My wife's nocturnal emissions

My wife Kristy is a fart fetishist, as am I. She loves to make me smell her farts, and she loves how her gas drives me crazy.

I’ve written several times about Kristy and her drafty back door. For a brief description, she’s a slim woman of about 5’4” with big eyes, olive skin, and dark hair she styles in a chin-length French bob.

When we have a free day, Kristy likes to indulge our fetishes by taking inulin and eating lots of gassy foods over the course of the day. The inulin makes her fart a lot, and then she’ll use foods like eggs, cheese, kimchi, beans, dried apricots, and others to develop her smell. She calls this regimen her “fartmaxxing” diet.

Since she’s building up steam (so to speak) over the course of the day, she’s often at her fartiest in the evening, and I love going to bed with her in this state. We like to spoon with her in the inside position and her ass up against me. We cuddle and chat and wind down for the day, while her bubbling bottom pipes in with a steady stream of rips and belches and squeakers and pops, and the silent stinkers that shroud the bedroom in a thick, unremitting fog.

She’ll often let one go mid-sentence and keep talking while she fans the blankets to blast me with her stench. If it’s especially foul, sometimes she’ll giggle and make a flip apology, saying “Sorry it’s so smelly!” or “Thanks for smelling all my stinky farts” in a girly voice.

When I get hard, I like to nestle it like a hot dog between her pillowy buns. The feeling of a rumbly fart vibrating my whole dick from tip to stem and down into my balls is incredible. I like to imagine the gas seeping around the edges of my cock before swallowing it up entirely.

We practice this routine at least once or twice per week, but a couple weeks ago I experienced a treat that is more rare. We were in bed, and she was gassing out the bedroom as usual. She rarely eats red meat, but she’d had a medium-rare cheeseburger for dinner, and it was running wild in her guts, making her farts thick and pungent with a rich, meaty character.

Eventually, I drifted off to sleep first, as I usually do. I woke up again sometime in the small hours of the night to go to the bathroom, then returned and slipped back into bed in the big spoon position behind Kristy. She was breathing steadily, and I could tell she was in a deep slumber. I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

It wasn’t more than a few minutes before the hint of a familiar funk teased at my sense of smell. I gingerly lifted the blankets and let them fall; the gust of foul air that washed over me confirmed my suspicions: Kristy was asleep, but her ass was still puffing away through the night.

My dick snapped to attention. I laid still in the dark and silence. Matching the rhythm of my breath to hers, I tried to drink it all in without making a sound, relishing in the stink of her intoxicating fumes.

There’s something extremely titillating about smelling her farts while she’s asleep. Even though she lets me—forces me to—smell her farts on a daily basis, it feels taboo in a way, like I’m getting away with something.

Desperate to avoid jostling her or making a sound, I held my breath and slowly slid under the covers and into Kristy’s dutch oven. I needed to get as close as I could to the source of her pollution. When I finally inhaled, the meaty stench of her farts was intense and overwhelming.

Ever so slowly, I continued inching my way deeper and deeper into the oven, until my head was near the small of her back. I hunched down further to get my face as close as possible to her bottom, and I waited.

I waited there, motionless, hyper-aware of the sound of my own breath, completely focused on the dim outlines of her pale ass. The pall of her fart still hung thick under the blankets, and I was hard as a rock. Carefully as could be, I slid my hand in my boxer-briefs and gently started stroking to pass the time. It felt like an eternity passed, but I couldn’t say how long it really was; probably only a few minutes.

When a fresh reeker finally sighed out of her perfect cheeks, it was so rancid and ripe, and my face was so close to ground zero. I inhaled as deeply as I could to fill myself to the brim with her vile miasma. I was fit to bust, and it was only a few more strokes before i came in my shorts.

I took a moment to catch my breath, then slipped out to the bathroom to clean myself up. When I returned, I caught a fresh blast of Kristy’s lingering farts. I took a deep breath, slid back under the covers, and snuggled close to her. I fell asleep.

In the morning, I told her about her nocturnal emissions and what I had done under the blankets. She giggled and said, “you’re such a pervert.”