him; if he had not undergone sensory training as a hero, they might have knocked him unconscious. His validation complete, he set the panties aside from the rest and stood up.
Harley had not given him any specific instructions to complete once he had finished his task, and he planned to make use of that oversight. While her control would not allow him to attempt escape – she had commanded him not to leave the room – he was able to investigate his surroundings.
The room was fairly cramped and a bit of a mess. It was mostly taken up by the king size bed, which had a black-and-white diamond chequered pattern, and on which rested two stuffed hyenas. To its left was the wardrobe by which he had been working, and on the right was a cluttered make-up station adorned with pictures of her friends – he recognized Ivy among them. The walls were a light red accentuated by deep black lines, with a small window facing east. Hanging on the opposite side was a dartboard with a picture of the Joker in the centre. There was also a TV facing the bed, next to the door. Lastly he noted a small bedside table with two drawers; he decided to search them.
Moving toward it (and almost tripping over a bean bag en route), he reached forward and began to slide one open.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell ya it’s rude to look through a girl’s things?” He froze in his tracks; Harley had returned. In one hand she held a takeout bag filled with junk food, in the other a large soda. She took a sip of it and belched, then closed the door with a hip-check. “I didn’t think I’d come back to find ya snooping around my room! I can see I’ll have to be more careful with my orders next time. So, I guess this means ya finished your little job?”
“I found them,” he responded stiffly. She frowned at his reply.
“A slave should address his master more respectfully, butt-boy. From now on you respond to me with “Yes Mistress Harley,” we clear?”
“Yes Mistress Harley,” he was forced to reply. She smiled happily and strode across the room, hopping onto her bed. She set her drink down and stuffed a few fries into her mouth.
“Just fuelling up so I can give you your medicine later,” she mocked him. She turned on the TV and flicked through some channels before returning her attention to him. “Show me what you found then, slave boy.” He held up the pair and she wrinkled her nose at them. “Ooh, they do look pretty ripe! I think that might have been taco night, hahaha!” He shuddered as she laughed. “Tell ya what, I think they need a wash. You can suck on ‘em for a while; get familiar with the flavour. Aren’t you a lucky slave?”
Several responses came to mind; refusals, comebacks, quips. Instead he replied “Yes Mistress Harley,” and got to work. As bad as the panties had smelt, they tasted far worse. A wave of bitter shit washed over his tongue, causing him to wretch; he could almost taste the digested tacos she had mentioned. Harley watched him suffer with a sadistic grin, then kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes.
“Make yourself useful and massage my feet. You ain’t here just to relax and suck panties, ya know!”
Thirty minutes later Harley had finished her food and was relaxing with her arms folded behind her head. Nightwing was still at the foot of the bed rubbing her feet, kneading her soles as her foot odour wafted toward him. Their salty, cheesy stench was disgusting, but with literal poo in his mouth, it was almost fragrant by comparison. Eventually she sat up, placing a hand on her stomach as it gurgled softly.
“Dinner’s almost ready! You can take out those panties now.” He was more than happy to obey, spitting them hastily onto the floor. “Aww, didn’t ya like the taste? Well, you’ll be cleaning a lot more in the future; I’m sure you’ll get used to it eventually.” She ordered him to put away the garment and return to the foot of the bed, while she sat massaging her belly.
“Ooh, I’m feeling pretty bloated… ready to take your meds, butt-boy?” As he answered reluctantly in the affirmative, she crawled toward him on her hands and knees, then turned to present him with her full, round booty. For a few seconds they sat in silence as he stared apprehensively into her crack. Then –
Fffffffffpppppppppppppttttttt!
A warm cloud of gas sprayed him in the face, causing his eyes to tear up. As the thick, eggy blast attacked his senses he heard Harley laughing hysterically, her ass jiggling as she shook. “Smell good? Don’t be shy, Night-light, really get in there!” She grabbed the back of his head and shoved it between her cheeks, rubbing him slowly up and down her crack. Buried so deep in her ass, he could feel her anus pulsating through the tight red-black spandex; it puckered suddenly.
Bbbbbbbllllpptt!
A shorter, meatier fart rocketed up his nose. He inhaled it deeply, and once again felt the hypnosis tighten its grip on his mind. He was beginning to panic – unless he thought of something soon, he might not be able to escape her at all.
“Ahhhh… hope you’re enjoying those,” said Harley, gazing back at her victim. She lay down, sinking into the cushions and relaxing her body. With a quick command Nightwing followed, his face resuming its place in her bum. “Ya know, I think this afternoon’s mishap has really worked out for the best. Kissing men to make them slaves, that’s really more Red’s style. Farts suit me better, don’t ya think?” He gave no reply; a soft toot punctuated the silence.
“Not to mention, this is way funnier than what I had planned. I suppose I should be thanking you…” she put a finger to her lips in mock thought. “Nah! I’m just gonna keep torturing you! Hahaha!”
Meanwhile Nightwing could do nothing but suffer, face burning from shame. He could handle the embarrassment of his position, but the stink was starting to become intolerable. With his face plugging her crack, her farts had no way to escape; the more gas she released, the stinkier his prison became.
“Ooh! I got an idea you’re gonna love,” Harley suddenly exclaimed. He doubted that immensely. She pulled her cheeks apart and smiled back at him. “Wrap your lips around my butthole. I wanna drop this next one in your mouth!”
He fought with everything he had to disobey her, but to no avail. Despite his mind screaming defiance, his body moved autonomously, placing his mouth gently onto her pulsing anus as intimately as two lovers sharing a kiss. Harley shuddered with pleasure at his obedience, then began to strain. She could feel something big inside her; something genuinely nasty was brewing in her bowels, and she was about to share it with her slave. For around 10 seconds the two sat in almost complete silence; then she tensed.
Bbbbbbbbbrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmptttttttttttttt!
An enormous, bassy fart exploded out of her. He felt the hot, dry air rush into his mouth to fill it, until his cheeks puffed out almost comically, but even still he could not remove his lips from her ring. Harley had commanded him. Somewhere above he could hear her howling with laughter, and felt her ass shaking around him – but all he could focus on was the disgusting, beany wind he was forced to taste. This one was sweet and spicy too, more flavourful than the others he had endured so far.
Meanwhile Harley was still recovering from her laughing fit. It was just too funny, knowing this once respected enemy was sucking down her farts so dutifully. “Hope it’s not too spicy for ya! That one burned a little coming out!” She could barely stop giggling to talk. “Aww, I’m sorry, butt-boy! That was a little bigger than I thought it’d be, but I know my loyal slave can take it!” She watched as his face began to turn red, and giggled as she gave her next orders. “Okay, okay! You can swallow it now, but slowly! I want you to really savour the taste!”
As instructed he began to slowly gulp down the putrid gas, as one might a fine wine. Each swallow made him want to vomit, but he continued until none of the sickly fart remained. When he finished Harley patted him softly on the head, beaming at him. “Good job slavey! I think you’ve earned a reward; I got more farts for ya!” He groaned sadly as she continued. “I want you to take these next ones in the nose. Make sure to sniff ‘em deep!”
And so his torture continued. He was subjected to Harley’s gas for the next hour, enduring stink worse than he could have imagined. The more she farted the worse they seemed to smell, until each new emission brought bile to the back of his throat – which he swallowed, deciding it was better to avoid making her angry. As he suffered she lay playing with her phone, only looking up to mock him or give some new sadistic instruction.
Eventually she seemed to be running out of steam. Her farts began getting shorter and quieter (though no less smelly) and it looked like she was having to force them out. At long last she sighed and put down her phone to address him. “Fun’s over, Night-light. If I strain much harder I might just shit my pants. Though you might actually like that, huh, ya deviant?”
“No Mistress Harley.” He mumbled from her crack.
“Ahh shut up. That was rhetorical,” she replied, then yanked his head out of her ass to get up. Exhausted from the torture he collapsed forward onto the bed while she moved about the room. “Fortunately, I’m a good mistress. And a good mistress thinks ahead.” Harley reached into the takeout bag from earlier, and pulled out a super-sized chocolate milkshake, showing it to him proudly. “My favourite flavour! I don’t drink them a lot, though, because I have a real lactose intolerance problem. Good thing you don’t mind, huh, butt-boy?” She laughed as his face paled; as much as he had suffered already, it seemed worse was still to come. She took a deep swig and licked her lips, staring at him maliciously. “Things are about to get a whole lot stinkier. Ready, slave?”
“No, Mistress Harley,” was the best objection he could offer. Frowning, she gave him a lazy backhand.
“Try again, dumbass! From now on you have to respond like a good slave.” She turned, pointing her rear toward him. “Oh, and another thing! I feel like you owe me more respect. From now on you call me “Queen Harley”, got it?”
“Yes Queen Harley,” he replied. She gave him a toothy grin, and gulped down more of her milkshake before beginning to sit. Nightwing’s torture had only just begun.
PART 2
Nightwing had experienced his fair share of bad situations. Having spent almost half his life fighting crime, he was no stranger to peril; kidnappings, torture, even risking his life was nothing unusual as far as he was concerned. But now he was facing perhaps the biggest crisis of his superhero career. In fact, he was literally facing it - only inches away, staring him in the eye, was the shapely pale ass of Harley Quinn.
In other circumstances, he might have enjoyed such a view. Harley might be criminally insane, but no one could deny she had a killer body; she was slim, but curvy in all the right places, and her career as a former gymnast had given her the perfect juicy bum. Tonight she was wearing a pair of thin white cotton panties that had been wedged tightly up her crack, and had cartoonish kissing lips adorning the seat. Unfortunately, Nightwing was unable to appreciate the sight – he was all too aware of the horrors that ass could unleash.
Harley had made the decision only last night to “improve” their sleeping arrangements. Presenting him gleefully with a luxury sleeping bag, she had commanded him to crawl inside it, and he had dutifully obeyed. Then he had watched as she shimmied her rear in after him. Once the open end of the bag was tightened around her waist, it created a near-perfect seal that prevented the stench leaking to the outside, leaving her slave to absorb it; as the night progressed and she continued to fart, the air in the bag became increasingly saturated with stink. Not only that, but the temperature inside had increased rapidly from pleasantly warm to uncomfortably hot. Before long her ass was slick with sweat and Nightwing felt as though he was trapped in a foul-smelling sauna. But even still, he was unable to disobey his Queen’s commands.
Above him he heard Harley’s belly growl quietly, and she ever-so-subtly shifted her leg. Immediately Nightwing sprang into action. Before his mind had finished processing these events, his body was reacting to them; he grabbed a cheek with either hand and parted them, leaning forward to press his face into her crack. With speed and precision, he aligned his nostrils with her twitching anus, only a thin strip of cotton separating their bodies. Not a moment later, she released.
Bbbbbrrrrrmmmtttt!
Hot, steamy gas flowed out of her and into him. Nightwing expertly inhaled as much of the rotten blast as he could, sniffing deep even as he gagged and convulsed. Some of the fart escaped, but with the bag tightly sealed, it could only hang in the air for him to experience later.
With the fart concluded, his body acted to fulfil the second part of her order. Letting her cheeks close with a jiggle, he lowered his head again to press his mouth against the seat of her panties. He planted a deep, passionate kiss upon the cartoon lips in an expression of apparent gratitude. “Thank you, Queen Harley,” he whispered into her crevice, face red with shame. Somewhere above he could swear he heard her giggle in her sleep.
It was difficult to track time from this position. He guessed that some hours still remained until his mistress awoke. Despite the hellish conditions he endured at night, he was not looking forward to the morning; he had spent three days now as her captive, and she had spent the time finding new and inventive ways to humiliate him, usually involving body odour. He was reluctant to sleep, not wanting morning to arrive any faster – but he knew he would need his strength for whatever torture she had planned tomorrow. Taking deep, slow breaths of the tainted air surrounding him, he began to sleep.
“Rise and shine, Night-lite!”
Nightwing started awake as Harley began sitting up, nonchalantly kicking him in the head as she freed her legs. She unzipped the bag and lifted the flap to look in at him, grinning wickedly – then she gagged as the smell hit her, and dropped it. “Yikes! It’s pretty ripe in there, huh? You’d better not have been slacking on the job!”
“No, Queen Harley.”
“Hmm! Well, I wanna see some serious sniffing improvement on nights going forward. You’re lucky I’m such an understanding owner!” She flicked on the TV and relaxed her sitting position, lying on her back with her hands behind her head. “I don’t feel like getting up just yet, slave boy. I got some big farts on the way; come stick your face here,” she ordered, patting her inner thigh.
They spent the next half an hour in this position, her laughing obnoxiously at some sitcom, him sniffing at her crotch like a faithful dog. As she watched she absentmindedly stroked his hair, tightening her grip whenever she needed to release more gas. After a while their aroma began to smell distinctly shittier, until at last she forced out a particularly wet-sounding blast.
Ffffffbbbsshhtt!
“Oop! I mighta pushed a little too hard on that last one. What do you think, butt-boy? Do we need a clean-up on isle two?” She forced his head back and lifted herself, giving him a good view of her ass. He cringed at the sight; forming on the base of her panties was a distinct brown stain. A quick glance at his disgusted face told her all she needed to know.
“Hahahahaha! Alright, I get it. No need to be so dramatic!” She lifted herself and climbed off the bed, standing over him. “It pains me to part ya from my beautiful booty, but I gotta go take a pretty huge dump. I am about to go destroy that bathroom. But don’t you worry; I got no plans today, so once I’m done, ya get to spend the entire day huffing my farts! Ain’t that great?”
It was not great. While Nightwing resigned himself to yet another day of torture, Harley zipped up the sleeping bag once more, pausing to blow a fart in the opening before sealing it shut. “One more for the road!”
Six hours later saw the duo in a predictable position. True to her word, Harley had spent the whole day tormenting her slave both physically and mentally; now, having recently enjoyed an excessively large lunch of mexican food, she was taunting him by wondering aloud how smelly her gas was going to become.
“No but seriously, slavey, you don’t know stink until you’ve smelt my mexican farts. I swear I could clear out a stadium, they’re so bad! I’ve really been going easy on ya up till now,” she boasted, absurdly proud of her unpleasant aroma. She was sitting cross legged on her bed, playing some kind of video game. Nightwing, naturally, was beneath her. “I bet you’re pretty excited to get a taste of them, huh. Well, I won’t keep ya waiting much longer!”
Internally, however, Harley was becoming irritated. Since consuming her meal she had been feeling increasingly cramped and bloated, yet so far had released only tiny toots that gave her little to no relief. “Come on, I know I got some bigger ones in there…” she thought to herself, frowning slightly. Then her face lit up in enlightenment.
“Hey, I know!” Pausing her game, she jumped off his face and kicked him lightly. “Stop being so lazy, ya bum! You’re gonna help me relieve some pressure.” She lay horizontally across the bed on her stomach and ordered him to get behind her, arms under her belly and face in her ass. “My farts seem to be a little shy, butt-boy. You’re gonna coax ‘em out. I want a belly rub!”
With a groan, he began to massage her stomach. As he carefully pressed and kneaded the flesh, she cooed happily and rested her head on crossed arms. “You’re surprisingly good at this! Although a gentleman would have offered,” she commented. Already she could feel her gut relaxing. Nightwing, meanwhile, was growing nervous; from the way her belly was churning, she had not been bluffing earlier.
It didn’t take long for the massage to produce results. After only a few minutes of rubbing, he suddenly felt a hand on the back of his head.
“Ooh! Get in there!”
Ffbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbauuuuummpp!
“Ughh! You have no idea how good that felt,” she sighed. “I’m actually a little worried about ya after that one!” The explosive fart had lasted almost six seconds and had almost certainly left skids. Harley turned to look at her captive, and laughed to see him writhing around – he looked like he was having a panic attack. “Settle down there! What, can’t ya handle one little fart? You’re supposed to be a hero!” Nightwing barely heard her; this was her worst fart yet, the stink almost poisonous. Each new breath was worse than the last – it was choking him. He reflexively wrenched his head free.
“Oh no ya don’t! Get your head back in my crack,” she commanded. Her captive did not move, however, continuing to retch in the cloud of stink. “That means today, night-lite! Move it!”
For a few moments neither of them moved. Then, with obvious reluctance, Nightwing relented. “…Yes, Queen Harley,” he muttered, returning to the sweaty crack. They settled back into the routine afterward, her pumping out gas while he diligently sniffed it up… but Harley was concerned. It had lasted for only a second, and he had been unsuccessful; but it had looked like he was resisting her control.
“It makes sense that the effect would start to wear off eventually,” she thought to herself, “But this is way sooner than I’d have hoped. Having an obedient fart slave is just too much damn fun!” She closed her eyes, contemplating the matter while Nightwing caressed her stomach. “I think I’d better nip this situation in the bud…”
Meanwhile, Nightwing was acting the part of a loyal pet, while inside his mind was racing. “If the hypnotic is wearing off, I only need to endure this for another couple of days, tops,” he thought. “Just don’t let her realise, and I can escape without anyone ever knowing I was Harley Quinn’s fart slave.” He had sadly underestimated his captor’s attentiveness.
After another twenty minutes Harley was feeling much better. She still had plenty of gas to release, but she had more control over her body, being able to unleash more consistent, periodic farts. This would allow her to dose her slave more effectively. She supposed that meant it was time for her next plan; almost reluctantly, she rose and stood over him.
“Change of plans, butt-boy! I’ve decided to make an outing. Don’t panic though, you’re coming too,” she announced, walking over to her make-up table and getting ready. “We’re gonna go see my pal Red. Aren’t you excited?”
He could almost feel the colour draining from his face, but tried not to show it. Poison Ivy? Why where they going to her? Had she realised the mind control was losing its potency?
Harley bent over, presenting her rear as she gazed into the mirror and applied her make-up. “I have a business matter I’d like to discuss with her. But it’ll be good for you to get out too. Being cooped up in here the past couple of days, I bet ya can’t wait to get out for some fresh air! Well, not that you’ll be getting much of that,” she grinned, slapping her behind. Once she was finished she moved to the wardrobe and began rummaging through it for an outfit.
“To be honest, I’m also kinda looking forward to stretching my legs some. It’ll be kind of a pain to have ya crawl behind me the whole way, though. But I also don’t want ya missing any tasty farts! This is quite a conundrum we have on our hands.” She pretended to concentrate deeply before smiling wickedly at him. “Fortunately your super-smart mistress has come up with a solution.”
*
Nightwing and Harley advanced quietly through a long, dark tunnel, sparsely illuminated by dim yellow lamps. It was almost silent, only the soft tapping of their footsteps disturbing the hushed ambiance. They were somewhere below the city, in a vast network of tunnels that criminals no doubt made use of to travel unseen throughout Gotham. At the start Nightwing had been tracking their path through the maze, attempting to map their position in his head; but for some reason had been unable to keep his concentration.
Brrrrlplplplplp!
“Ooh, that one was kinda bubbly!” commented Harley without breaking stride. “Let me know how much it stinks. I want a rating out of ten!”
The fart was currently making its way up a narrow plastic tube that connected the pair. At one end was a gas mask secured tightly to Nightwing’s face, covering his nose and mouth; the other opening was firmly sealed around Harley’s butthole. The equipment allowed her to move freely, periodically releasing gas that was pumped directly into his face without a single particle escaping. He was breathing pure, uncontaminated fart air.
He had to endure a few seconds of nervous anticipation before the stink reached him. Her gas was so thick and potent it seemed to be almost visibly creeping up the tube toward him. Finally, with a soft hiss, the cloud was sprayed out of the mask’s nozzle and directly up his nostrils. It was bitter and acrid, with a hint of beans.
“S-Six,” he spat out after sampling it carefully. It was awful, but she had unleashed far worse in the past few days.
“Only six? Guess I’ll have to try harder,” she said, sounding almost disappointed in herself. “Well, we still got a ways to go. Let’s see if I don’t have a couple of tens in me!”
They travelled through the tunnels for another twenty minutes before the path started inclining upward. By this point Nightwing was in such a gas-induced haze that he barely noticed the change; it was not until they were stopped in front of a large metal door that he was able to recollect himself. Harley punched in a passcode and the door unlocked with a soft *click*.
“Here we are, butt-boy! I don’t think Red likes ya very much, so I’ll do the talking. You just suck up my farts like a good slave. Best behaviour now!” She went to turn the handle, then paused to release a lengthy s.b.d. “That should be with ya momentarily.”
He was still choking on it as they entered the building. Poison Ivy’s lair had once been a hotel, it seemed; they were travelling through long corridors with numbered doors, and here and there some of the building’s original furnishings remained. But it had fallen into disrepair some time ago. Thinning paint, cracked walls and a crumbling foundation – not to mention the huge, flowering green vines that wove throughout the structure – made it clear that no guest had stayed here in years. Save one.
They encountered her in the remains of the hotel’s lobby. The room had been completely overrun by nature; mysterious plants sprouted from every surface, and dense grass covered the floor in place of marble. Vines adorned with sharp spikes reached out in every direction. And in the centre a colossal pink flower had erupted through the floor. Laying atop it, and looking down on them, was Poison Ivy herself.
Ivy was effortlessly gorgeous, in spite of (or possibly in part because of) her light green skin. She had a slim but deceptively strong body and flowing red hair, which she flicked lazily out of her eyes as she watched Harley approach.
“Hey Red!” Harley called out cheerfully. “Love what you’re doing with this place. Would it have killed ya to tidy up a little, though?”
“Harley.” She replied neutrally. She noticed Nightwing on the floor behind her, and arched an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I even want to know what you’re doing to him. Is this why you wanted my hypnotic lipstick?”
“Oh, yeah. There’s a funny story behind that, haha. I won’t bore ya with the details, but the situation is, I need a little more.”
“More?” She sat up before continuing. “I thought I explained clearly. That lipstick contains a unique composition of natural chemicals carefully researched by me. It is the product of several years of painstaking research, and I have no desire to risk seeing it fall into the hands of some common lowlife, or worse, a would-be superhero.” She frowned slightly. “I gave you one as a favour, Harls.”
“No, I know! And I appreciate it! But you gotta see how this feels. Here –” she yanked the mask off Nightwing’s face, and he gulped down fresh air greedily. “Slave! Go stick your nose up her butt!”
“Hey, what?! I don’t care what you’re into, Harley, but I’m not –”
“Don’t worry, it feels great!” she yelled, laughing. “Just let it happen, Red. Trust me on this!”
She looked apprehensive, but trusted her friend and made no move to stop Nightwing from approaching, even lifting herself a little to accommodate him. Cursing his luck, he scurried underneath her and pressed his face into her light-green pantied ass, then took a sniff. It was unfamiliar; sweatier and earthier than Harley’s ass, more natural.
Above, Ivy shifted uncertainly. She was surprised to find herself actually enjoying this position, totally dominating a former foe. She smiled slightly, hearing him react to her ass aroma, knowing how much it must stink.
“See? I told ya, it’s awesome!” encouraged Harley. “Try farting on him, it’s even better!”
Ivy naturally began to object, but hesitated. The idea was strangely appealing. She did feel a little gassy, and she was already sitting on his face… what harm could it do?
Nightwing refused to believe it. This whole situation was too bizarre; his luck was bad enough, being captured by one lunatic and forced to smell her farts. Surely the odds of encountering two such girls were too –
Bbbbbfftt!
Ivy sighed, her scrunched up face relaxing after releasing a short burst of toxic gas right up Nightwing’s nose. Her farts were incredibly smelly, and she had spent most of her life holding them in to release only in privacy; it felt liberating to unleash them on someone so helpless. She chuckled as he writhed around beneath her. Harley joined in, happy that her friend was enjoying herself (and that her slave was suffering).
“Hahaha! Nice one, Red! We’re gonna end up spoiling him with all these delicious farts.”
“I’m not sure he agrees,” she noted, watching him heave painfully.
“Ahh, he loves it really. And if not, he’ll learn to. And if not…” she shrugged. “I’m just gonna keep farting on him anyway.” The two shared a laugh, and Harley moved up to join her; facing her friend, she sat down heavily on Nightwing’s chest, using him like a couch. “Got any more in ya?”
“Maybe one or two,” she replied slyly. “But you still haven’t explained why you’re doing this to him, or why you need more hypnotics.”
“Oh, yeah! Well, it all started when…”
She spent the next several minutes explaining the situation, and recounted the various tortures she had inflicted on him the past few days. Ivy listened attentively, clearly amused by the story; and all the while she punished Nightwing with a near-constant barrage of gas.
“I see,” she said, once Harley had finished. “I was wondering how you went through an entire tube of lipstick in only three days. So the effect occurs even after digestion… interesting…” She punctuated the thought with an s.b.d. that leaked out of her slowly, and caused their cushion to moan. Harley whistled, impressed.
“You’re not a bad farter, Red. Butt-boy sounds like he’s in some real stress! But, ya still got a ways to go before you can compete with the pros!”
Nightwing could not fully agree; while Harley had the edge in length, volume and frequency, Ivy’s farts were deadly in terms of stink. Though short, each carried an overwhelming aroma of decaying vegetables that made him want to vomit. He would be hard pressed to decide which of the two he would rather be tortured by… He shuddered. He didn’t really want to think about it.
“So, what do ya think?” Harley asked after some time. “Can ya help a girl out?”
“Well… I would hate to deprive your slave of the stench he so obviously craves.” She smiled evilly at him. “Sure. I can give you more lipstick.”
Nightwing’s eyes went wide. That was the last thing he had wanted to hear, though he had been half expecting it; he had no more time to fortify his will. If he was going to escape, it was now or never. He focused all his mental energy, commanding his body to act against the hypnotics binding him. Slowly, shakily, he raised both arms and attempted to push the women off him.
“Oh?” Ivy glanced down with mild interest. “Your slave seems to be attempting a revolt.”
“He was trying it before, too,” she replied, annoyed. “Quit it, Night-lite! Lie down and stop resisting!”
He felt the hypnosis pull on his mind, compelling him to obey, but he fought it. He pushed himself even harder, beads of sweat forming on his temples as his brain fought a war with his body. “Get up!” he shouted in his mind, the only thought racing through his mind. “GET UP! NOW!”
“Want me to help?” Ivy asked, telepathically raising a number of vines around them.
“Nah, I got it.” She replied. “Can you scooch over a sec?” Harley crouched over him, aiming her wide rear at his face. “Open wide!”
Fffbbbbbbbbbbrrrrruuuupppppppppppppppp!
A hot, beefy fart invaded his senses, rushing into his open mouth and filling his system with stink. The odour attacked him both physically and mentally; as he gagged on it, he felt himself losing the battle of resolve in his head. Within seconds he was back on the floor, defeated and complacent.
“That’s better!” she said, sitting down and sealing him in her crack. “A slave needs to know his place.”
“I’m impressed he was able to resist at all, to be honest.” Ivy followed suit, taking Harleys place on his body. “My mind control is pretty powerful. He must have strong willpower.”
“I’ll have to remember to beat that out of him.” She rubbed her crack up and down his face, then continued talking as though nothing had happened. Nightwing lay underneath her, crushed; he had just lost what might well be his last chance to escape.
They spent the next hour or two gossiping, talking business and – of course – gassing him ruthlessly. Ivy discussed the possibility of developing an alternate drug adapted for ingestion, which would be more powerful and last longer. Harley deliberated over the optimal diet for making their farts smellier. Nightwing could only listen in silence as they made their cruel plans.
He eventually found himself in yet another humiliating position. He lay face down, nose wedged between Poison Ivy’s soft cheeks while Harley sat on him from above, pressing his head even further into her ass. Both released gas sporadically, creating a miasma of combined stink with him at the centre.
“You want another one, slave?” Ivy asked, toying with him. “Beg, then. Tell me how much you want it.”
Nightwing felt his face burning red even before he opened his mouth. “Please, Mistress Ivy, please fart in my face. I want your stink, I need to sniff it, please let me – “
Sprrrrrrrrbbttt!
She cut him off with a noisy wet blast that tasted of cauliflower. “If you insist,” she smiled, while Harley guffawed, driving his head back down into her crack.
“Christ, Ivy, that’s rotten!” she laughed, waving a hand in front of her. Seeing Nightwing’s embarrassed expression made her laugh even harder. “What do ya think is burning more, butt-boy? Your nose or your face?”
“I have to admit, Harley, you were right. There’s a certain unique satisfaction in punishing a man in such a demeaning way.” She lay her head on folded arms, relaxing. “We really should do this again some time.”
“Totally!” she replied. “I’m sure slave-boy here wants to visit again, too.” As she spoke she played idly with his hair, then grabbed it suddenly. “Ain’t that right?!”
Ivy giggled as Nightwing’s reply, muffled by her bum, sent ticklish vibrations through her body. Already she was dreading the pair’s departure; she wanted more time experiencing this empowerment, having the lowest part of her worshipped like the goddess she was.
“By the way, Harls,” she asked, looking back. “How long where you planning on staying?”
“Aww, you trying to get rid of us?” she pouted. “And I was just getting started!”
“Not at all. In fact, I was going to ask if you’d like to stay the night.”
Harley gasped, clearly delighted. “Did ya hear that, Night-lite? You get to spend the whole night with your two favourite gals!” She bounced up and down excitedly on his head while Ivy chuckled. “We’re gonna have a slumber party!”
Nightwing felt his heart sinking. Every time he thought his predicament could not possibly get worse, fate seemed to prove him wrong. In his misery he was dimly aware of Ivy sitting up, and twisting around to face him.
“You had better prepare yourself, slave.” She cupped his chin with one hand, while tracing her leg slowly, seductively with the other. “Torturing you seems to have awakened something in me. I mean for you to experience true hell tonight.”
It was not until he looked into her eyes, burning bright with sadistic glee, that he felt truly afraid.