u/Lithographite

It’s been a good night out for dinner and drinks. We were making eyes every time I sipped from my scotch because you know the effect it has on me. You could already hear deep rumbling in my belly as we took an uber home. I farted a deep earthy quiet fart in the back of the car and kissed you. You clung to me needily.

When we get inside I tell you to strip and lay down on the bed. You do. The room is spinning a little. You idly rub your clit while you watching me move about your room. I’m in no particular rush.

When I approach you the first thing I do is take your wrist. You feel a cuff and hear a click and you realize I’ve tethered you to a hard point behind a headboard. Then your other wrist. Click.

You’re squirming, giddy, and waiting for me to sit on you, but I don’t. I fold your legs up and run a rope underside your knees and clip it to the headboard. You’re folded over with your knees up by your shoulders. You yelp a bit in surprise. This is new.

You hear me undress, but have trouble watching me past your legs. When you see me again, the first thing you see is my big masculine hairy ass, already lowering toward you. You feel that tingle fire from your pussy up your spine. You’re already running with nectar.

Your pussy is up and exposed the way you’re folded. You watch my ass hover over it, and then lower down, your labia pressed into my crack. I grind my ass over your pussy until I’m slick, and then push out a fart. You feel it snap against your clit. The smell makes you dizzy.

I feel a buildup of gas and so I press again, this time a little lower. This fart is low and rumbling and feel warm on your pussy. You’re sure some of it slipped inside of you.

I rise, reset my position, part my ass and press it in over your face. Suddenly you realize what I’m up to. After dinner and drinks the pressure of my body folding you pushes a small nervous squeak of a fart out of you. You’re mortified. I laugh, raise up a bit, and settle again.

"Embarrassed? You even fart nervously."

Just as you start to complain I loose a low rumbling deeply foul fart inches from your face. You close your eyes and cough and then breathe deeply to catch it as you can, You’ve always enjoyed facesitting, but the smell of my gas when I’m just an inch or two from brushing against your nose delights you.

As the play continues, you struggle and writhe against my foul scotch gas, and then breathe in the euphoric intimacy of my scent.

When you’re delirious, your pussy soaked and aching, I sit and reach low and take your clit in my fingers. You gasp for air and for my gas in my hairy crack while I bring you, my special treasure, to a deep and overwhelming orgasm in my hand.

 

I posted on this subreddit some time ago asking for insight. I was in a situation where I had chemistry with a woman 20 years younger than I am. It started as intellectual mutuality and that shifted to emotional attraction, which created a confusing situation for the both of us.

I posted here and asked many of the questions the older party often asks: stigma, one outliving the other if things become long term, power imbalances, and all of those things. At the time it seemed like those issues made the entire thing reckless and impossible.

Obviously I knew this community would be more affirming of age-gap relationships. I didn’t really think I would be convinced, but I cared about her enough to try. In the end I was convinced that we ought to be open about our feelings and see what would happen.

I fell in love with her. I had been in love before and I could recognize it again. I think like many of us mid-life folk, I did not think it would happen again. It was infatuation that branched into sincere interest and investment that branched into a desire for a long-term shared life. She felt similarly. Whatever our ages were, our mutual interests and complimentary needs formed one of the most rewarding romantic relationships I’ve ever had.

However, I was aware of our difference in emotional maturity and I was wary of her emotional investment in me becoming a reliance. I did not want to be a father figure with too strong an orbit that would pull her entirely out of her life and into mine. In the end I could recognize her day-to-day life was suffering as she relied on me more and more for social connection and grounding. It especially hurt to see her studies begin to slip when our love of literature drew us together in the first chapter.

We mutually ended the relationship in a way that provided meaningful closure. We recognized how much we helped one another and how good it was to truly have a companion, and we admitted there’s no ‘later’ for us. We’re on different timelines.

I think about her stage of life where everything is expanding: her education, her career, and her relationships. Those things should not have all collapsed on me. I like to think about her growing and flourishing. I like to recognize that in a few years she will be a matured woman with a different pattern of life that does not need me.

As her world expands, mine contracts. My social connections are fewer, but they’re deep. My career and study life won’t grow or change very much anymore. I don’t want it to sound like I’m dying; this is a great phase of life. I don’t miss the pressures that came with all my previous adventures and searching. But sometimes I remember who I was and the places I had been and the things I had done and I wish I could go back and weave her into all of it. I wish we could have shared our 20s and 30s and bumbled together. I’m sad to miss her story now. We’re offset, out of step—out of time.

All this is to thank you. I don’t even know if there’s a soul here who encouraged me to be open to an age-gap relationship. My life is so much richer that we tried. I was and am so happy to love her. I’m privileged to keep doing so without regret.

It's a niche within a niche, so I have seldom encountered it. I'm an experienced Dom and I've engaged in all sorts of play. When I have been playing with a sub and she has farted, I've found it absolutely adorable. I love her embarrassment and the sense of intimacy. I can tease her or I can tell her how cute she is. I can show her that it just spurs me on to want more of her.

It's not easy to find, and I wonder if I'd ever meet a submissive woman who is open to farting as a part of play. I think it could be highly erotic for a sub to present herself and fart as a sign she's free for the taking. I think farting freelt during sex would be a nice sign of comfort.

Is this something you've encoutered? Have you ever had similar feelings? Most fart fetishism is framed as female dominating. I have done some male dominating play since there are women out there who really love it, but I've never quite found the female fart sub dynamic.

I take you out for dinner. It’s our favourite restaurant and something we always look forward to. You’re dressed beautifully, and I keep reminding you as much until it makes you self conscious in exactly the right way.

When we are given our menus, I pass mine to you. You know what that means and as you trace your finger past the items in the lists you feel that soft ache between your thighs. Beans, dairy, a double of whiskey after dinner—you know how all of these things affect me. You can’t miss it, especially as I stroke my foot against yours under the table as you choose my food.

We talk over our meals. The conversation is light and flirty. As the evening winds down I fart once or twice while you’re mid sentence so that you’ll catch the scent and take it as a promise. I love to see you blush when you catch it. It’s familiar and erotic. It makes you tingle and you can tell by the scent you chose the right meal for me.

I catch it in your breathing. I know how immediately my smell makes you lusty and mindless and ass drunk. I whisper that you should touch yourself before sipping my drink.

Coyly you work your hand between your thighs and apply pressure. I reward you with another fart. When you catch the next whiff, you  whine audibly and flit your fingers to apply any sort of grazing touch to your clit.

“I’m so proud of you,” I tell you.

After dinner, when we finally get to the car, I lift my butt off the seat. Wordlessly you reach your hand down the back of my pants and under my underwear. I push a warm fart into your palm and you immediately pull it to your face and breathe deeply and start to rub again. Ambrosia.

“Get in the back,” I say. You do.

You lay flat on the back seat. I lay over you and your work down my pants and underwear as I lift your skirt. Resting your head in my pants at my thighs, my ass is right in your face. As you watch my hole pucker in the dim light from the streetlamps, I lick at your clit. When a deep earthy fart erupts for you, I slurp. You moan and roll your hips against my mouth and take my ass in both hands to pull me in like you need my gas to live.

I take your desperate queue and sit back. I know you like full weight. My ass parts to envelope you. It’s warm and musky and damp and heavenly. You kiss at my hole adoringly and I rub it on your nose and lips. Then I raise slightly, blast a warm aired fart onto your smeared makeup face, and plop my ass back onto you as you gasp my fart into your body.

I lean over again. You’re a beautiful wet mess. In minutes your legs stiffen and you orgasm while I lap you up and fill your face and the car with my gas—the fruit of the night’s dinner.