Title:           Soarin x Anon Greentext
Author:          Gassipons
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/3vaTpUfm
First Edit:      Tuesday 18th of March 2014 10:48:45 AM CDT
Last Edit:       Tuesday 18th of March 2014 10:48:45 AM CDT

(Decided I'd post some greentext I've posted in various places in case some people might like to read it. Enjoy!)
 
 
>Soarin doesn't regularly binge out on any variant of pie he can lay his hooves on.
>These same pies don't unsettle his stomach, and leave him with crippling cramps.
>You don't happen to be hanging out with Soarin when the aftermath of his indulgence catches up with him.
>His face doesn't seem to crease into that of gastronomical agony, only the tremble of his lower lip any indication of his pain.
>He doesn't feel a heavy, expanding pocket form in his rectum, begging for release and trying to loosen his anus with sheer force.
>He wouldn't be pushed to the brink of involuntary release as he begins to sweat and bite his lip.
>He would then not follow the only primal instinct he can, by letting the gas out with a loud and deep rattle.
>He wouldn't blush and look to you in ignominy; the fart had been louder than he could have anticipated.
>With a approving sniff you wouldn't make him realise just how ok you were with his anal liberation.
>He wouldn't then, realising it had turned you on grin and lean aside, shuffling himself so that his plush haunches were pressed up against your thigh, and then loosening the valve; the sensation of his deep flatus physically convulsing against your thigh.
>He wouldn't then stare into your eyes with a titillating chuckle and shift his body over so that he was in front of you - facing away from you and with his rear hanging before your face.
>That limber dark tale wouldn't tempt to to venture beneath it, calling you forward to coat your face betwixt his pillows of buttocks.
>You would not give in immediately to this temptation, planting your face firmly between his shapely mounds of fat.
>You wouldn't audibly moan as you felt a heavy rattle against your nose and a strong, sour odor slowly work its way up your nostrils, caressing the cillia in your nose with the organic scent of digested pies.
>Soarin wouldn't laugh a little at your pleasure as you receive each stinky gift that is discharged against your nose.
>You wouldn't spend hours with your face wrapped inside Soarin's rump, taking in every putrid bodily odor he supplied.