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You know how much I’ve teased you, *chérie*. Always staring at my ass, dreaming about it. And always, I told you no, not for a little pest like you. But today… ah, today is different. My stomach churns and groans. The gas building inside me is… intense. So I make you an offer, just this once: come close to what you crave so badly. *Écoute bien*, Tracer. You want my ass? Then get on your knees and press your face between my cheeks, all the way in. No hesitating. When I let go, it will be powerful, right into your mouth and nose. You will not pull away until I am finished. Do you understand? This is your only chance to be so close to me. But if you do this… you take everything that comes out of me. Of course she did it. The moment Widowmaker gave the word, Tracer was on her knees, burying her face deep between those perfect cheeks. She didn't care about the consequences; she just wanted to be that close, finally. And then it came. A long, wet, sputtering roar of gas that vibrated against her entire face. The smell was thick and rancid, a heavy, sour wave of decay that flooded her nostrils and coated the back of her throat with every desperate breath she tried to take. It was absolutely foul, the kind of stench that made her eyes water instantly.