The 1980 Nissan Stinkbomb

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Oh God, I can’t possibly last to the end of this!

At the moment, I’m sitting in the passenger seat of a 1980 Nissan Cherry. A very smelly 1980 Nissan Cherry at that. And the reason for that is sitting in the driver seat of the car. It’s a 350-pound woman named Cassandra Rorie….and she’s exceptionally gassy.

If I could, I would open the door and get the hell out of the car–and, I suspect, so would she. But we can’t, because of the bondage holding us inside of it. We’re both tied up the same way in our respective seats…to start, four lengths of rope hold our legs together–one around our ankles, one each just above and below our knees, and one around our upper thighs. Two more lengths of rope hold our arms to their sides, one near our hips at about our wrists, and another near our shoulders just below our armpits. Those ropes are tied in such a way that if either of us tries to move our arms away from our body, they’ll constrict around our trunks and cause us pain.

And if that were the end of the bondage, one or both of us could still open a door and escape the car. But it’s not. Another length of rope is around each of our shins, anchoring our legs to a bar below our respective seats. More rope is around our thighs and below our seats, making it so we can’t lift them from the seat. The bondage is completed by two more lengths of rope pinning our bound upper bodies to the seat–one around our stomachs, and one just below our breasts.

All that is without getting into our gags–our mouths are stuffed with Kaiser Rolls, and white duct tape is wrapped around and around the lower half of our heads, reducing our protests at our situation to “Mmmmph! MMMMMMPH!” And to add an extra level of humiliation to our ordeal, each of us has something written on our tape gags in permanent marker–Cassandra’s reads “GASSY CASSY”, while mine says “FART LOVER”..even though that couldn’t be further from the truth.

As to how Cassandra got gassy, before we were trapped in the car, she was tied up and force-fed a huge plate of beans and cabbage, specifically to prepare her for the car. Then we were gagged, carried to the car–Cassandra needing to be lifted by two people due to her weight–and secured in it, with cameras focused on us. Then a timer was started, counting down from one hour–once it hit zero, Cassandra’s master would come back and open the doors, allowing us fresh air–the car doors were closed, and we were left to our fate.

We’ve been in here for close to a half hour, although it feels like much longer. In that time, Cassandra, who’s wearing a white blouse and khaki pants, has farted, from I can tell in watching the time count down from 60 minutes, about once per minute. They started off small–*brp*, *brrrt*–but stinky…and then they grew in volume and intensity–*BRAAAAP*, *BARRRRP*, *BRRRRRRRT*–as she’s struggled, completely without success, to escape her bondage. Her farts are also growing in stench, and with our tight bread-and-tape gags, we have no choice but to completely smell every single one.

And in such a small car, being bound and gagged next to a 120-pound woman who farted once purely by chance would smell terrible, and I’d be struggling mightily to escape it. Being bound and gagged next to a 350-pound woman who ate a meal designed to force her to fart repeatedly, I’m convinced I’m going to be part of some twisted news story: “FATSO FARTS SELF, FRIEND TO DEATH”

The timer is ticking past 31:00…and as I turn my head toward Cassandra, I see her looking at me too, her eyes pleading for some kind of relief. She mutters through her gag “Gmmm, sorrmmmph…”…and then she closes her eyes tightly and farts again, *BRAAAAAAP* Oh God, I have to get out of here….as she shakes her head back and forth, I move my upper body from side to side to see if I can loosen the ropes binding me to the seat at all. I don’t even have to completely free myself from the bondage–if I can just wiggle out of the stomach and breast ropes, I think I can lean over far enough to open my door and get us some fresh air…

Suddenly, I inhale Cassy’s fart, and oh God does it smell, to the point of making me stop my struggles and start shaking my head back and forth to try and dissipate it. My eyes widen and I try to complain about the stink, but my gag renders it as “Mmmm! MMMM! STMMMMPH!” The smell is like the car is filled with rotten cabbage, and I can’t do anything but take it in with every breath. Indeed, the fact that I’m in the passenger seat of the car is appropriate in a way…I’m completely helpless, along for the ride as my massive friend struggles and farts, torturing both of us with her gas.

Second by second, breath by breath, the stink slowly begins to fade. But it never completely disappears…we’ve been trapped inside long enough, and Cassandra has farted enough times, that a faint stench now lingers permanently inside the car.

30:01… bursa escort 30:00… 29:59…. “Mmmphmmmlmmph…” Cassandra tries to tell me, “Mmmlmmmfarmmmph…” She lifts her left leg as much as the ropes will let her, shifts her weight as far as she can to the right, and lets out a *BRRRRRRRRT*. After a “MMMM!” from both of us, she lifts her right leg, shifts her weight to the left…oh God, her ass is toward me…and farts again, *BARRRRRRRRRRRRRRP*, the sound lasting for a full second and seeming to echo in my ears. Either fart by itself would have been amazingly humiliating for her, even if we weren’t trapped and forced to sniff it. Two humongous farts in the span of about five seconds, though, makes me pity her, even as I dread the stench that will soon find its way into my nose.

Cassandra mutters through her tape, “Mmmgmmbmm stmmmpmmm…..mmmgmmbmm stmmmpmmm…” and a few seconds later, shouts “STMMMPMMM! STMMPMMM! STMMMPMMM!” I see what she means, and cry out “Mmmm GMMMMMMPH! Stmmmpmmm!” I tilt my head from side to side to no avail, and scream “STMMMMMPMMMMMMPH!!” It says something about just awful the smell is presently that a grown man and woman are reduced to using a childish word like “Stinky” repeatedly to complain about it. It really is terrible, though. And with just under a half hour to go until we’re released, I honestly don’t know how many more Gassy Cassy farts I can take before I lose consciousness, or worse. Yes, certain TV shows will say that you can’t be farted to death…but that doesn’t take into account the farts being so rancid that you want to vomit, but can’t due to your mouth being sealed up with tape and bread.

The next five minutes don’t bring much new, but the situation slowly gets worse and worse–Cassandra’s farts grow slightly more frequent, but just as intense, and the stench gets stronger, both from the farts themselves and the air of the car in the time between them.

Twenty five minutes until fresh air, and I’m no closer to escaping my bondage than I was at the start. I look over at Cassy, and see that she’s still bound as tightly as ever as well. I look around the dashboard of the car, and see eight cameras–four camcorders, plus four more webcams. From what I can tell, one of each set is pointed in a specific place–one camera plus a webcam focused on my face, one on Cassandra’s face, and the other two on each of our bound upper bodies.

And then it hits me that our situation is likely being broadcast live onto the Internet. I close my eyes and shake my head back and forth, protesting into my gag “Mmmdmmmlmm farmmmph…. mmmdmmlmm FARMMMPH!”, trying to deny the tape on my mouth branding me as a fart lover.

With the air in the car growing more and more foul, I tell Cassandra as best I can that I’m going to try and work the gag off of me…”Mmmgmmmtrmmm gmmmummgmmfmmph.” If I can even start to breathe freely through my mouth, it’ll at least mean I won’t have to smell every one of Cassy’s farts.

“Mmmmhmmm. MmmmGmmm….” *BRAAAAAAAAP* is her response. I face forward and try to figure out the best way to set about my goal. The kaiser roll stuffed in my mouth is big enough that my teeth are sinking into it slightly. I try to open my mouth further..”Ermph…mph…” but the tape prevents me from doing so. As I prepare to try and push the roll out with my tongue, Cassandra’s latest fart makes its way to my nose…and oh God is it rank! It smells like an entire box full of rotten veggies! I struggle desperately with the ropes holding me to the car seat, leaning forward as far as I can, and scream “MmmmmGMMMM, MMMRMMMMPH!” as I rock back and forth in my bondage. Cassandra clearly agrees with me, as she shouts “STMMMMPMMMMMPH! MMMGMMMM, STMMMMPMMMMMPH!” while shaking her head. Just as the odor begins to fade, she moves her upper body back and forth, trying to escape her ropes…and lets rip her loudest, longest fart yet, its sound lasting two whole seconds before ceasing.

Almost immediately, the smell invades my nose, and impossibly, it smells even worse than the last one. Oh God, this must be what it’s like on the inside of a stink bomb, because that’s how bad it smells right now! I really can’t take much more of this, as my protests are now weak “Mmmph…hmmph…plmmph…”s as I have no idea how long it’ll be before the stench begins to weaken. Cassandra, on the other hand, is more desperate than ever to shout something, anything, through her gag. “PMMMMMMMMFMMMMMMMMM! STMMMMMMMMPMMMMMMMMMMPH!”

The next five minutes feel like five hours as I moan into my gag and weakly struggle with my ropes. Cassy lives up to the “GASSY CASSY” label on her tapegag now more than ever–every thirty seconds or so, she shifts her weight and lets out a second-long fart–*BARRRRRRRRRRRRRRP*, *BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP*, *BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT*–each one effectively layering on top of the previous, making malatya escort the car’s air more and more difficult to breathe.

The timer now reads 20:01… 20:00… 19:59…and I have no idea how I’m going to survive another 20 minutes, as I can feel my stomach churning with nausea. But my gag is as tight and effective as ever, so if I actually start to vomit… trying not to think about that, I look over at Cassandra and see that she’s actually crying from the smell. In fact, so am I–tears are streaming down my face, and snot is beginning to drip from my nose. “MMMMMGMMM, mmmmumfffummm GMMMPG CHMMMBMMMPH!” I shout to the cameras watching me. I look over at Cassandra and tell her “Mmmmcmmmtmmm mmmphmmmmph…” And I know I really can’t take much more–the car’s default scent even after Cassy has been calm for awhile is equal to her first, tiny yet smelly farts. Even without the nausea setting in, I can’t keep breathing in this stench and stay conscious.

Desperate, I look around to see what options I have, looking for something, anything, that might not be “Smell Cassandra’s farts until I pass out.” First, I try to look for options that involve a complete escape of our predicament. Struggle out of the ropes? I’ve tried that for 40 minutes and they’re as tight as ever. Find a knot in one of the lengths of rope that I could pick at and free myself from the rope? I look down at my bondage…nope, that won’t work. Cassandra’s master has clearly tied her up a fair few times before–all the knots are behind my back. And besides, my wrists aren’t in a position to grab at the ropes anyway, even if I could see any knots. Total escape is obviously out.

With that avenue obviously not open to us, I look for some way we can at least get relief, just as Cassandra farts again, *BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP*. Oh God, how many times has she farted since we were shut in here? I’ve actually lost count. I have to get us fresh air somehow…open the door? No, that won’t work–I’m too tied up to reach the handle, and the door is locked anyway. Open the window? No, all the window handles have been broken off. Break the window? Hmmm…it seems like my best option at this point. Unfortunately, the only thing I have to do that with at present is my head. Still, since I’m going to lose consciousness soon if I don’t do anything…

Just as Cassy’s latest fart makes its way to me, I try and put my latest plan into action. I shift my upper body towards her, and then throw it forward and to the right, “MMMMPH!”ing as my head barely hits the passenger side window. “MmmGmmmph, STMMPMMM!” comes my cry immediately after this–“STINKY!” really is the way to describe it. I wind my bound body up and tap the window again, “MMMMPH!”ing again. My bondage means that this plan, too, will likely fail–even throwing myself toward the window, I can barely even touch it with my head.

Cassandra looks over and sees what I’m attempting to do, and joins in on her side. The problem is that she’s now living up to the “GASSY CASSY” on her tapegag so thoroughly that almost any movement she makes results in her passing even more gas–this results in her going *BRAAAAP* during her initial shift in weight towards me, then a longer *BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP* as she throws herself at the driver’s side window. Like me, though, she barely manages to tap the glass with her head. After two more attempts–and four more farts–she gives up, realizing that she’s doing more harm than good thanks to breaking wind with her every shift in weight. I continue to try to break the glass on my side for another minute, alternating “MMMMMPH!”s as I hit the window with complaints about the smell in the car, “STMMPMMM!”

It becomes clear, though, that this plan of escape, and really, any plan of escape, is doomed to failure. And the car is filling more and more with Cassandra’s gas, making it more and more insufferable. At this point, our only chance of getting out of this predicament before the appointed time….17:10…. 17:09… 17:08…is to be rescued by someone outside the car. But Cassandra’s master is sure not going to do that, and it’s highly doubtful anyone watching live would do that either–if they’re watching this, they’re likely far away, and also likely getting themselves off on watching us suffer.

As I prepare to discount screaming for help as an option–the kaiser roll is lodged in my mouth, the tape is wrapped around it, and the feeling of nausea from smelling Cassy’s farts continually is getting stronger–Cassy shouts out “MMMPH! MmmmgmmmFARMPH!” Then she leans forward while bringing her knees toward her stomach as much as she can given her bondage, and lets out a fart that can only be described as a Rorie Bomb.

Even for a 350 pound lady like Cassandra, the Rorie Bomb is absolutely HUMONGOUS, lasting for five seconds and reverberating throughout the gas chamber that is the çanakkale escort 1980 Nissan Cherry we’re bound and gagged in, each second seeming to make it louder and louder before it fades after five seconds. Almost before she’s done releasing the fart, I inhale it, and the stink…oh God, the stink! Put simply, I feel like the victim of a biological weapon, the stink is so overwhelming! Right then and there, I decide that, even though it’s likely what anyone watching this would want, I have to try and call for help, lest Cassy fart me unconscious!


Nearly a minute after her massive fart, Cassandra’s Rorie Bomb fills the car as strongly as ever. It’s no use….I can’t possibly stay conscious for another 16-plus minutes until Cassandra’s master opens the car. I can’t last more than another few breaths!

As the timer counts down toward 16 minutes, I look at Cassandra and tell her “MMMMMGMMMM PMMMMSMMMMMPH!” She replies, “MMMMGMMMM MMMMMSPLMMMMPH!” We’re both full-fledged crying at this point, tears and snot running down our gagged faces. It’s hopeless…there’s no way out of this…we’re out of options except to smell Gassy Cassy farts until the time runs out or we lose consciousness! I inhale–Oh Lord, it still smells like a compost pile in here, thanks to the Rorie Bomb–knowing that this will likely be my last breath before I pass out…my only other option is denial…maybe this is all some terrible dream. Maybe I’m not sitting bound and gagged next to a very gassy 350 pound woman, with “FART LOVER” written on my tapegag.

As the timer ticks to 16:00, I begin to slowly shake my head back and forth. At the same time, Cassandra lifts her left leg and lets out a second-long *BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP*. She then puts her leg down and cries out “HMMMMMMMMMMPH!” At 15:58 on the timer, her right leg goes up–*BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP*–and she again cries out “HMMMMMMMMMMPH!”

As I continue shaking my head back and forth, very slowly exhaling, Cassandra repeats that pattern–*BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP* “HMMMMMMMMMMPH!” *BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP* “HMMMMMMMMMMPH!” *BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP* “HMMMMMMMMMMPH!” *BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP* “HMMMMMMMMMMPH!”–for another eight seconds.

As the timer ticks to 15:48, Cassandra lifts her left leg again, but this time shifts her weight as she does so, resulting in a louder, two-second-long *BRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAP* as my head shaking gets quicker. When she puts her leg down, her cry for assistance is also longer– “HMMMMMMMMMMPHMMMMMMMMMMMPH!” With the timer at 15:44, she lifts her right leg and shifts her weight, resulting in another *BRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAP*, and cries out “HMMMMMMMMMMPHMMMMMMMMMMMPH!” when she puts her leg down.

As my head shaking continues, so does Cassy’s fart-then-scream pattern.





The timer ticks from 15:25 to 15:24. I haven’t inhaled for roughly thirty-five seconds, knowing that I’ll pass out if I do. In that time, Cassandra has farted twelve times, and shouted for help just as many times–Jesus, how can she even stand to breathe her farts in at all at this point? And it gets even worse, as my head shaking gets faster than ever. Cassy lifts both of her legs, closes her eyes, and slowly rocks her upper body back and forth, with the end result being a three-second long fart whose duration and volume are second only to the five-second long Rorie Bomb from a minute and a half ago. Her next shout for help is is three separate cries: “HMMMMMMMMMMMMPH! PLMMMMMMMMMMPH! HMMMMMMMMMMMPH!”, she pleads from behind her gag as she puts her leg down. She then repeats the entire ritual, complete with screaming–another fart fitting of a 350-pound woman is the outcome. Knowing I can’t hold my breath forever, I continue my frantic head shaking as my eyes widen, and Cassy alternates giant farts with desperate screams.

It’s hopeless. My eyes are practically bulging out of their sockets from lack of oxygen. I have to breathe in…and when I do, my nasal passages are going to be assaulted by sixteen Gassy Cassy farts, all of them stinky, plus the stench that was already in the air from before. I’m going to be overwhelmed by the stink and pass out, I know it. As the timer ticks down, 14:59…14:58…14:57…I look over at Cassandra and see her leaning forward, preparing to unleash another gigantic fart into the car. As I close my eyes and breathe in, the last thing I hear is the crescendo of a second Rorie Bomb, reverberating throughout what Gassy Cassy has turned into the 1980 Nissan Stink Bomb.

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