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The drive to her apartment feels like the longest ten minutes of your life. Your heart hammers against your ribs as Veronica, God, even her name is perfect, navigates through the city streets with one hand on the wheel, the other resting tantalizingly close to your thigh. Her perfume fills the car, something floral and expensive that makes your head swim, but underneath it you swear you can detect something earthier, more primal.
“You're quiet,” she says, glancing at you with those dark eyes that seem to see straight through you. Her lips curve into a knowing smile. “Nervous?”
“A little,” you admit, and it's the truth. The dinner had been incredible, she'd ordered three courses, ate every bite with obvious relish while maintaining that effortless elegance that made you hang on her every word. When she'd leaned across the table, her black hair cascading over one shoulder, and whispered that she'd be more than happy to explore your interests, you'd nearly choked on your wine.
She laughs, low and throaty. “Don't be. I think this is going to be fun.”
Her apartment is on the fourth floor of a modern building, all exposed brick and hardwood floors. She kicks off her heels the moment you're inside, and even that simple action, watching her bare feet pad across the floor, sends a thrill through you. She's wearing a black dress that hugs every curve, and when she walks ahead of you toward the living room, you can't tear your eyes away from the sway of her hips, the perfect roundness of her ass.
“Make yourself comfortable,” she says, gesturing to the leather couch. “I'm going to change into something more... appropriate.”
You sit, your pulse racing, hands fidgeting in your lap. The apartment is tastefully decorated, but you barely register any of it. All you can think about is what's about to happen, what she's about to do for you.
When she emerges from her bedroom, your mouth goes dry.
She's changed into yoga pants, tight, black, molded to her body like a second skin,and a simple white tank top that shows off her toned arms. But it's her ass that commands your attention. The yoga pants leave absolutely nothing to the imagination, showcasing every curve, every perfect inch of her. She knows exactly what she's doing, too, turning slowly so you get the full view.
“Better?” she asks, and there's a teasing lilt to her voice.
“Much better,” you manage.
She moves toward you with deliberate slowness, and you notice her hand drifts to her stomach. She presses against it slightly, and her expression shifts, still sultry, but with a hint of discomfort that somehow makes everything more real.
“Mmm, I have to tell you something,” she says, standing right in front of you now. You have to tilt your head back to meet her eyes. “I ate a lot at that restaurant. The pasta, the bread, that rich dessert…” She presses her stomach again, and you hear it—a low, ominous gurgle that makes your cock twitch. “My stomach has been complaining the whole drive back.”
Another gurgle, louder this time, and she bites her lip.
“I think,” she continues, reaching down to cup your chin, tilting your face up toward hers, “that I'm going to be very, very gassy tonight. Is that going to be a problem for you?”
Your voice comes out hoarse. No. Not at all.”
` “Good.” She releases your chin and turns around, presenting that magnificent ass directly in front of your face. “Then let's not waste any more time.”
She bends slightly at the waist, and the yoga pants stretch even tighter across her cheeks. You can see every contour, the way the fabric disappears between them. Your hands move on instinct, reaching out, but she steps back just out of reach.
“Not yet,” she chides. “I want you to watch first.”
She spreads her legs slightly, plants her hands on her knees, and arches her back. The pose is obscene, deliberate, and your cock strains painfully against your pants. Her stomach gurgles again, loud enough that you both hear it clearly, and then—
PpppprrrrRRRRBBBBTTTTT
The sound erupts from her, long and bubbling, and even through the yoga pants you can hear the vibration of it. She sighs with obvious relief, straightening up slightly, and looks back at you over her shoulder with a wicked grin.
“Oops,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. “That's been building for a while.”
The smell hits you a moment later—thick, heavy, with a sharp edge that speaks of all that rich food she'd consumed. It's not delicate or subtle; it's raw and human and absolutely intoxicating. You inhale deeply, shamefully eager, and she notices.
“Oh, you really do like it,” she purrs. “Come here. Get closer.”
You don't need to be told twice. You slide off the couch onto your knees, moving toward her, and she backs up until her ass is inches from your face. This close, the smell is overwhelming, filling your nostrils, making your head spin. She wiggles her hips slightly, teasing you.
“Touch me,” she commands.
Your hands shake as you reach up, finally making contact with her. The yoga pants are soft under your palms, but beneath them you can feel the firm muscle and soft flesh of her ass. You squeeze gently, experimentally, and she moans.
“Harder,” she says. “Don't be shy. Grab it like you mean it.”
You dig your fingers in, kneading the generous flesh, spreading her cheeks and pushing them together. She's so warm, so perfect, and you can't believe this is actually happening. You press your face forward, not quite touching her yet but close enough that you're breathing in nothing but her scent.
PPPPppppffftttttssss
This one is quieter, more hissing, and it seems to go on forever. You feel the warmth of it even through the fabric, and the smell intensifies—deeper now, muskier, with an almost sour note that makes your cock leak. You groan against her, and she laughs.
“That's it,” she encourages. “Smell it. Breathe me in.”
You do, taking long, deep breaths, your face pressed right against her ass now. Your hands continue their exploration, running over every inch of her, memorizing the shape of her. She reaches back with one hand and grabs your hair, holding you in place.
“I'm going to give you so much more,” she promises. “My stomach is killing me. All that food, all that gas... it all has to come out.”
Another gurgle, and you brace yourself.
FFFRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPTTTTTTttttt
This one is massive, rattling and wet-sounding, and it seems to shake her whole body. The smell is immediately more intense, almost aggressive in its pungency. It's the smell of digestion, of her body processing everything she'd eaten, and it's so intimate and filthy that you can't help but moan. Your tongue darts out, licking at the yoga pants, tasting nothing but fabric but imagining what lies beneath.
“Fuck,” she gasps. “That felt good. You like that, don't you? You like my nasty ass gas?”
“Yes,” you admit against her, your voice muffled. “God, yes.”
“Then let's make this more interesting.”
She steps forward, breaking contact, and you nearly whimper at the loss. But then she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her yoga pants and slowly—torturously slowly—begins to peel them down. Inch by inch, she reveals her panties: black lace, barely covering anything, the fabric disappearing between her cheeks.
“Better?” she asks, looking back at you.
You can't even form words. You just nod.
She bends over again, this time bracing her hands on the coffee table, and presents herself to you in just her panties and tank top. The lace does nothing to hide the shape of her, and you can see the way her asshole presses against the thin fabric.
“Come worship me properly,” she orders.
You surge forward, hands immediately grabbing her bare flesh now, and the difference is staggering. Her skin is so soft, so warm, and you knead and squeeze and spread her with abandon. You press your face between her cheeks, the lace of her panties rough against your nose, and inhale deeply. The scent is stronger here, unfiltered, pure her.
PppppTTTTTsssssSSSS
The fart blasts directly against your face, hot and wet, and you can feel the vibration of it through her panties. The smell is immediate and overwhelming—thick, eggy, with that unmistakable sharp tang of a heavy meal working its way through someone's system. You don't pull back. You press closer, your tongue working against the lace, trying to taste her through it.
“Oh fuck,” she moans, her hips pushing back against you. “You're such a good little fart rag. You're going to take everything I give you, aren't you?”
“Yes,” you gasp between breaths. “Everything.”
BRRRRRRAPPPPPPPppppptttt
Another one, shorter but somehow more concentrated, and you swear you can taste it on your tongue now. Your hands slide around to her stomach, feeling it gurgle and churn beneath your palms. She's so full, so gassy, and it's all for you.
“Pull them down,” she says suddenly. “Pull my panties down. I want you to smell my bare ass.”
Your hands tremble as you hook your fingers into the lace and drag it down over the swell of her cheeks. When her ass is finally bare before you—pale, perfect, with just the slightest tan line—you nearly come right there in your pants. You can see everything: the curve of her cheeks, the way they frame her crack, and just barely visible, the tight pink ring of her asshole.
“Now,” she says, reaching back to spread herself open with both hands, “get your face in there and smell me.”
You dive in like a starving person presented with a feast. Your nose presses directly against her asshole, and the scent is incredible—sweaty, musky, with that underlying sharpness of her gas. You inhale so deeply your lungs ache, and then your tongue joins in, licking at her crack, tasting the salt of her skin.
PPPPPPFFFFFFFRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTtttttttbbbbbbbb
The fart explodes directly into your open mouth, hot and wet and absolutely foul. The taste is indescribable—bitter, sour, with a meaty quality that coats your tongue. It's disgusting. It's perfect. You moan like a whore, your cock throbbing, and she laughs breathlessly.
“You really are a freak, aren't you?” she says, but there's no judgment in her voice, only arousal. “Eating my farts right from the source. God, that's so hot.”
She pushes back against you, grinding her ass against your face, and you let her use you. Your tongue works overtime, licking every inch of her crack, circling her asshole, occasionally dipping just barely inside. She tastes like sweat and musk and sin, and you can't get enough.
FRRRRRRRTTTTTpppppsssss... PPPPBBBBBTTTT... pppffffttttt
They come in rapid succession now, her stomach clearly in distress, and each one is a gift. Some are long and airy, others short and sharp, but all of them carry that thick, heavy smell that makes your head spin. You're drowning in her scent, in her gas, and you've never been happier.
“Get on your back,” she commands suddenly, stepping away from you. “On the floor. Now.”
You scramble to obey, lying flat on the hardwood, looking up at her. She stands over you, one foot on either side of your head, and from this angle she looks like a goddess. Her ass hangs above you, bare and perfect, and you can see her asshole clearly now, slightly reddened from all the gas she's been expelling.
“Open your mouth,” she says.
You do.
She squats down slowly, lowering herself until her ass is hovering just inches above your face. You can feel the heat radiating from her, can smell the concentrated musk of her most intimate area. Your hands come up to grip her thighs, steadying her, and she looks down at you with pure lust in her eyes.
“I'm going to sit on your face,” she tells you. “And I'm going to fart down your throat until I'm empty. And you're going to lie there and take it like a good little toilet. Understand?”
“Yes,” you breathe.
“Good.”
She drops the rest of the way, her full weight settling onto your face. Her asshole presses directly against your open mouth, and you immediately seal your lips around it, creating a perfect seal. She moans at the sensation, grinding down slightly, and then—
PPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRBBBBBBBBBBTTTTTTTTTTttttttttt
The fart blasts directly down your throat, hot and thick and seemingly endless. You have no choice but to swallow it, to take it all, and the taste is overwhelming. It coats your mouth, your throat, fills your lungs, and you gag slightly but don't pull away. You can't. She's sitting on you, using you, and it's everything you've ever wanted.
“Fuck yes,” she hisses above you. “Swallow it. Swallow my gas.”
FFFRRRRRTTTTTTppppppsssss
Another one, wetter this time, and you feel moisture against your lips. You don't care. You keep your mouth sealed around her asshole, keep taking everything she gives you, and your cock is so hard it hurts.
She starts to bounce slightly, riding your face, and each movement pushes her asshole against your mouth in different ways. Sometimes it's just your lips, sometimes your tongue can slip inside, tasting her directly. And through it all, the farts keep coming.
ppppppffffttttt
BRRRRRAPPPPPppppp
PPPPPTTTTTTsssssSSSSSS
FRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPTTTTTTTTTbbbbbbbbb
They blend together, a symphony of gas, each one carrying that same thick, heavy smell that's now permanently burned into your memory. Your face is hot, sweaty, covered in her scent, and you're pretty sure you're going to come without even touching yourself.
“Touch yourself,” she orders, as if reading your mind. “I want you to come while I'm farting on your face.”
You don't need to be told twice. One hand releases her thigh and fumbles with your pants, shoving them down just enough to free your aching cock. The moment your hand wraps around it, you groan into her ass, and she clenches in response.
PPPPPPPBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTtttttt
This one is massive, rumbling and wet, and you swear you can feel it vibrating through your entire skull. The smell is nauseating, sulfurous, with notes of rotten eggs and spoiled meat, and it's the most erotic thing you've ever experienced. Your hand works frantically on your cock, pumping hard and fast, and she grinds down harder on your face.
“That's it," she pants. “Jerk off to my farts. Come for me while you're choking on my gas.”
FRRRRRPPPPPPtttttssss... PPPPBBBBTTTT... pppppppppffffffffffffttttttttt
The orgasm hits you like a freight train. Your cock pulses in your hand, shooting rope after rope of cum onto your stomach, and you moan helplessly into her asshole. She feels it, feels you coming, and lets out a triumphant laugh.
PPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRBBBBBBBBBBBBTTTTTTTTTTTTTTtttttttttbbbbbbb
One final, massive fart, and then she lifts off your face. You gasp for air, your face drenched in sweat, your mouth tasting like nothing but her ass, and you've never felt more satisfied in your life.
She turns around and looks down at you, a satisfied smirk on her face. “Well,” she says, slightly breathless, “I'd say that went pretty well for a first time, wouldn't you?”
You can only nod weakly, still trying to catch your breath, your face slick with sweat and her musk. Your cock is still twitching with aftershocks, cum cooling on your stomach.
“But you know,” she continues, placing one foot on either side of your head again, "I don't think I'm quite empty yet." She presses a hand to her stomach, and you hear another gurgle. “There's definitely more in there.”
Before you can respond, she's squatting down again, lowering that perfect ass back toward your face. You're exhausted, oversensitive, but the sight of her descending toward you reignites something primal. Your mouth opens automatically, ready to receive her.
“That's my good little fart filter,” she purrs, settling her full weight back onto your face. Her asshole presses against your lips once more, still hot, slightly slick now from all the gas she's been expelling. “Just a little more. Take it all.”
PPPPppppprrrrrtttttsssss
This one is long and hissing, almost whistling as it escapes her, and the smell has evolved—deeper, earthier, with a heavier quality that speaks of what's to come. You seal your lips around her hole and breathe it in, swallowing the thick gas as it fills your mouth.
“Mmm, that's better,” she sighs, grinding down slightly. Her stomach gurgles again, louder this time, more insistent. “Oh, there's definitely more.”
FFFRRRRRTTTTpppppsssssSSSS
Another hissing one, but wetter this time. You can feel moisture against your lips, and the taste is more intense—bitter, with that unmistakable flavor of her digestive system working overtime. Your tongue presses against her asshole instinctively, and she moans.
“Fuck, your tongue feels good,” she breathes. “Keep it right there.”
PPPPPBBBBBBRRRRRRRAPPPPPPPPttttttt
This one vibrates through your entire face, wet and rumbling, and you can taste it coating your tongue. It's thick, heavy, and the smell is getting progressively more intense—moving beyond just gas into something more substantial. You know what's coming, and apparently so does she.
PPPPppppffffttttt... BRRRRTTTTppppsss
Two quick ones in succession, and she shifts her weight slightly, adjusting her position. Her stomach lets out a long, ominous groan that you can hear clearly even with her ass pressed against your face.
“Oh shit,” she laughs breathlessly. “This is gonna be a big one. You ready?”
You can't answer with your mouth sealed around her asshole, but you press your tongue more firmly against her, signaling your readiness. She takes a deep breath, and you feel her bearing down.
PPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRBBBBBBBBBBTTTTTTTTTTTtttttttbbbbbbllllllrrrrrrpppppp
The fart is absolutely massive—long, wet, rumbling, with a gurgling quality that makes it clear she's on the edge. It blasts into your mouth with force, hot and thick, and the taste is overwhelming. It's beyond just gas now; there's a heaviness to it, a richness that coats your entire mouth and throat. The smell is intense enough to make your eyes water—sulfurous, meaty, with that unmistakable edge of something more solid waiting behind it.
You gag slightly but keep your mouth sealed, swallowing it all down, and she moans above you.
“Fuck, fuck, that was close,” she pants. “I almost—” She cuts herself off with another laugh. "Okay, maybe just one more. One more and then I really need to get to the bathroom."
She bears down again, and you brace yourself.
FFFFFRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTbbbbbbbbbllllllllpppppppssssssssSSSSSS
This one is absolutely filthy—wet, sputtering, with a liquid quality that makes it clear she's seconds away from losing control. It seems to go on forever, hot and thick and absolutely disgusting, and you can feel actual moisture against your lips now. The smell is beyond description—rotten, heavy, with that unmistakable edge of shit barely being held back.
When it finally ends, she practically jumps off your face, clenching visibly.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” she laughs, pressing both hands to her ass. “Okay, that's it, I'm done. I need to get to the bathroom right now before I shit myself.”
She looks down at you, her face flushed, her eyes bright with amusement and lingering arousal. You're lying there absolutely wrecked—face soaked, lips swollen, the taste of her ass so thoroughly coating your mouth that you know you'll be tasting it for days.
“You,” she says, pointing at you with a grin, “are fucking incredible. I've never had someone so eager to be my fart rag before.” She clenches again, clearly struggling. “Fuck, I really need to go. But we are definitely doing this again.”
She practically runs toward the bathroom, one hand still pressed to her ass, and you hear her laughing as she goes. The bathroom door slams shut, and moments later you hear the unmistakable sounds of her finally releasing everything else that had been building.
You lie there on the hardwood floor, absolutely spent, covered in sweat and cum and the lingering scent of her gas. Your face feels hot and tingly, your jaw aches from being pressed against her for so long, and you can still taste her on your tongue.
And you've never felt more satisfied in your entire life.
This had been, without question, the best first date you'd ever had. And as you hear her flush the toilet and the sink start running, you find yourself already looking forward to the second.