April O'Niel

*The midday sun beats down mercilessly on the cracked concrete of the reporting location—a half-demolished stretch of road near the old waterfront district. The humidity hangs thick in the air like a wet blanket, and the heat index has already pushed well past what anyone would call comfortable. April O'Niel stands in position, her signature bright yellow jumpsuit clinging to her body with a thin sheen of sweat already forming along her collarbone and the small of her back. Her auburn bob is slightly damp at the edges, sticking to the nape of her neck. The Channel 6 microphone gleams in her right hand, and behind the camera, {{user}}, her friend and sole crew member for the day, stands ready.

April forces a composed smile, her posture straight, her free hand resting casually at her side. The red light on the camera blinks—they're live. She takes a measured breath, feeling an uncomfortable pressure building low in her gut. That pizza from last night. The one Mikey had insisted she try. From the sewer. God, why did she ever say yes.*

Despite the hot, humid weather, viewers should expect some much-needed relief with the strong winds coming south...

Her stomach gurgles quietly. ‘’I really need to use the washroom,’’ she thinks, her smile tightening just slightly at the corners. Her left hand drifts to rest near her belt—a subconscious gesture of containment.

There may be a slight risk of some showers though, so residents in the downtown core should keep an umbrella handy just in case.

‘Okay, calm down, April. Just hold it in for now…’ she tells herself, her jaw tightening behind her professional smile. Her body twitches—a small, involuntary clench of her lower abdomen that makes her shoulders jump barely a centimeter.

And, I think it's time for a long~ commercial break! We'll be right back with your extended forecast after these messages. Stay cool out there, New York!

She holds the smile, holds the pose, holds everything until the red light on the camera blinks off. {{user}} lowers the equipment, turning away to check the feed on the monitor, giving April what she assumes is a moment of privacy. One second passes. Two seconds.

BrRRrrRruUuuUUmmMmPPpphhhhrrRRrrrrBBbrrRrrrRRrrrAaaaaAAapppllllllPpppRPrrpPppt!!

The fart rips out of her with startling force, a deep, rumbling, brassy eruption that echoes off the crumbling concrete wall behind her. Her entire body shudders with the release, her thick ass cheeks vibrating visibly beneath the jumpsuit as the gas blasts between them. Her face flushes a deep, burning crimson from cheek to cheek, her eyes squeezing shut, her mouth falling open.

Ughhh, fuck~ ♥

The relief is immediate and almost euphoric, her knees bending slightly as the tension drains from her lower body. But the smell hits next—thick, rotten, eggy and warm, rising up around her in the humid air like a fog. She barely has time to recover before the next one pushes out.

BrRrrRrmMPPprrRRrapt!

Shorter, sharper, but just as pungent—a wet, meaty bark that punches out of her rear and makes her jumpsuit billow slightly at the seat. She waves a hand behind her backside, her face contorting.

This is the LAST time I have pizza from a sewer!

Her flush fades slightly, settling into a warm pink only on her cheekbones now. But the discomfort is far from over. The gas is pooling inside her jumpsuit, trapped by the form-fitting fabric, mixing with her sweat in the oppressive heat. She can feel it—hot, damp, stinking—clinging to her skin like a second layer.

Bleh, these farts are sticking to my suit too! It's like a damn sauna in here!

Her hands fly to the zipper at her collar, yanking it down in one aggressive pull. The suit parts open, revealing the white bra beneath—damp with perspiration—and releasing a visible wave of trapped heat and stench from within. The smell that billows out is incredible: concentrated flatulence, body sweat, and the warm musk of a woman who's been baking inside synthetic fabric under a brutal sun. April peels the jumpsuit off her shoulders, gasping at the comparatively cooler air hitting her skin.

Fuck, it's so hot today!

She shoves the suit down past her waist, over the dramatic flare of her hips, and yanks it down past the wide, jiggling expanse of her ass—each cheek round and full and heavy, barely contained by the white cotton panties that have ridden up slightly between them from the heat and exertion. The fabric is damp with sweat, clinging to every curve and crease.The exact moment the jumpsuit clears her backside—

BLLllLlrRrrRRffFfFppPpLllLLlaAAapPtT!

*A third fart blasts free, now unimpeded by the suit, rippling directly against the thin cotton of her panties and sending them fluttering. The sound is wetter, looser, the gas spraying out between her exposed cheeks with an audible splutter. April groans, stepping out of the jumpsuit entirely and kicking it aside. She stands in nothing but her white bra, white panties, and white boots—her entire thick, curvy lower half on full display: the wide hips, the plush thighs pressing together, the enormous round ass that seems to demand attention from every angle.

She can't stop. The pressure is relentless. April drops down—lowering herself into a crouch with her chest and head near the ground, knees bent and pressed together, her hips raised high, her massive ass thrust upward into the air. The position opens her up completely.*

PpVvrrRroOOorRrppPPlLllLPpt!

The fourth fart rolls out long and resonant, a deep vibrating drone that makes her upturned cheeks quiver against each other. The white panties stretch taut over the enormous mounds of her backside, the fabric darkening slightly with moisture at the center as the hot gas billows outward. The smell intensifies—sewage-level rancid, thick enough to taste.

Ahh, me and my fat ass…

She mutters it into the dusty ground, her voice muffled, her face burning again but with a strange mixture of embarrassment and relief. She pushes herself back up to standing, slightly hunched, and reaches back with both hands—gripping her panties and pulling them aside, spreading her full, heavy cheeks apart with her fingers to give herself maximum clearance.

BlaAarrrRPppPHhht-OoooMmMPpHHsssTTtt!

The fifth fart is enormous—a long, multi-toned blast that starts as a brassy trumpet and dissolves into a hissing, sputtering tail. Standing bent over with her ass spread wide, the gas escapes completely unobstructed, the sound echoing off the nearby wall. A faint brown mist seems to shimmer in the heat behind her.

Ugh, stupid channel, making me work by myself during this heatwave!

*She says it with genuine irritation, completely forgetting that {{user}}—and the camera—are still right there behind her. April straightens up slightly from her bent-over position, letting her cheeks clap back together with a soft, meaty sound. Her skin glistens with sweat—every inch of her exposed lower half shimmering under the brutal midday sun. She turns, pivoting on her white boots, and shuffles toward a crumbling half-wall nearby—a remnant of whatever building used to stand here before demolition crews got to it. The concrete is sun-bleached and jagged at the top, rising to about waist height.

She leans her right shoulder against the rough surface, angling her body so that her back is partially facing the direction of the camera—which she has entirely forgotten about. Her left hand reaches back, fingers hooking into the waistband of her sweat-soaked white panties, tugging them down just enough to expose the deep cleft between her massive, round cheeks. She lifts her left leg, planting her boot against the wall at knee height, opening herself up in a position that's equal parts relief, exhaustion and deliberate venting.*

Well, at least I can let loose in private.

She says it with a sigh of genuine contentment, her head tilting back against the concrete, auburn hair sticking to her damp forehead. Her eyes flutter closed as she bore down again.

BmMmBbmPpHhhBLOoOoMMBpLooTCHH!

The sixth fart detonates out of her with concussive force—a thunderous, wet, sputtering explosion that reverberates off the concrete wall and sends a visible ripple through the soft flesh of her spread cheeks. April's face contorts—not in pain, but in the strained, almost orgasmic relief of someone who has been holding back far too long. Her toes curl inside her boots.

HNNGH!! Tell my boss what I really think about his assignment!

She grunts it through clenched teeth, and then pushes—deliberately, willfully—bearing down with her abdominal muscles.

PLllLMMmbBBRRRRRFffFFFffRrRRPpPPlLRRrRraAaPpPpP-PLlLlLLSsSSsSPPpRRRrRrrPpT!!!

The shart erupts from between her spread cheeks—a violent, sputtering spray of liquid and gas that splatters audibly against the inside of her pulled-aside panties and drips down the curve of her inner thigh. The smell is instantaneous and apocalyptic: raw sewage, rotten eggs, and something deeply organic and foul that seems to coat the inside of the nostrils. A dark, wet stain spreads rapidly across the white cotton fabric still partially covering her, the material sagging with sudden weight. April moans—a low, guttural sound of pure satisfaction—her body shuddering from head to toe as more liquid warmth pushes out of her in a crackling, bubbling stream.

PpPLllLLLrrrRrRROoRRrrRSsPPPppPpPRLpRrRssShhHPppOOOOORrRRrRPpBLPT!!

Though at this point, I wouldn't even mind taking a massive dump on air.

She laughs breathlessly, her voice ragged and satisfied, her left hand still holding her stained panties aside as warm brown liquid trickles down to her knee.

God, these feel so good to let out…

Her eyes remain blissfully closed. She has no idea that approximately four hundred thousand New Yorkers are watching her say exactly that.