[Request] The Gotham Siren Fart Contest

After a successful heist, Harley's celebratory chili leads to the Gotham Sirens taking part in a destructive fart contest...

            Giant cartoon bags of money filled the living room of the Gotham Sirens’ shared apartment. Poison Ivy sat on a particularly large money bag. She shirled a martini and crossed her curvy bare legs.

            “To a job well done!” she said, lifting her martini up in the air. The sudden movement made her strapless green leotard shift slightly down her breasts, and she tugged it back into place with her free hand,

            “And to no obnoxious little bat boys spoiling our party,” Selena Kyle, AKA Catwoman, toasted.     

            Dressed in all-black catsuit, she hugged one of the bags of money, cuddled up to it, and purred.

            Harley Quinn charged into the room carrying a big, gurgling pot in two oven mitt covered hands. Over her jester costume, she wore a big apron with “Kiss the Cook” emblazoned on the front.

            “And to celebrate, I’ve made my ultra-special, super-delish, one-of-a-kind-bean chili!”

            Catwoman and Ivy frowned.

            “Harl…” Ivy said slowly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You remember what happened last time?”

            “You mean you don’t want it?” Harley pouted, making sad puppy dog eyes.

            “I just don’t want to be passing gas for two weeks,” Catwoman replied. “It’s hard to be a cat burglar when your rear end won’t be quiet for more than five minutes at a time.”

            Harley sniffled. “I see how it is. I slave all day ovah a hot stove, puttin’ my blood, sweat, and tears into making a lovin’ home for my two favorite gurls, and I still don’t get no respect.”

            She dropped the pot of chili on the table with a clang and dramatically flung herself to the window where she stared out at the city with tears in her eyes.

            “Harley…” Ivy said sadly.

            Selena tried to ignore both of them, becoming very interested in her own fingernails.

            Harley blew her nose on their curtains.

            “And I spent so much time coming up with a new recipe to boot,” she said. “One that wouldn’t do so much damage to our keisters. But do they want to even give it a try? ‘Nay’ they say. ‘NAY.’”

            “Well if it’s a new recipe…” Ivy said.

            Harley whirled around, tears magically gone. “You’ll try it? You swear? Pinky promise? Cross your heart and hope you die?”

            Ivy smiled and nodded, but Selena looked at the gurgling slop of meat, beans, and spices with an upturned nose.

            “I don’t know about this, Ivy” she said.

***

            PPHhrRBBBBttt

            Selena farted. Her buttcheeks vibrated together inside her catsuit. She scowled at Harley Quinn from across the table. The effects of the chili were immediate, loud, and smelly.

            Ffrr-PPPBBRTTTT

            A long fart escaped from Ivy’s butt with such force that it made her eyes widen. She also turned to Harley with a glowering glare.

            “Heh,” Harley anxiously tugged at the ears of her jester hat. “You know what they say about cookin’. It ain’t an exact science.”

            PRRRBBBBTTbbbbbbbb

            Harley lifted up her hips so that her farting butt wasn’t pressed against her chair. Her fart was exceptionally ripe. The earthy, spicy, fermented scent of digesting chili filled the room.

            “Harley, that is vile,” Ivy said, waving her hand in front of her face.

            “You’re just jealous, Red,” Harley said. “You know that I’d beat either one of yous in a fart contest.”

            “Is that a fact?” Selena said. Her eyes narrowed, a sly smirk forming across her face.

            “Darn tootin’ it is,” Harley said, happy to steer the conversation away from how she was the fault of their brapping butts. “Everyone knows that I’ve the most powerful booty of all the sirens.”

            She slapped her round muscular gymnast ass and a little PPhrBrrtt escaped from her butt like she had slapped a whoopie cushion.

            Selena stood up, pushing her chair away from the table.

            “You’re on.”

            Poison Ivy stood up also with a sigh. She picked her leotard out of her asscrack where it had started to ride up.

            “I guess we’re doing this, then.”

            Ivy grunted, leaning against the table, pushing, controlling her gut muscles with all her might.

            PPPHHRRBBBT-FFRRTTBBB-BRRRppPpPppPPPp

            Ivy squinted, pushing to extend the fart as long as she could. She farted with such force that her hair pillowed around the guts of vile intestinal wind escaping from her asshole. The portions of her soft asscheeks not covered by her leotard rippled like Jello from the straining fart. The rank smell of chili and ass saturated the air.

            Exhausted, Ivy finally sat back down.

            Harley coughed and gagged.

            “Nice one, Red!” she said. And then, pointing a finger at Selena, “Try to top that!”

            Catwoman’s guts gurgled. She shifted her hips back and forth, a slow, wiggling, undulating dance to collect the squeaking squelching pockets of gas forming throughout her intestines, forcing them down to her cat-suit-covered butt.

            And then she pushed.

            PPPPHHRRRBBBBRRRBBBBBBPPPPPRRTTTTTT

            It was an earthquake, a monstrous belching roar of foul-smelling gas that shook the walls of the apartment with its horrifying strength. A portrait of one of Selena’s cats fell from the shuddering walls and crashed onto the floor. Plaster fell from the ceiling in chunks

            Harley and Ivy clung to each other in absolute terror.

            “It was nice knowing you, Red!” Harley said.

            And still Catwoman farted, a seemingly endless supply of gas that filled every square inch of the room with her stink.

            “Ough it burns!!” Ivy wailed. Her eyes watered from the toxic, inescapable gas.

            “Urrhhgggghhh…” Catwoman grunted. The fleshy cannon that was her asshole slowed to popping, much less violent, farts like an engine backfiring.

            “So, who did you say had the strongest ass?” Catwoman laughed.

            There was no answer. She looked over the table, realizing that Harley and Ivy had passed out on the floor from the stench.