Tag: MD Fart

Cruising for Fart Sex

Jessie is cruising in the mall bathroom, desperate for a little sexy fun to spice up his Monday evening. He’s got the stall with the gloryhole and all he has to do is wait until someone enters the stall on the other side.

Someone comes in and takes the stall, but Jessie’s erotic hopes are dashed when he realizes the other guy isn’t cruising. Rather, the other guy has a bad case of noxious gas and needs to get it all out.

As Jessie sits in the stall, contemplating what to do, he realizes that instead of being disgusted at being surrounded by horrific farts… he’s actually being turned on. This could be the Monday night fun he’s been looking for.

Taking a risk, he makes a dangerous proposition to the farting man…

Cruising for Fart Sex is a 5,300 word short story.

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Excerpt

The door to the men’s room clatters open.

I quickly shut off the phone and shove it into the pocket of my jeans, still pooled around my ankles. I listen intently to decipher if this guy is here to take a piss at the urinals or if he’s gonna come in the stall next to me — the only other stall here — to stick his dick in my face.

My heart beat kicks up a notch when my stall door rattles urgently and he lets out a groan of discomfort, then he barrels into the stall next to me. Given the urgency, I doubt he’s here for a blowjob. Dude’s gotta take a shit.

It takes all of my willpower not to lean forward and down to look at him through the gloryhole. However, that doesn’t mean I can’t make a few other discreet peeks. As he pulls down his pants and underwear and sits on the toilet with a loud clatter, his foot ends up under the stall divider between us. I gawp at it — a dirty work boot in, what, size thirteen?

As if my hand and cock have a mind of their own, I start stroking as I imagine the beefy, sweaty, hairy, masculine construction worker that’s likely on the other side — and the giant cock he’s probably packing in his pants.

He lets out a groan of discomfort and then — prappp-fffttttt-papapapa-ffttttt— he farts so loud it echoes in the bowl and the walls almost shake. And then like a nuclear bomb, the stench hits me. Holy fuck. That reek could peel the paint off the walls.

And in that, I’m reminded of when I was particularly drunk at college last year. My roommate and I had come back from having beers and burritos, so not only were we drunk, but we had gas like nothing else. And being the kinky frat pigs we are, we dared each other to sniff each other’s farts. One thing led to another and soon we took turns going balls deep in each other as we farted on each other’s dicks. It was the filthiestsex I’d ever had, the kind that I would always remember and would probably never repeat.

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Swallowing The Cop’s Farts

Nick is trying to sell some concert tickets he can’t use when he gets picked up by some power-hungry cop who accuses him of scalping. If that wasn’t bad enough, now he’s handcuffed in the back of the cop car and the cop isn’t driving anywhere. He’s just sitting there, farting. The car is filling up with his noxious fumes.

Enough is enough and Nick asks him to stop. But this power hungry cop doesn’t take orders from a handcuffed twink like Nick, nor does he take kindly to Nick himself. What ensues is a sexual encounter that awakens Nick’s most deepest, darkest, and shameful desires — fart swallowing, sexual humiliation, and total subservience to this powerful Alpha Male.

It’s degrading. But it turns Nick on like nothing else ever has.

5,400 word short story

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Excerpt

Cops stink. Literally. No wonder people call them pigs.

I shuffle in the back seat of the cop car, my hands awkwardly cuffed behind me. In the front seat is some muscle-bound but air-headed cop with a bad case of farts.

All of this is because I tried to sell some concert tickets I couldn’t use — this cop, who obviously needed something better to do, accused me of violating some obscure scalping law. I’m no fool, I know my rights, so I stood up to him and told him as much.

And a moment later I was pinned to the dirty concrete, cuffed, and accused of resisting an officer of the law. A moment after that I was thrown in the back of this power-hungry pig’s cop car. Now I’m stuck here while he ignores me and continues to fart, stinking up the car.

He lets out a long squeaker — he’s not even bothering to hide it anymore — and soon I’m gagging for oxygen. What makes it worse is that we’re not even going anywhere. We’re just sitting in the car, stewing in his noxious ass fumes in the middle of a sunny and sweltering July afternoon, ten feet from where I was arrested for scalping.

I start breathing through my mouth to avoid his noxious farts and the growing stink of his B.O. I can’t inhale it anymore or I’m going to vomit. I watch him in the rear-view mirror, trying to figure out if he’s enjoying this or something.

“Can we crack a couple windows open?” I ask, trying and failing to keep the irritation out of my voice. He shifts his eyes to glare at me in the mirror. “Please?”

In response, he leans to one side and lifts an ass cheek off his leather seat and lets a loud, vibrating fart rip through the air.

Pra-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-paaapppp…

“Fucking hell,” I mutter.

…ppaaaap-pa-pa-pa-praaaap…

“Surely this counts as cruel and unusual punishment,” I mutter, ensuring I’m loud enough for him to hear. When I glance up at the rear-view mirror, I find him glaring at me. “What?” I say, putting far too much challenge into that word than I really should.

“I can do worse,” he says.

I roll my eyes and look away.

“Hey!” he shouts. For some odd reason, the power in that one word sends a shiver through my body. I look back to the rear-view mirror and meet his glare. “Don’t look away unless I tell you to. Understood?”

Something has shifted between us. I can’t put my finger on it, but something is suddenly different. He’s got more power and authority and I, well … his glare is doing something to me. Like, in my pants.

I watch a lot of Dom/sub porn, like, the kind where the sub is a beta fag, whose whole existence is dedicated to pleasing his Alpha and gratefully taking the abuse that his Alpha dishes out. But porn is different than real life. Right?

“I said, understood?” He hardens his glare and he almost bites off those words.

I swallow, then say, “Yes.”

“Yes … what?”

What the hell have I gotten into? I’ve watched enough of that kinky shit on PornHub to know the answer he’s looking for. “Yes, Sir.”

His glare softens slightly. “Good fag.”

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Sniffing the Jock’s Farts

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.

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Excerpt

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.”

“Good.”

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.

Braaa-aa-aa-aa-appp-pp-pp

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.

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