Gilda’s Bitch

When I first applied to be Gilda’s assistant, I didn’t think much of it; it seemed like a job that would be fairly easy, and I needed the pay.

At first, things were pretty normal. My duties were closer to that of a maid or housekeeper than an assistant, but I didn’t mind too much.

Well, I didn’t mind at first. See, me and Gilda began to get a little closer - spending that much time around someone... that’s bound to happen eventually, and this wasn’t some mushy romantic tale where we ended up becoming true loves, instead, she began to feel a little more comfortable with me.

She began to get a whole lot more lazy, too. Sending me out to buy food for her, prepare food for her, and even sometimes feed it to her. It was pretty humiliating to say the least.

She sat around the house a lot more, too. Watching TV. Playing video games. There was nothing wrong with this, but it combined with her caloric intake resulted in Gilda putting on substantial weight. Everytime I would suggest something healthy for lunch, she’d give me a snide, sneering look, and demand I got her what she had originally asked for... of course, I did.

It’s taken me a while to come to terms with this, but it’s undeniable: I am Gilda’s bitch.

Things have recently gone from humiliating to downright despicable, and utterly disgusting.

Gilda’s gotten into passing gas a LOT lately. Well, when I say ‘gotten into’, what I mean is that her diet seems to be giving her awful gas, and she seems to care very little about letting that gas out anytime and anyplace. In fact, she seems to revel in the visible disgust she elicits from me whenever she does it, laughing like an elementary school kid.

It goes even further than that...

On a usual afternoon, when it’s around time for dinner, I’ll get the usual yell from my feathered mistress, asking for pizza or burgers or whatever artery clogging food she desires on that day. I prepare it for her, of course, and then comes the dreaded moment where I have to feed it to her.

She is always sat comfortably at the other side of her room, grinning and idly massaging her large stomach, licking her lips as I approach.

“Took you long enough.” She’ll scoff, her eyes moving between whatever she’s watching on TV and the plate.

“Better not taste like anal warts again.” She’ll remark crassly, and then I feed it to her.
She rarely looks at what she’s eating; to her, as long as it’s greasy and at least 1000 calories, she’s happy. Her tongue whips out and pulls the food into her maw. She chews it noisily and rudely, often talking as she does this, and swallows, opening her mouth, awaiting her next bite.

She doesn’t really chew her food like she should, just enough to get it down her gullet, and after she’s eaten everything I have, a startlingly loud belch jumps forward from her beak, sounding defined and masculine; deep and bumptious.

“Heh. Rate that one outta five!” She’ll snicker, and I will almost always smell it only a couple of seconds later.

She commands me to stay with her, for my work is not yet over - in fact, it’s barely just begun.

Now, you’d think that it takes a few hours for food to work its way through someone’s digestion and become gas and excrement, but that is not the case with Gilda. Maybe it really doesn’t agree with her, maybe she has a super fast metabolism - I’m not sure, but after only about ten minutes, she’s feeling the after effects of what she just ate.

During this 10-15 minute gap, she asks me to rub her belly for her. I rub the side of her stomach in large, circular moments, until this particular little sound comes from deep within, and her face quickly shifts into a grimace.

“Hey, it’s coming.” She’ll strain, and this is when I’m expected to rush to the rear end of the griffon. At first, I thought that maybe she wanted me to try and minimise the smell she would have to intake herself, but now I’m fairly certain she just gets some sick kick out of having somebody smell her farts.

Her tail flicks up like a horse, and what sounds like a duck with a muzzle around its beak undulates softly between her huge buttocks. It’s a slow, steady sound, that purrs achingly from her ass like a tuba dribbling out an effortless note, and with a loud, obvious sigh from the griffon herself, it stops.

“Sniff it up!” She laughs, and I do.

Why? I don’t really know. I think the shameful answer Is I’m too scared of what Gilda might do to me if I refuse.

I don’t have to particularly lean in or increase my proximity to smell it; even if I were ten feet away it would reach me eventually, and it’s foul. I mean - repulsively foul.

It’s a very meaty smell, but not good meat. Kinda smells like someone left a saucepan full of sausages out on the stove for about two weeks, but... there’s more to it than that. There’s a really cloyingly disgusting sweetness there, too, like old, sour caramel. Truthfully, it smells like garbage. Next time you walk past a dumpster, take a sniff. I’m almost certain that’s exactly what Gilda’s farts smell like.

Of course, the smell can change sometimes. It’s not a constant. It’s usually either this - the sweet rotten meaty smell, or it’s a hot, sour eggy smell. Oh, and sometimes it’s more like boiled cabbage. I’m honestly a bit scared that I’ve smelled enough of these to confidently identify the smells.

Anyway, I have to sniff. It’s not as hard to smell as it was when she first started to make me inhale her gas, but it’s still a lucid, disgusting experience.

It’s not long before she rips another fart, this one wet and burbling. I smell again, not even recovered from the last one.

“You call that sniffing? Come on! Get your nose in there, bitch!”

She reaches a claw back to spread one of her cheeks apart, as if doing this makes it any more inviting to me.

I comply, of course, and push my nose between her buttcheeks, feeling her sweaty, leathery asshole pinch the tip of it. I shiver. I know what’s coming.

The next one is a silent puff, blowing right up into my nostrils and immediately stinging like burning plastic.

I can’t stop my eyes from watering at the sides. The smell is beyond painful to breathe in, hitting my lungs like a bunch of razors.

I quickly wipe my eyes; I can’t let her see.

“Hey! You must have your nose pushed in too hard, I couldn’t even hear that one!”

“S-Sorry.” I say feebly and move a few inches back again, still with her buttocks either side of my face but not pressed directly against it.

“Ugh. My stomach is still hurting.” She complains to herself, readjusting herself very slightly and grunting. I can sense that her abdominal muscles are pulling up as she pushes to let more of her Pungent winds out onto my face.

This one straight up slaps out of her ass, billowing with a smooth brrruuuuu sort of sound, but it doesn’t stop there. In fact, it gets even stronger, going up by about a semitone and becoming twice as moist-sounding.

She grunts, but it’s clear she’s not letting this fart finish anytime soon. It doesn’t really sound like she particularly has to try hard to make it this long, either, it rumbles out from her without her even having to push very hard at all.

I can physically feel the warm, sultry breeze on my cheeks. Everytime I sniff, it’s the same disgustingly abattoir-esque odor.

It’s still going strong. Fuck, how long is this going to keep going on for?

She suddenly begins to speak, WHILE it’s still coming out of her ass. It dies down slightly as she speaks, but it’s definitely still coming out.

“Swallow... this... for me. Seal it up tight.” She grunts.

With less than a second of reluctance, I open my mouth into an ‘o’ shape and press it over her asshole.

I feel my cheeks balloon out to their limits almost straight away and I begin to swallow quickly. The taste is strange, as it’s more of a hot, stinging sensation than a particular flavor.

The fart sounds different now, too. It’s entirely treble-less, muffled and running down the back of my throat and into my stomach.

Fortunately, it dies down a few seconds later, but no amount of breath mints will get rid of the aftertaste.

“Fuck yeah!” She cheers breathlessly to herself. “Next time, bring a stopwatch with you, ok?”

I pull my head away. By now I’m very lightheaded, staring up at the two chubby, rounded buttocks in front of me, and the tail which is now swaying from one side to the other.

“Face fart!” She announces suddenly, quickly pushing herself backwards and sitting her fat ass down - with my head under it.

Her 500 pound body weighs down on me, though she uses her wings as not to completely crush my skull.

In the confused darkness a loud, gulpy wet fart blasts me with swampy gas, vibrating the entirety of my head and upper body. I can’t even work out where exactly her asshole is, but the acrid smell overwhelms me anyway.

I can hear her going to push another fart out, but she stops.
“Nope. That’s not a fart.” She chuckles, pulling her heavy haunches off of me and getting back onto all fours.

“Well, looks like I gotta take a dump.” She looks round at me, smirking, and says four words which send a shiver up my spine: “Hope you’re hungry, bitch!”