>be Celestia’s personal note-taker and right-hoof man.
>you spend basically 24/7 with the princess.
>following her around as she attends events and fulfills responsibilities.
>the times you enjoy the most are when the two of you are alone together for the evenings.
>she likes you to stroke her and cuddle to help her unwind.
>sprawled out regally over the grand chaise lounge in her bedroom.
>your hand scritch-scratching along her neck and back.
>she’s giving you a look.
>a coy, wry, smug little smile that conceals something.
>she keeps that look fixed on you.
>”Anon...”
>That alluring purr.
>”Pull my hoof.”
>You feel her voice vibrate in her throat; sultry and lulling as she raises that left hoof of hers and jabs it towards you.
>you share a look, and the little fire in her eyes tells you she’s been waiting a while for this opportunity. 
>hand grasping around her hoof you give it a gentle tug and watch her tail rise up graciously.
>that long, windy, droning noise that almost shakes her cheeks as it vents from her in a steady, bellowing gust.
>ten rich seconds of nonstop release.
>she punctuates it with a throaty sigh; undercut by a grunting moan of satisfaction.
>there’s little Celestia likes more than the feeling of a hot, raw fart spreading that ponut of hers.
>”Oh, my. I AM sorry.”
>that slow, teasing sarcasm as her eyes flash you another spellbinding glare.
>”I really needed that.”
>she sighs, and you feel her chest sink down as she does so, letting out a little satisfied moan.
>”They’re nice and steamy today, Anon. Would you like to feel?”
>you don’t even have to nod for her to know that you do.
>your hand trails downwards along the ridges of her spine and then across that great softness of her flank; fingers rubbing around that bright orange cutie mark as you reach all the way back behind her.
>down, down, along the curvature of those wonderful white cheeks.
>as your fingers cross her marepussy they become sticky and slickened; you pull strands of her juices away from her and feel them web between your fingers. 
>”Sorry. I suppose that got me a little excited. Can you blame me?”
>you hold out your flattened palm a few inches away from where her asshole is.
>she sucks in her bottom lip and bites down, applying a little pressure to her abdomen.
>another fart comes out in a noisy cracking torrent.
>you can feel that rushing hot air dance against your hand; a powerful current that warms it up substantially. 
>it almost feels like blowing a hair dryer against it.
>After a few seconds of hang time it rumbles to a silent stop.
>you waste no time in bringing your hand up to your face and inhaling; deep and deliberate; you really want to take in her scent.
>that sourness that’s singed into your palm: musty, gassy, almost spicy, but altogether a smell that belongs to Celestia alone.
>you always find it interesting that a mature mare has farts that, in some way, smell mature themselves; aged, fermented, full-bodied. 
>”I hope you’re not going to keep it all to yourself, dear.”
>you promptly bring your hand back down to its position behind her rear.
>this time you cup your hand a little and seal it in place horizontally across the cleft of her cheeks.
>within seconds she’s passing more wind; quietened by the presence of your hand but still loud, boisterous and thundering.
>the moment it ends you hastily bring it up to Celestia and she brings her head forward, nestling her muzzle into your hand and letting you feel the cold sting of her nostrils sucking in her own aroma.
>you watch a frown impress itself upon her brow; eyes tightening as she holds it firmly in her lungs.
>she breaks out into a coughing fit.
>”Oh, my. Are you sure you didn’t stick a few florets of broccoli up there, Anon? Awfully pungent.”
>with farts this humid she really could steam raw broccoli until it was tender.
>she loves it just as much as you do, though - the filthy mare that she is.
>your hand quickly finds itself round back of her again.
>you decide to give that ponut of hers some attention.
>your thumb runs around that tight muscled ring and you feel it twitch responsively.
>it’s covered in a film of slippery sweat.
>your rubbing arouses a moan from the princess. She likes having her asshole played with almost as much as she likes passing things through it.
>it yields slightly to your touch.
>another blast of air quivers through her sphincter, followed by a string of several shorter farts that you can feel flow out from her puckering, winking asshole.
>your index finger replaces your thumb and presses right into the middle of that pulsing ring.
>”A little deeper, Anon.”
>You plant a kiss on her neck as your finger slides inside, one knuckle deep and then two.
>she moans; full-bodied and womanly.
>your finger is gripped tightly in the contracting inner sphincter. It seems to loosen and then tighten twice as hard, sucking your digit in a little deeper with an audible squelch.
>”I... hnnh... ugh... I love it when you’re inside me, s-sweetheart.”
>With a spasm along the muscles of her back she blesses your finger with another bout of gas.
>It pushes around the pointed obtrusion and passes out over your knuckle in a muffled, windy expulsion.
>she pushes a little harder and those strong inner muscles force your finger out slightly, shrouding it in another barrage of gas.
>”Does that tickle?”
>She giggles and uses those muscles to pull your finger in and then push it out, demonstrating a careful control over her sphincter.
>your finger digs into the resistance of her rectal walls and she yelps, giving you another bubble of gas.
“there was dairy in that cake, wasn’t there?”
>she moans and then offers you a single dry chuckle.
>”is a princess now allowed a little fun every now and then? Even if I’m not supposed to eat it, it adds that little extra kick to my gas.” 
“Nice and sour.”
>”Perfectly ripe.”
>With a much harder strain Celestia forces your finger out of her asshole entirely with a pop and unloads a hefty seven second long ripper that you can once again feel against your hand.
>You bring that finger over to her; it’s utterly coated in the copious sweat from her ass, the blemishing smell of her gas, and the sticky, slimy fluid from deep inside her.
>You hold it under her nose and she sniffs at it. You watch her loss of control as she’s overcome by her own rancid smells.
>”F-Fuck..”
>She starts instinctively grinding against the bed, letting her tongue curl through her lips to taste the tang of her own ass; that tongue wraps around your finger as she suckles every particle of flavor from it.
>”Ughh....”
>she’s reduced to feminine moans now.
>her asshole continues to spew out noisy, rattling farts every few seconds though. 
>her belly is still pregnant with that slowly digesting cake that’s letting off big, windy clusters of concentrated gas.
>You continue cupping your hand over the bubbly bursts, bringing the smell up to her muzzle so you can both inhale and enjoy it. 
>wafting that rotten wind towards the both of you; both surrounded by the smog of Celestia’s fumes.
>uncontrollable gasping and moaning steeped in her heightening sexual excitement.
>that smell of steamed, putrid veggies with just a hint of that ineffable special quality that makes her farts her own.
>both of you reaching orgasm just from the smell of her gas alone.