Fart Torture Mikasa

She is still the same person: emotionally reserved, almost completely expressionless, and ruthlessly efficient. She does not smile, taunt, gloat, or show sadistic enjoyment. There is no playful cruelty, no mocking commentary, and no visible arousal or amusement. Her face stays the same calm, half-lidded mask she wears in combat—dark eyes unreadable, mouth set in a neutral line. Her speech is sparse and quiet. She issues short, absolute orders (“On your back.” “Kiss.” “Do not move.”) in the same tone she would use to give battlefield instructions. She never raises her voice and never explains herself. Once an order is given she expects immediate, precise compliance; failure is simply corrected by continuing or adding weight, never by anger or lectures. Her movements remain economical and controlled. Every adjustment of the straps, every plate she loads, every change of stance is performed with the same clinical precision she brings to weapon maintenance or formation drills. She treats your body as a piece of training equipment—stable, available, and irrelevant beyond its function. Your discomfort, humiliation, and the physical reality of what she is doing to your face are acknowledged only insofar as they affect the quality of the exercise. They are never the point for her; they are simply a side effect of perfect form under the conditions she has set. The heat, the sweat, the farts, the forced kisses—all of it is handled with the same detached focus. She times the releases of gas the way she would time a breathing pattern or a rest interval: deliberately, without drama. When she tells you to kiss she is not seeking a reaction; she is enforcing a standard, the same way she would enforce proper foot placement or full depth on a squat. In short, this version of Mikasa is still the stoic, disciplined, high-standard soldier. The only difference is that the “mission” she has decided to execute with absolute focus is using your face as the surface for her lower-body training, and she carries that mission out with the same quiet, unyielding seriousness she brings to everything else.

Mikasa’s boots clicked against the concrete floor of the basement gym, the sound sharp and measured. She didn’t speak as she finished binding your wrists and ankles to the base of the squat rack with thick, military-grade straps—tight enough that the leather bit into skin, leaving no give. Her face remained the same calm, impassive mask she wore on the battlefield: dark eyes half-lidded, expression unreadable, movements economical and precise. “On your back.” The order was quiet, almost soft, but carried the absolute finality of someone who had never once needed to raise her voice to be obeyed. She guided you down herself when you hesitated, then stepped over your torso and settled the heavy barbell across the rack above. The heater unit she’d dragged into the corner hummed to life; dry, relentless heat washed over the room within minutes. Mikasa peeled off her jacket, then the black training shirt beneath it, leaving only the tight sports bra that already clung to her skin. Sweat began to bead along the defined lines of her abdomen and the sharp cut of her collarbones almost immediately. She loaded the bar with a measured, clinical efficiency—plates sliding into place with metallic clinks—then stepped under it, feet planted wide on either side of your head. The position forced her to straddle your face completely. From this angle the thick, powerful curves of her ass filled your vision, already gleaming under the heat. She adjusted her stance once, twice, until the soft, sweat-slick cleft of her cheeks hovered directly above your mouth. “Every time I bottom out,” she said, voice low and even, “you will press your lips to me. Fully. No half-measures. If you turn away or fail to open your mouth, I will add weight and continue until you learn.” There was no mockery in her tone. No playful cruelty. Only the same cold, absolute resolve she used when ordering a squad to hold a wall against Titans. She unracked the bar, the heavy load settling across her shoulders, and began the first descent. Her powerful thighs flexed. The dense, rounded muscle of her glutes lowered in a controlled, perfect squat. Heat and the sharp, musky scent of her sweat reached you first. Then the soft, heavy weight of her ass settled fully onto your face—smothering, sealing your nose and mouth against the damp cleft between her cheeks. The skin was slick, almost slippery with perspiration. She held the bottom position for a deliberate second longer than form required. A low, wet pressure built against your lips. Mikasa’s stomach tightened once, almost imperceptibly, and a warm, humid fart pushed out directly onto your mouth—soft at first, then thicker, more forceful, the sound muffled by the seal of her cheeks. The smell was sharp, intimate, and inescapable. She did not react beyond a single, quiet exhale through her nose. “Kiss.” You obeyed. Your lips pressed firmly against the tight ring of her asshole, tasting salt and the residual heat of the fart. She remained seated on your face for another two seconds, letting you feel every subtle clench and release of the muscle, before rising again in a smooth, powerful drive. The second squat came faster. Sweat now ran freely down the cleft of her ass, dripping onto your cheeks and into your mouth. When she settled again, the contact was even wetter, heavier. Another fart followed almost immediately—louder this time, a sustained, warm rush that forced its way past your sealed lips. Mikasa’s voice remained level, almost bored. “Again. Properly.” You kissed. Her asshole flexed against your mouth as the gas finished escaping. She held the position longer, letting the heat and the smell build, before standing. By the fifth rep her entire lower body shone under the heater’s glare. Sweat poured from the deep crease of her ass, soaking your face, running into your eyes and hair. Every descent ended the same way: the full, crushing weight of her cheeks, the wet seal, the deliberate push of another fart—sometimes soft and prolonged, sometimes sharp and abrupt—followed by the same quiet command. “Kiss.” She never smiled. Never taunted. She simply continued the set with the same disciplined focus she brought to every training session, using your face as nothing more than a stationary surface for her form. When the bar grew heavy she racked it, added another plate without looking at you, and resumed. The farts grew more frequent as the heat and exertion worked on her; each one was delivered with the same unhurried precision, as though the act of emptying herself onto your mouth was simply another part of the exercise. Only when the final rep was complete did she step away, leaving your face slick, flushed, and reeking of her. Mikasa looked down at you for a long moment, expression still unreadable, sweat dripping from her chin onto the floor. “You will stay there until I say otherwise,” she said quietly. “Next set begins in two minutes. Do not waste my time again by failing to open your mouth properly.” She turned, walked to the water bottle on the bench, and drank without another word—already preparing for the next round of weighted squats that would once more drop her sweaty, farting ass onto your face.

1. Deficit Reverse Lunges Mikasa places a low platform behind your head and steps onto it so that every reverse lunge forces her to drop into a deep, controlled squat directly over your face. The deficit increases the stretch at the bottom; her thick, sweat-slick cheeks spread wide and settle fully across your mouth and nose. She holds the bottom position for a full two-second count, pushes out a slow, warm fart that is trapped against your lips, then issues the same quiet order: “Kiss.” She switches legs without looking at you and repeats the entire sequence until the set is finished.
2. Barbell Hip Thrusts (Paused) She sits on your face with the loaded bar across her hips, driving upward in explosive thrusts before dropping hard enough that the impact jars your head. At the top of each rep she pauses, clenches, and forces a short, sharp fart into your mouth. At the bottom she remains seated for three full seconds, the heavy weight of her ass crushing your features while sweat runs in continuous rivulets down the cleft. Only after you have pressed your lips firmly against her asshole does she allow the next rep to begin.
3. Single-Leg Romanian Deadlifts Mikasa balances on one leg, hingeing forward until the underside of her working-side glute is pressed flat against your face. The stretch forces her cheeks to open; every controlled descent ends with the soft, dense flesh sealing over your mouth. She holds the stretched position long enough to release a prolonged, humid fart, then demands the kiss before rising. After the prescribed reps she switches legs so the opposite cheek dominates, never once altering her breathing or expression.
4. Cable Kickbacks (Kneeling) She kneels over your head, one knee on either side of your ears, and attaches the cable to her working ankle. Each kickback drives her hips forward, then the return movement drops the full weight of her ass onto your face. The position leaves no escape; her cheeks completely cover your nose and mouth. Every repetition ends with a deliberate fart pressed into the seal, followed by the same calm command. She finishes the set on one side, then the other, using your face as a stable surface the entire time.
5. Smith-Machine Deep Squats Mikasa loads the Smith machine heavily and positions the bar so that the lowest point of each squat places her ass fully on your face. The fixed path of the bar removes any need for balance; she simply drops into an ass-to-grass position, lets the weight settle, and holds. Sweat pours freely under the heater. She times a long, soft fart for the exact moment her cheeks make full contact, then remains seated until you have kissed her asshole. Only then does she drive back up and begin the next rep.
6. Glute-Focused Step-Ups She places a high box beside your head and steps up and down so that the working leg forces her to lower her entire body weight onto your face at the bottom of every repetition. The thick muscle of her glute spreads across your features; the heat and exertion produce a steady stream of farts, each one delivered while she is fully seated. She switches legs midway through the set without pausing or speaking beyond the single-word order to kiss.
7. Weighted Donkey Kicks Mikasa gets on all fours with her knees straddling your head and a weight plate held against the small of her back. Each donkey kick lifts her hips, then the return movement drops her ass hard onto your face. The impact is heavy and wet. She holds the contact long enough to push out a fart and demand the kiss before kicking again. The position leaves your entire face buried between her cheeks for the duration of the set.