Gross Pheromones

Amateur

Author’s Note: This is a fetish story involving gross bodily functions.

*

I’m a gross person. I’m gonna tell you that right off the bat. This story is about the gross stuff that comes out of my ass, and the effect it has on people.

I’ve always known there was something strange about me. Even as a little girl. Whenever I got done using the potty – I mean going number two – there was a good chance my mom and dad would start giving each other looks, and then head off to the bedroom together. They weren’t shy, either: they’d say something like, “We’re going to try making you another sister to play with. Won’t that be fun?”

“Sure!”

Then I’d hear the bed squeaking from upstairs, while they went about their vigorous baby-making. I ended up with four little sisters this way.

As I got older, I slowly realized that my digestive system produced some kind of sex pheromone or aphrodisiac, and it came out whenever I pooped or farted. I wasn’t immune to my own scent, either: whenever I passed gas, I got as horny as anyone else.

Over time, I learned to keep a lid on myself. I became the sort of buttoned-up woman who never farts in public, and who only poops when she’s alone in the house.

I’ve endured my share of awkwardness for this. If you’re a guy, you may not understand how gross girls can be after eating large meals together. It wasn’t hard to notice that I was holding it in – the only girl not farting, or not blowing up the bathroom – and soon I had a reputation for being stuck-up. I can’t really blame them: when one person is holding back, it makes everyone else feel awkward.

Sometimes I’d fart accidentally, of course – everyone does. Whenever it happened, I’d notice the effects on my friends immediately. Their faces would flush, and our conversation would quickly pivot to the guys we liked and what we hoped to do to them. But our horniness would subside eventually, and nothing weird would usually happen.

In my early 20s I had some health issues, and my pheromones seemed to get weaker for a couple of years… but as I recovered, they came back with a vengeance. The incident I’m about to describe happened during when I was 24, while my pheromones were growing more powerful than ever.

I was hanging out with my best friend, Kat. We’d been close friends in high school and community college, and we’ve only gotten closer since then. But now she was going back to school for her bachelors degree, and I hadn’t seen her in months. She’d changed a little: she had become a vegan, for instance. She’d been pretty “girly” in high school – lots of pink, great makeup, very interested in boys – but now she’d developed more of an indie streak. She wore her dark hair in a sloppy ponytail, and she had tight threadbare jeans and a man’s button-down shirt.

I’ve always been jealous of Kat, to be honest. Skinny with a small ass, she could wear any clothes she wanted. I’m much trickier to dress. Although I’m average weight, my butt and thighs are huge compared to my waistline. I hardly have any boobs, so I can’t fill out a dress… but my nipples are always poking out, so I can never go braless, either. Kat, of course, has had perfect tits since puberty.

She came over my house for lunch, and we spent a few hours catching up. Kat lived in an crowded apartment at her college, while I still hadn’t moved out of my parents’ place.

Kat had no boyfriend; in fact, she hadn’t gotten laid in months. Personally, I was luckier in that respect; I’ve never had much trouble finding hookups, as you can probably imagine. We ran a few errands together and went for a bike ride, and in the evening we decided to chill in my parents’ basement and watch TV – just like old times. For dinner, Kat whipped up something vegan-friendly. It was a sort of bean-and-spinach casserole, using leftovers from my fridge.

After we ate, we settled on the couch together. We found a show we liked on Netflix and started binge-watching.

It wasn’t long, however, before I started feeling gassy. The first time I needed to fart, I pretended I’d forgotten something upstairs. The second time, I excused myself and used the bathroom for a few minutes.

When I returned to the couch, I noticed a new smell. I wrinkled my nose. “Geez, Kat – have you been sitting here farting, or what?”

“Uh, maybe,” she admitted, laughing. “That’s the only problem with vegan food. I think my roommate hates me.”

“What, she gives you shit for farting?” I asked.

“No, she just gives me dirty looks. That girl NEVER farts. She probably goes to the bathroom to do it.” Kat made a face. “I mean, it’s supposed to be our personal space!”

“Yeah, if you can’t be comfortable in your own room…”

“Yeah.” Kat waved her hand. “Anyway, Emily – I know you have a thing about farting in front of other people, but I’m granting you permission. No need to be embarrassed.”

We settled back in for more TV. We were watching Supernatural – and yes, we both had a crush on Dean. We planned to re-watch Season 3 until we fell illegal bahis asleep on the couch.

I was still feeling gassy, of course, but I’d run out of excuses to leave the room. I just clenched my sphincter and suffered in silence, while my bowels made unhappy gurgling sounds.

After half an episode, Kat released an audible fart. When I gave her a look, she said, “Uh, excuse me. I thought that would be silent.” Then she giggled. “I’ve actually been stealth farting for about ten minutes here.”

“I know!” I teased her. “I felt the vibrations on the couch!”

“You did not!” She pushed me, laughing. “You would’ve said something!”

I would have kept messing with her, but at that moment my bowels gurgled painfully. I made a face.

“Jesus, Emily,” Kat said. “You’re still sitting there holding it in?”

“Uh…”

“C’mon! Just let it out already!”

I bit my lip, thinking about the consequences of releasing sex pheromones into the room. We were both straight, so I figured nothing much would happen. We’d sit around and feel horny for a while; it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

“Okay,” I said, “but just because you asked…”

Leaning to the side, I unclenched my sphincter and got relief immediately. A powerful hiss of air began to rush out of me. It was the kind of fart that makes your pants feel looser. It lasted a long time.

“Oh, thank god…” I sighed.

Kat laughed, listening to my sustained release. “It’s still coming out! You must have felt like a balloon!”

After nearly ten seconds, the fart finally ended. “That was just the first one,” I warned Kat, giggling. “You’re in for it now.”

“We’ve unleashed the beast!” she laughed.

We turned back to our show. Soon, the smell of my own gas reached my nostrils. I don’t have terribly stinky farts, but there’s something distinctive about the smell – a hint of sweat and crotch. It makes you think of sex.

As the pheromones took effect, I felt my body responding. My face grew hot, and my breath quickened. My nipples tingled, wanting to be touched. And a familiar pressure formed in my chest… a feeling that was hot and urgent inside me.

Kat shifted uncomfortably on the couch, blushing. I knew she was feeling it, too.

“Man,” she said, “I need to get laid. Just watching these guys is getting me…”

“Me too,” I said, glad to divert the blame.

Another fart was building up inside me. This time I let it rip freely, with a satisfying noise.

“The beast strikes again,” Kat said, smiling.

But on the TV, Dean Winchester had just taken his shirt off – a fairly frequent occurrence. Kat’s eyes snapped back to him.

“Shit,” she said, “I’d still let him fuck me. Anytime, anywhere.”

“Me too.” The fresh scent of my fart wafted up and filled our lungs. “I’d… kiss his chest.”

“Heh. Is that all?”

“Well, that’s how we’d start. Then I’d undo his pants and… start sucking him off.”

Kat shifted on the couch. “You’re very generous, Emily. Me, I’d start out a little differently.”

“Oh? Tell me.”

“I’d seduce him, take my shirt off and squeeze my boobs for him. Then I’d make him… suck on them.”

I glanced over at Kat, and saw that she was touching her own breast through her shirt. She noticed me looking, and pulled her hand away, blushing. “Sorry!” She tried to chuckle. “I got carried away for a sec.”

I motioned with my hand. “No, it’s fine.”

“It’s just that… like I said, I haven’t had sex in a long time.” She still looked apologetic. “I share my bedroom with another girl. It’s kinda hard.”

“It must be,” I said. “Do you even get a chance to – you know…?”

She nodded. “Sometimes I sneak home during the day when she’s gone. But even then, I feel like she could walk in any second. I don’t even get naked.”

“So you just…?”

“Through my clothes, yeah…”

We went back to watching our show in silence. By this time, we were farting openly, not even laughing or saying ‘excuse me’ anymore. I’m sure the room stunk to high heaven, but we’d gotten used to it – we were just swimming in the odor.

The accumulated effects of my pheromones were getting me unbearably horny. I was licking my lips watching the guys on TV, and it was hard to resist the urge to touch my nipples.

I looked over at Kat, and saw that she was squeezing her breast again. This time, she didn’t pull her hand away. “Sorry,” she breathed, looking at me. “Is this too weird?”

“No,” I said. And I began to touch my breast as well.

For me – and I think for a lot of women – breast play is super-important. When I masturbate, my first move is always to spend a few minutes on my boobs, gradually tweaking my nipples harder and harder. And when I’m with a guy, I’m not ready to take my pants off until he’s spent some time teasing my tits. I don’t have much to grab, but I do have big sensitive nipples, perfect for sucking and – after some warm-up – even biting.

I watched Kat from the corner of my eye. Her eyes were glued illegal bahis siteleri to the TV, and she was massaging her left breast with slow squeezing motions. She’d pick the boob up, grasp it hard in her fingers for a moment, and then let it fall again. Her breasts were much bigger and softer than mine, so I saw her fingers sinking deep into flesh.

I’m not going to lie. Even though I’m straight, I’ve always enjoyed looking at boobs. Watching Kat play with hers was turning me on even more.

Within a few minutes, I’d progressed to the stage where I wanted to pinch my nipple… but my bra was getting in the way, frustrating me.

When I slipped a hand under my shirt, Kat turned her head and looked at me. I blushed, suddenly self-conscious.

“Is this okay?” I asked.

She nodded. I unhooked my bra and worked my arms out of it, pulling it free beneath my shirt. My nipples appeared prominently through the fabric, and I felt Kat’s eyes on them.

“I’m just glad I’m not the only one who’s super horny,” she said. She laughed softly, mostly from embarrassment. “Maybe it’s my period coming.”

“Oh?” I asked. “You get horny before your period too?”

“Like crazy, yeah.” She raised an eyebrow. “Mine starts in two days. Are you…?”

Our menstrual cycles had been perfectly aligned for years. “Mine too!” I laughed.

“Best friends and period sisters forever,” she giggled. Some of the awkwardness in the room lifted.

I farted again, filling the room with more pheromones. Casually, Kat reached beneath her shirt and took her bra off, same as I’d done. Her boobs came free with a bounce, and I saw her nipples appear through the fabric of her button-down.

We turned our attention back to the television. Before long we were both touching our breasts again. I started off with gentle rubbing, but soon I was openly pinching my nipples through my shirt. I even started to use both hands, tweaking both my left and right sides.

Meanwhile, Kat had slipped a hand beneath her shirt, for direct hand-on-skin contact. She looked at me and asked, “Is this all right?”

I just nodded.

Kat farted softly, as I saw one hand – and then two – working rhythmically under her shirt. She lifted both breasts towards her chin, squeezed them together, and then let them down again slowly. Her breathing was starting to get heavier.

I farted, too, still feeling gassy. The urgent, horny feeling in my chest was starting to move downwards towards my crotch. I shifted my weight back on the couch, spreading my knees slightly. Things were getting distinctly warm down there, and I wanted to touch myself in earnest.

One episode of Supernatural ended, and I started the next one. The familiar opening credits came on. When Dean appeared, Kat gave a lusty growl.

“I wanna hump his face,” she murmured. She was half-serious, half-giggling, hands still firmly on her boobs.

“Look at us touching ourselves here, watching him.”

“Whatever, we’re just horny.” She glanced at me slyly. “Don’t make me feel pathetic, Emily.”

“I wouldn’t dare. All the cool girls masturbate together watching Supernatural.”

She laughed. “I’m just glad you’re comfortable with it. My roommate would call the cops if she saw me touching myself.”

“I’m glad you’re comfortable with me farting,” I said – and then I farted again.

Kat laughed again. “You’re gassy as hell tonight! I really did release the beast!”

“Hope we don’t ruin the couch.”

As the episode wore on, we continued to touch our breasts. But my pussy was getting that needy throb – that empty ache, begging to be filled. I squirmed on the couch, feeling the fabric of my jeans half-rubbing me.

Beside me, Kat was shifting around as well. Then I saw her hand move, and she started touching her crotch through her jeans.

I pretended not to notice for a while, absorbed in both the show and my own nipple play. Kat was beginning to move her hips rhythmically – subtle movements that she hoped I wouldn’t see – as she grinded into her hand. More than her fingers, she was using the flat of her palm to masturbate.

She cleared her throat, and I turned my head. She paused, looking at me, with her hand between her thighs. “Are you still comfortable with this?” she asked nervously.

“Yes,” I said.

She laughed loudly, a tension-releasing sound. “Thank god! I couldn’t stand it anymore!”

Then I was laughing too. “I’m glad you did it first!”

Unable to wait any longer, I reached between my own legs and began to rub. Kat watched my technique – I used the tips of two fingers, with almost a scratching motion over my jeans.

“I’ve never watched someone do this before,” she said.

“You don’t ever watch porn?”

“That’s different. I never saw someone do it through their pants, I don’t think. I use the palm of my hand, lots of pressure…”

“Mmm, I should try that too.”

Kat watched openly as I touched myself through my clothing. One hand was between her legs, rubbing canlı bahis siteleri her own crotch, and the other was still playing with her boob. Even in the dim light, I could see that her cheeks were flushed deep red.

Soon, we turned our eyes back to the TV, though we both continued masturbating. Kat was moving her hips slightly, rocking back and forth, while I laid back and let my hand do all the work.

I’m a lazy masturbator, I admit. I wouldn’t make a good porno actress. I tend to lay on my back, almost perfectly still, and go slow and steady for twenty minutes at a time. I like simple toys – I like to be filled – but I don’t do anything exciting with them. And I don’t really vocalize, not even when I cum. I need a guy for that.

Kat, however, was a little more demonstrative. Already her breathing had become audible – nothing but little gasps and sighs – and I sensed she was on the verge of moaning. The movement of her hips became more pronounced, to the point where she was humping her hand for real. And she was no longer watching TV at all; her eyes were closed, her lips parted.

“Fuck it,” she muttered. I heard the metal button of her jeans unclasping, then the sound of her zipper. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I just really need this…” Her eyes closed, Kat shoved her hand down the front of her pants, slipping beneath her underwear. I caught a hint of her dark pubic hair as she leaned back to adjust her position. Her fingers bulged the crotch of her jeans – and then her whole body twitched once, visibly, as she touched herself directly.

“Mmmm!” Her sigh abruptly turned to a moan, before she caught herself.

Then, looking ashamed, she opened her eyes and glanced at me. “I’m sorry, Emily. This is so gross.”

I shook my head. “No, this is okay.”

“I’m just – so fucking horny tonight…”

Kat closed her eyes again, and I saw her hand moving steadily beneath her pants. “Mmmm…” she hummed softly. I thought I heard a faint wet sound – the shlick of her fingers sliding in and out.

I undid my own pants and shifted my weight to allow better access. Then I slipped my right hand downstairs, beneath my undies. Closing my eyes, I touched my fingers to my aching pussy.

I took it slow. Even when I’m super-horny, I’m always patient.

First, I ran my fingers lightly across my labia, back and forth for a while.

Then I softly probed the entrance to my vagina, checking my wetness.

Then I slid a finger or two inside myself for a while. Like I said, I enjoy being filled.

And then, finally, I began to carefully tease my clit. It’s too sensitive to touch directly, so I pressed my skin up against the hood in just the right way.

This process took a few minutes. Meanwhile, I kept one hand firmly squeezing my nipple. Breast play is important to me at every step of the way. The guys I’m with quickly learn this.

“Hrmmm…” Kat breathed. I could see she was masturbating much more vigorously than I was. She’d pulled her jeans down further – revealing half her bare ass – and had started using two hands on herself. From the motions I saw, she was using one hand to flick her bean, and the other to finger-fuck herself. She bucked her hips against the couch, her pants slipping further down with each movement.

Kat’s head had moved to the side, pressing against her shoulder. Her eyes were tightly shut, and she breathed hard, groaning softly – almost painfully – with each exhale.

For just a moment, she smiled in embarrassment. “I’m practically about to cum already,” she said with a quiet laugh.

“You’re lucky,” I said softly. “It takes me forever…”

“I feel it as soon as I touch my clit.” She took a deep, halting breath. “I’m real close…”

“You don’t have to hold back,” I said.

I sensed that Kat was a talker. I imagined watching her have sex with a guy – I bet it’d make a great porno.

“I’m gonna cum in like two seconds,” she murmured. “I’m gonna…”

I watched her whole face scrunch up, and she arched her back briefly as she tried to reach orgasm.

“Mmm, almost…” she breathed.

She rubbed her clit furiously, gritting her teeth.

“So close, I’m… Oh! Oh shit!”

The precise start of Kat’s orgasm was obvious. Her head was thrown backwards, and waves of tension and relief seemed to seize her whole body. Her vocalizations suddenly changed, her voice moving upwards in pitch. “Oh shit!” she squealed, “Oh, geez!”

Even for a straight girl, watching and hearing somebody cum is undeniably hot. Deep in my pants, I rubbed harder against my own clit; it was getting easier to touch myself directly as my own arousal grew.

Kat came down, panting a little, with her face flushed deep red. She hitched her pants back up, but didn’t re-button them.

“That looked like it felt awesome,” I said.

She giggled, still a little embarrassed. “Was I loud? Do you think…?”

“It’s fine, nobody’s home.”

She leaned back on the couch. “I really needed that.” She closed her eyes, chuckling softly. “I always cum so fast. I’m like a guy.”

“I’m jealous,” I said. My clit needed a break; now I was slowly sliding my fingers in and out of my vagina, hand hidden beneath my pants. “You have such easy orgasms.”

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