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That's Class
By: Closet Fetishist

Written: November 22nd, 2010


She sat at the front of the room; a lone cloth director's chair her seat. She drapes one leg over the other which nearly presents her tight buttocks, to the room, which, in this moment, is only populated by her and myself. I stare as her gray leggings beg to rip from her and reveal her perfect cream hips.

"Henry, can you come up here?" She asks with a beautiful smile.

Her voice is like an angel that entrances me under a powerful spell. I follow her command and approach the majestic siren.

I approach her throne and she eases me to my knees near her seat. From this position my view of her bum is above none other; my cock erect and dying to penetrate. Without turning from her wondrous sitter, I sneak a peak at her face; it strains of concentration.

PRRRRRRAAAAMMMMMMMMPPPPPPP!

She sighs in relief as the hot gas escapes her and caresses my face. I try to pull away, swearing it a mistake, but she grabs my head and forces in closer; she presses my face against her sweaty jeaned ass and I get a whiff of farts long gone expired, fermenting in this horrid prison.

She holds my head tight as she asks, "You like that Henry? You like eating big, stinky farts?"

I shake my head but her hold retards my response.

"Oh, no? Well, that's too bad for little Henry because I'm feeling pretty....ughhhh....."

She bites her lip; it would be hot if I knew not what was behind it's innocent sexuality.

BRRRRAAAAAAMMMMMMMMP!

She sighs and laughs at the same time, "God, that was a loud one; I have to cut back on something."

Her potent aroma swills around her underwear and pants generating a noxious brew before blasting into my nostrils like gusts of putrid wind.

My eyes begin to water, blurring my vision. In my dazed haze, Ms. Varnsell rises from her chair; she spins me round so my head lies back on the cloth chair. She approaches the chair and sits on it backwards with her legs wrapped underneath her, at the sides of my head.

I try to speak out but gray leggings incase my face almost immediately and it's not soon after I feel hot air blast my features; a horrid silent but deadly released from this wretched fart wench. I thrash to try to break free but it's useless in such a subordinate position.

She rises, "Don't kid yourself you little prick; you love this crap," she declares as she spreads her cheeks and fires out a nasty blast into this hell hole under her. She sits again, her crack consuming my face and her cheeks resting nicely on mine.

She grunts attractively, "Oh, God, one more good one. Ohhhh..."

She holds her stomach in pained expression of such wretched pent up flatulence within her bowls. "Ughhh...," she moans.

She screams in euphoric delight as the child-size fart blasts from her twice expanded anus and consumes me like black goo searching for a host to forever inhale it's terrible potency; to be cursed in such a way.

The teacher grabs my hair and pulls. In agony, I inhale sharply.

PRRRRRRPPPPP!

She laughs as she rises; she cares not that some of the stink still follows her, she's done all she needs. I fall forward onto the hard carpet floor and rest there, unconscious.

© Closet Fetishist, All Rights Reserved.