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Slow Day
Author: Closet FetishistWritten: January 16, 2011
It's a slow day at the shop.
"Excuse me," I hear.
I look up from my sketching. It's a young woman in the small health and beauty aisle.
I rise from my seat and approach her, "How can I help you?"
She smiles, "Yeah, I was wondering which henna was black."
"Well this one is black..."
"Uh-huh," the smile permanently glued to her face, her eyes in me.
I feel a hand on my shoulder, then two. My knees touch hard tile and my face is confronted with two perfect orbs of a buttocks. Then darkness as I was pressed forward; my member slowly springing to uncontrollable life.
BRRRRUUUMMMPPPP!
A powerful blast of wind blew against my face; it felt moist with warmth and wretched stench.
I breathe in with my mouth; I can taste the last fart. I feel hands on my head, moving it.
PRRRRRRRRRUUUP!
The toxic air flows like a gas line to my throat; burning my insides. I still smell it's potency as well.
Gasping, I am ripped from the ass. I hear laughter; obviously they are having fun. I feel a change in hands and then another ass. This one is not nearly as perfect or beautiful as the last; lumpy, fat, and covered with pimples.
No more time to critique, time to dive apparently; that's what the captain(s) are saying I guess.
FFFFFFRRRRUUUUMMMPPPPHHHHHHH!
Wetness blasted against my face and the smell of soupy beans.
I heard more laughter.
PRRROOOOOOOPHPHPHPHHHHH!
The dry blessing was cut short by a little more spray.
I fall from the ass onto the floor; darkness descends as two asses hover over my face.
PRRRRAAAAAAPPPPPP!
BRRRRAAAAMMMMBBBBMMMP!
I'm in hell.
Then, light as I hear the girls run off. As quickly as they came, there were gone.
I feel my face. It's dry.
I rise from the bean and lentil aisle and return to the counter.