Jacob likes raunchy sex. The more demeaning, the better. He gets off when he’s used by an Alpha and then discarded when his usefulness is finished.
Jacob also likes “Muscles”, the Alpha God at the gym. He’s the kind of guy that would use and discard a guy like Jacob. However, Jacob’s gaydar tells him that Muscles is straight. But Jacob being Jacob, this just turns him on all the more.
So when it’s a quiet night at the gym and Jacob and Muscles are the only men there, he follows the Alpha God into the change room. In a moment of weakness, Jacob gives in to his basest desires... and he’s caught by Muscles.
Instead of punishment and a punch to the face, Muscles gives Jacob everything that Jacob has ever wanted, demeaning him in ways that Jacob didn’t know he needed. And the highlight of it all for Jacob? Muscles’ ripe, juicy farts.
Sniffing the Jock's Farts is a 4,800-word short story.
Muscles seems to get the hint, seems to know what drives my faggy desires. He angles his hips a bit, causing his deliciously hairy ass cheeks to spread and expose his tight, manly hole. It’s tightly knotted; this Alpha God has obviously never bottomed. If I were to show him my hole, he would see what a well-used ass looks like. We’re so different. We’re so perfectly matched.
I stretch my tongue up, trying to reach that amazing and perfect knot of flesh. Just as the tip of my tongue touches it, Muscles flinches.
“Everything okay, Sir?” I ask.
He looks over his shoulder at me, almost shyly. “How much of a pig are you, fag?”
My heart does a pitter-patter of excitement. “Very much so, Sir.”
He squats closer to my face, his tight asshole right in front of my mouth and nose. I stick my tongue out and caress the perfect flesh, lapping up more sweat. Here, though, the taste is drastically different. It tastes like he hasn’t washed his ass in days. I’m tasting things that would turn off most men — even most fags — but for me it drives me up the fucking wall with horniness. I have to fight with myself to not use my hands to grab those perfect, muscular ass cheeks and part them so that I can dig my tongue ever deeper into him. I have to obey the no touching rule.
I just wish I could get more.
Then Master lets out a grunt. I pause in my licking, uncertain of what’s coming next. Muscles’ asshole quivers, then opens.
He farts, letting loose a long, noisy, filthy one. I raise my head and bury my nose in his crack, right against his hole. I huff that fart, fill my lungs with his stench. It smells like the men’s room at a greasy taco dive, the kind where the beans run right through you. And I love it.