FART STORY: Their Night In - A New Story

It had been a particularly hard day for Catherine. The pregnant movie star clearly had better things to do than attend a court hearing that week, so she was hardly in the best of moods. She saw her husband, Mike, at the door of their bedroom. “Honey, I’ve had one hell of a crappy day, so you know what I want now,” she said bluntly, as she stormed past him. “Why, yes I do,” said Mike, as he undid his top button and tie. “No, not that!” shouted Catherine. “Oh, please, darling, no…” whined Mike as Catherine stared him down. “Oh, honey, please…do it for your Catty…” she said, seductively. Mike, dejected as ever, slumped down on the bed. Catherine pushed him onto his back, as Mike struggled to overpower his baby-carrying partner. Catherine punched Mike in his groin, which put a stop to all his moaning, as the stunningly-gorgeous CZJ sat on his chest, all her weight on his lungs. She looked over at her fallen husband, as she parted a slit in the back of her dress that allowed her to bare her arse in front of him. “You know, that court food really is terrible – but I guess I don’t have to tell you that,” she said, giggling, while her husband struggled on. She slid her arse over his face, almost enclosing it in a cell of flesh…and worse.

CZJ was sitting on her husband’s face, waiting to do the dirty work. She had been cross-examined by a barrister who had got her particularly annoyed, and now she had to vent her frustrations; right into her husband’s nose. “Can you hear me, Mikey?” she asked patronisingly. “I don’t think that you can, but you should be able to hear this –” BBBBRRRRRPPPPPPPPTTTTTT!! “Ah, that was sooooo gooooood for me. What about my little Mikey? Be a good boy, and sniff it all up, now,” she ordered, while gently stroking his head. She had had a penchant for breaking wind since she was a little girl – after all, it was encouraged in Wales. Just because she was a Hollywood movie star didn’t mean she couldn’t blow off anymore. She was still dressed in her glamorous black dress, and still decked in lavish jewellery, making her a usually-irresistible sight for any man. Her pregnancy had given her extra fuel in this respect, and she was able to ‘taint the air’ better than ever before. “Can you breathe, Mikey?” she asked, in an almost considerate tone, “cos I’ve got plenty of air for you!” she said, this time laughing quietly. “But to get it, you gotta…pull…myâ₠¬Â¦finger…” Mike cleverly refrained from doing what his demonic wife was suggesting, but she replied to this strike of actions: “Michael, if you don’t, I swear I will sit here until you suffocate” in the most serious tone she had used all day.


Mike gingerly raised his hand, in search of his ‘prize’, when Catherine stretched it out to him. As he touched one of her fingers, she said, “That’s it, Mike, just a little bit more…” and as Mike grasped onto her index finger, she said, “Hooray, you got the prize! You deserve a cheer…a Bronx cheer, anyway! Pull my finger! Tug!” Mike reluctantly pulled his wife’s index finger, and as he did, he felt this force pounding down on his head: BBBBBRRRRRUMMMMMMMPPPPPPP! “Ha ha ha ha ha ha!” squealed Catherine, delighted with her efforts. “Come on, Mike! You can’t say that you didn’t like that!” In truth, Mike, a 65-year-old movie star, had had enough. He tried to move his wife off his face, but he didn’t have the strength to do it, so he tried to make himself pass out. Catherine noticed what he was doing, and so she climbed off him. She went over to her cabinet and pulled out something labelled ‘Pep Pills’. She walked back over to her husband, and squeezed open his mouth, proceeding to pour the pills down his throat. Mike had no option other than to swallow the pills, which would mean that it would be so much harder to pass out at this stage. Catherine emptied the whole bottle into Mike’s mouth, before discarding it onto the floor and climbing back on Mike’s face. As soon as she had, Mike’s nose burnt again with those stenches of cabbage, fries and poorly-cooked burgers that only his wife could produce. It was truly an unholy reek, and the only reason that Catherine could put up with it was because she had grown up around it. Mike was seriously close to throwing up last week’s food at this rate, unless he could do something about it. Catherine removed her hair band, letting her luscious black hair free. “Oh yes,” she said, regarding her spouse. “I almost forgot about you.” She took hold of her husband’s ears, and pulled them towards her, forcing his face up her backside. Mike was left staring at darkness, smelling the foulest of foul odours, when he felt her cheeks clench. “Don’t worry, honey, I’ve got a nice one cooked up, and it’s right on time.” PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRSSSSSSSSSSS!!! Oh God, thought Mike, an SBD – the worst of CZJ’s repertoire. She had got the SBD down to an art-form of brutal proportions, which was only bad news for anyone on the wrong end of it. She leant forward slightly, and rubbed her wonderfully clean crack slowly with her right hand, before drawing it to her face. She took a deep, long breath, after which she remarked: “Ooooooooohhhhhhh God, that’s smelly…although I’ve dropped worse.”

Catherine started to bounce on her husband’s face, to improve her position, but she realised she was enjoying herself quite a lot. She was pummelling her husband’s face, and burying his head deeper and deeper into the mattress, until she finally got tired of it. By now, her awesome rump was level with the top of the mattress, and Michael’s head was far beneath it. “Y’know what, Mike? I tried some of that Steak Laisse today – wanna smell?” Michael tried to wriggle his head in a fashion that might be reminiscent of a ‘no’, but Catherine said to him: “I thought you might.” Underneath that creamy butt of Catherine’s, you could see a grown man crying his eyes out, all because of her flatulence. “Right,” she commented, “just let me get ready…and…here we go…any second now…” Michael prepared himself for the force of what he was going to have fired in his face – Catherine lifted a cheek, and cut the cheese, right on her husband’s nose. The smell wafted right up Mike’s nostrils, where it let its power wreak havoc on his senses. “Right, Michael,” she said firmly. “For my next trick, you will have to breathe in the air I give so deeply that your breaths should last about four seconds each. Failure to do so may result in punishments, so be a good boy.” She manoeuvred her bum so that Mike’s nose was up her butthole, at the closest possible range for her gas. She arched her back quickly, before reverting back and stating, “Remember Mike, I’m farting for two now.” She arched back again, and PHURT! Another shockingly-potent SBD worked its way out of Catherine’s lavish butt and into her husband’s weary head. This seemed to spur her on even more than she had been before, as she put her right hand to her butt and lifted the smell to her nose again. She declared, “Oooh, there’s something kicking inside. This might be it -” PPPPPPRPPPPP! She took a deep breath herself this time, stating, “Mmmm, vintage fart, straight from the valleys of Wales!” This bare-arse farting was knocking Mike for six by now: his head was spinning in a sea of methane, provided by his very own wife, Catherine.

Back to Fiction Index