Author's Note: This is a fetish story involving gross bodily functions.
*
I'm a gross person. I'm gonna tell you that right off the bat. This story is about the gross stuff that comes out of my ass, and the effect it has on people.
I've always known there was something strange about me. Even as a little girl. Whenever I got done using the potty - I mean going number two - there was a good chance my mom and dad would start giving each other looks, and then head off to the bedroom together. They weren't shy, either: they'd say something like, "We're going to try making you another sister to play with. Won't that be fun?"
"Sure!"
Then I'd hear the bed squeaking from upstairs, while they went about their vigorous baby-making. I ended up with four little sisters this way.
As I got older, I slowly realized that my digestive system produced some kind of sex pheromone or aphrodisiac, and it came out whenever I pooped or farted. I wasn't immune to my own scent, either: whenever I passed gas, I got as horny as anyone else.
Over time, I learned to keep a lid on myself. I became the sort of buttoned-up woman who never farts in public, and who only poops when she's alone in the house.
I've endured my share of awkwardness for this. If you're a guy, you may not understand how gross girls can be after eating large meals together. It wasn't hard to notice that I was holding it in - the only girl not farting, or not blowing up the bathroom - and soon I had a reputation for being stuck-up. I can't really blame them: when one person is holding back, it makes everyone else feel awkward.
Sometimes I'd fart accidentally, of course - everyone does. Whenever it happened, I'd notice the effects on my friends immediately. Their faces would flush, and our conversation would quickly pivot to the guys we liked and what we hoped to do to them. But our horniness would subside eventually, and nothing weird would usually happen.
In my early 20s I had some health issues, and my pheromones seemed to get weaker for a couple of years... but as I recovered, they came back with a vengeance. The incident I'm about to describe happened during when I was 24, while my pheromones were growing more powerful than ever.
I was hanging out with my best friend, Kat. We'd been close friends in high school and community college, and we've only gotten closer since then. But now she was going back to school for her bachelors degree, and I hadn't seen her in months. She'd changed a little: she had become a vegan, for instance. She'd been pretty "girly" in high school - lots of pink, great makeup, very interested in boys - but now she'd developed more of an indie streak. She wore her dark hair in a sloppy ponytail, and she had tight threadbare jeans and a man's button-down shirt.
I've always been jealous of Kat, to be honest. Skinny with a small ass, she could wear any clothes she wanted. I'm much trickier to dress. Although I'm average weight, my butt and thighs are huge compared to my waistline. I hardly have any boobs, so I can't fill out a dress... but my nipples are always poking out, so I can never go braless, either. Kat, of course, has had perfect tits since puberty.
She came over my house for lunch, and we spent a few hours catching up. Kat lived in an crowded apartment at her college, while I still hadn't moved out of my parents' place.
Kat had no boyfriend; in fact, she hadn't gotten laid in months. Personally, I was luckier in that respect; I've never had much trouble finding hookups, as you can probably imagine. We ran a few errands together and went for a bike ride, and in the evening we decided to chill in my parents' basement and watch TV - just like old times. For dinner, Kat whipped up something vegan-friendly. It was a sort of bean-and-spinach casserole, using leftovers from my fridge.
After we ate, we settled on the couch together. We found a show we liked on Netflix and started binge-watching.
It wasn't long, however, before I started feeling gassy. The first time I needed to fart, I pretended I'd forgotten something upstairs. The second time, I excused myself and used the bathroom for a few minutes.
When I returned to the couch, I noticed a new smell. I wrinkled my nose. "Geez, Kat - have you been sitting here farting, or what?"
"Uh, maybe," she admitted, laughing. "That's the only problem with vegan food. I think my roommate hates me."
"What, she gives you shit for farting?" I asked.
"No, she just gives me dirty looks. That girl NEVER farts. She probably goes to the bathroom to do it." Kat made a face. "I mean, it's supposed to be our personal space!"
"Yeah, if you can't be comfortable in your own room..."
"Yeah." Kat waved her hand. "Anyway, Emily - I know you have a thing about farting in front of other people, but I'm granting you permission. No need to be embarrassed."
We settled back in for more TV. We were watching Supernatural - and yes, we both had a crush on Dean. We planned to re-watch Season 3 until we fell asleep on the couch.
I was still feeling gassy, of course, but I'd run out of excuses to leave the room. I just clenched my sphincter and suffered in silence, while my bowels made unhappy gurgling sounds.
After half an episode, Kat released an audible fart. When I gave her a look, she said, "Uh, excuse me. I thought that would be silent." Then she giggled. "I've actually been stealth farting for about ten minutes here."
"I know!" I teased her. "I felt the vibrations on the couch!"
"You did not!" She pushed me, laughing. "You would've said something!"
I would have kept messing with her, but at that moment my bowels gurgled painfully. I made a face.
"Jesus, Emily," Kat said. "You're still sitting there holding it in?"
"Uh..."
"C'mon! Just let it out already!"
I bit my lip, thinking about the consequences of releasing sex pheromones into the room. We were both straight, so I figured nothing much would happen. We'd sit around and feel horny for a while; it wouldn't be the end of the world.
"Okay," I said, "but just because you asked..."
Leaning to the side, I unclenched my sphincter and got relief immediately. A powerful hiss of air began to rush out of me. It was the kind of fart that makes your pants feel looser. It lasted a long time.
"Oh, thank god..." I sighed.
Kat laughed, listening to my sustained release. "It's still coming out! You must have felt like a balloon!"
After nearly ten seconds, the fart finally ended. "That was just the first one," I warned Kat, giggling. "You're in for it now."
"We've unleashed the beast!" she laughed.
We turned back to our show. Soon, the smell of my own gas reached my nostrils. I don't have terribly stinky farts, but there's something distinctive about the smell - a hint of sweat and crotch. It makes you think of sex.
As the pheromones took effect, I felt my body responding. My face grew hot, and my breath quickened. My nipples tingled, wanting to be touched. And a familiar pressure formed in my chest... a feeling that was hot and urgent inside me.
Kat shifted uncomfortably on the couch, blushing. I knew she was feeling it, too.
"Man," she said, "I need to get laid. Just watching these guys is getting me..."
"Me too," I said, glad to divert the blame.
Another fart was building up inside me. This time I let it rip freely, with a satisfying noise.
"The beast strikes again," Kat said, smiling.
But on the TV, Dean Winchester had just taken his shirt off - a fairly frequent occurrence. Kat's eyes snapped back to him.
