Closet Fetishist's Stories


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Slow Day
Author: Closet Fetishist

Written: 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.


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.


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.


Wetness blasted against my face and the smell of soupy beans.

I heard more laughter.


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.


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.

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