Farts (What a surprise)

[Olly_55]

Hey I would just like to meet anyone.
No - Please let me re-phrase that.
I would like to meet anyone into farts.
Like I wouldn't like to meet just anybody, that would be just silly.
Imagine if I was to meet a raging lunatic, then there would be two
raging lunatics, and one raging lunatic who is desperate to smell farts.
OK if you live in Australia, and sexy (or not totally ugly), and preferably female
I would let you fondle my motor bike if you let me smell your farts.
I know that doesn't sound very tempting, but I'm goning to post anyway.

[fart-fetishist]

Dunno if it can help u, but I received this email from a Dominatrix who's into farting on cakes to humiliate her slaves:

I haven't been around lately, as I've been wrapping up the few summer sessions I teach and have been spending far too much time on myresearch. I did, however, go on a short jaunt to Las Vegas to visit a
Dominant friend of mine, Peter. Peter is a full Leather Master. The
type you think about when you flash back to the BDSM scene in Los Angeles and New York in the 1970s. Strong, smart, masculine and entirely decked out in leather. It should come as no surprise that he's also gay. He's been having some problems with his latest boy-toy, however, and that's where I come in.
The boy is bisexual and can't seem to concentrate on his Master when there are powerful women about. Peter asked me to help himcure the little slut of this.

It just so happened that I had the weekend free, the flight was short, and I was in the mood to completely use a little ass-slut; Peter had assured me that the boy was very, very into asses--and even more into
farting. I was delighted I'll leave most of the details to your dirty imaginations, but you can be sure that boy ate several things both Peter and I farted on. The end of the evening was, of course, the best.

After being forced to entertain us most of the day and evening, I
learned that it was also the boy's birthday. Being the kind Mistress (please note my sarcasm) that I am, I brought his cake from the fridge, squatted and let one of the juciest, nasty-smelling farts goall over it. The boy could barely restrain himself from pouncing immediately, but I still had another one, or three, coming. After a few more minutes, I was done. The boy delighted in having my boot placed on his back, forcing his face right into the well-seasoned cake. We made him eat every bite. It was
fantasitc. I told Peter that if he ever thought of getting rid of theboy to give me a call.