The Reliable Old Boy-Toy
by realityspec

The following story was written by the submitter's ex-girlfriend.

Almost a week.
More like a year, for all I knew.
... It was around four days but still. I'd been cooped up in the house by myself for so long that I was certain I'd expire from lack of social contact, and to make matters worse, I couldn't even talk to my boyfriend except fleetingly when he was at work.
How could anyone get by on that?
I sat in my chair and twiddled my thumbs. My best friend was gone; Erin just wanted to cook and talk about her; Alex was too hard to get ahold of; boyfriend was busy... I shifted my gaze longingly to my phone. It had been so quiet these days.
Still, I had a few old numbers...
Some hours later, the door knocked, and soon I was letting in a fairly tall, gangly-looking teenaged boy with a short crop of light brown hair, shifting and smiling awkwardly down at me through his glasses.
My old boy-toy.
I was surprised he still wanted to visit me. The first time I had him over I did unspeakable things all over his face, and I thought for sure I'd never see him again.
I apologized up and down for a week before he'd talk to me.
Yet here he was!
... Alright, so maybe I promised a handjob or two.
Still.
He sat down in front of the TV as I set about hooking up my PS3 for some LittleBigPlanet. I was wearing a miniskirt that day (with leggings, of course - I was a good girlfriend) and was leaning forward on my hands, so my ass couldn't help but wave around in his face a little.
I saw him flinch when it got a bit TOO close.
I smiled secretly to myself and made an elaborate sweep backwards after I'd plugged it in, making sure the edge of my skirt flared out enough to brush against his cheek.
He shuddered visibly but said nothing, obviously recalling his memories of our last encounter.
I flashed him a winning grin and handed him a controller, whereupon we started up a level and... I don't know. All I remember is halfway through punching him off a cliff, I suddenly reached over and grabbed his crotch, keeping a firm grip as I started rubbing up and down, up and down... I felt him grow hard under my hand as he let out a little whimper.
Men are such pussies.
I unzipped his pants and worked him into a nice, relaxed state, watching him slouch against the sofa and eventually sprawl out on the floor.
He reminded me so much of you at that moment. I'd been feeling gassy all weekend and he wasn't around to help me with that... I guess this guy would have to do once again.
My stomach rumbled quietly.
His eyes shut, I kept my hand working steadily over his member as I awkwardly, but silently, wriggled out of my leggings - now I only had on the miniskirt and a pair of thin panties.
I could barely stifle a gleeful giggle as I hopped over his chest, reverse-cowgirl style, pretending to bend over to suck on his growing cock - my lips may have brushed the tip, but I really just wanted to hike up my ass and rub it against his face.
The moaning instantly stopped.
"No! No, get off, not agai-!"
I cut him off quite abruptly, shoving his nose against the fabric of my panties, pushing in toward the crack. His head was propped against the couch so he had nowhere else to go, and I took advantage of the moment to hold him there, squeeze tight, and let out a hot, rancid fart that slowly eked out from my panties.
It took a while but it definitely ALL went up his nose (especially given how many tiny holes in the fabric it had to go through still!), and he gagged and squirmed beneath me.
I clamped my legs down against his sides and arms, keeping him in place.
My tongue gently caressed the tip of his member. He couldn't figure out which sense to focus on, whimpering from pain or pleasure I don't know, but it at least stopped the struggling.
I let him calm down before I scrunched my panties down, exposing my naked ass to his face. The miniskirt was draped over the top of his head like a tent, effectively sealing him in.
He only managed to cry out once before I wriggled the tip of his nose right onto the edge of my asshole, telling him to breathe in - and I wanted to hear it! - and he did, just like a good boy, just like David.
As I heard him start to inhale, I ripped out a series of warm, bubbly-sounding farts this time, the hot wind stuttering against his nostrils. The miniskirt kept most of the stench inside with him, but I caught a whiff once or twice and almost recoiled myself at just how putrid it was.
I heard him let out a low moan, and when he started to move his legs, I sat back to put my full weight on his face.
It forced his nose to slide further inside my stinky, pinkish-brown asshole, the warmth inside causing it to be slightly moist against his nostrils - which only made the smell worse.
I pretended to squeeze, letting it flex and tighten around his nose, rubbing the stench all over him. I felt him stiffen - he tried to lean back, but had nowhere to go, and I teased him like this several more times until I felt another bubble of gas traveling down, down...
I moved away from his nose just a fraction of an inch, only enough to let the edge of his nostrils free, and let loose another hot fart. It was long and low, and I wondered how it felt to have such nasty, sulphurous wind blowing up his nose. I'm sure it stung, because before he left later on I saw his eyes were watering.
Over and over I tortured him in this way, still teasing him with my hand and forcing him to stay hard while I farted almost continuously in his face. Perhaps I could make him associate it with pleasure over time...
Next came the windy farts, more airy than stinky, but even the mere feeling of gas wafting up his nose was enough to make him writhe and whimper. I didn't even have to tell him to breathe in anymore; he automatically inhaled, since it was the most air he could get under my skirt.
I dragged my nails lightly up his cock, making him shudder in an altogether different way - and farted again, still taunting him, overwhelming his senses.
Eventually, I removed my hand from his sensitive organ and just kept up with farting on his face - remarkably it stayed stiff and erect, and once or twice (particularly during the very hot, rancid ones, the gas that smelled like bad Mexican food and rotten eggs together) it twitched upwards in response.
It was so horrible, he was starting to get a perverse pleasure out of my disgusting farts.
That was about time enough, I thought. I got up from his face and let him clean up in the bathroom before he staggered out the door in a hurried daze, not looking at me, not saying a word.
I might have him over again.