miragemaven

[miragemaven]

A Ride Home with Lisa

This is a fart fetish story with a sex scene with the main characters friend's mom. This Story was made with the help of AI I hope you enjoy!

The late afternoon sun blazed over the soccer field just beyond Lincoln High, its heat relentless even as it dipped toward the horizon. Ethan, an 18-year-old midfielder with a wiry frame and sweat-soaked jersey, dragged his cleats through the grass, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. Practice had been brutal—two hours of sprints, drills, and Coach barking orders like a drill sergeant. His legs ached, his shirt clung to his chest, and all he wanted was to collapse somewhere cool.

He trudged toward a sprawling oak tree at the field’s edge, its shade a merciful oasis. Two teammates followed: Jake, his best friend since they were six, with shaggy brown hair and a perpetual smirk, and Tyler, a stocky defender who always smelled faintly of Axe body spray. The trio flopped onto the grass, sprawling out like starfish, the cool blades tickling Ethan’s neck as he stared up at the rustling leaves.

“Man, I’m screwed,” Ethan groaned, tossing an arm over his eyes. “No ride today. Mom’s working late, and Dad’s out of town. Guess I’m walking the three miles home.”

Jake propped himself up on an elbow, frowning. “Yeah, my mom’s not coming either. I told her I’m heading to Tyler’s for that bio project. She doesn’t need to play chauffeur today.”

Ethan sighed, long and dramatic. Jake’s mom, Lisa, was usually their lifeline—her sleek black sports coupe a familiar sight in the lot after practice. She’d been hauling them around since their elementary kickball days, but Jake had texted her earlier to skip it this time.

Tyler stretched, cracking his knuckles. “Sucks for you, man. My mom’s picking me up in, like, ten. She’s got snacks and everything.”

Ethan shot him a mock glare. “Rub it in, why don’t you?”

They lay there for a few minutes, the hum of cicadas filling the silence as their breathing slowed. Ethan’s gaze drifted across the field to the parking lot, where a glint of sunlight bounced off a familiar shape—a low-slung, black coupe with tinted windows. He sat up, nudging Jake. “Dude, isn’t that your mom’s car?”

Jake squinted, shielding his eyes with a hand. “What? No way. I told her I’m good.” He paused, tilting his head. “Maybe she forgot. She’s scatterbrained sometimes.”

Ethan smirked. “Yeah, well, it’s definitely hers. That’s the only car around here that looks like it could outrun a cop.”

The three of them hauled themselves up, brushing grass off their shorts, and crossed the field toward the lot. The asphalt radiated heat through Ethan’s cleats as they approached the coupe, parked lazily across two spaces. Sure enough, Lisa sat in the driver’s seat, one elbow out the open window, scrolling her phone.

Just then, a beige minivan rolled into the lot, its horn giving a cheerful beep. Tyler’s mom waved from behind the wheel, her blonde ponytail bouncing. “Hey, boys! Ready to roll?”

Jake jogged ahead, leaning into Lisa’s window. “Mom, I told you—I’m going with Tyler. You didn’t need to come.”

Lisa laughed, smacking her forehead with a grin that showed off her slightly crooked front tooth. “Oh, right, shit—I totally spaced. My bad, kiddo.” She ruffled his hair through the window, and he swatted her hand away, grinning.

Jake glanced back at Ethan, then at his mom. “Hey, since you’re here, can you take Ethan home instead? He’s stranded.”

Lisa’s eyes flicked to Ethan, her smirk widening like it was the easiest question in the world. “Of course I can. Hop in, sweaty.” She patted the passenger seat, her voice loud and brassy, cutting through the quiet lot.

Ethan felt a wave of relief crash over him. “Thanks, Ms. C. You’re a lifesaver.” He waved at Jake and Tyler as they piled into the minivan, Tyler’s mom already chattering about pizza rolls. The van peeled out, leaving Ethan alone with Lisa.

He slid into the coupe’s passenger seat, the leather cool against his thighs despite the day’s heat. The interior was cramped, luxurious—bucket seats in the back too small for anything but a gym bag. Lisa, single, tomboyish, and loud as hell, filled the space with her presence. Her short, dark hair was tousled, and she wore a faded tank top and cargo shorts, her bare feet propped on the dash earlier now back in flip-flops. She fired up the engine, the low purr vibrating through the seats.

“Buckle up, kid,” she said, throwing the car into gear. They pulled out of the lot, the school shrinking in the rearview mirror as they hit the main road. The air conditioning blasted, drying the sweat on Ethan’s skin, and for a moment, it was just the hum of the car and the faint classic rock spilling from the radio.

Then Lisa shifted in her seat, took a deep breath, and let loose a sharp Pfft!—a two-second fart that sliced through the quiet like a knife. She slumped back with a loud, unapologetic sigh. “Oh man, that’s been brewing since lunch. Fucking turkey sub’s fighting back.”

Ethan froze, his hand still on the seatbelt clip. The sound was so sudden, so casual, it caught him off guard. His eyes widened, but a weird spark flared in his gut—not disgust, but something else, something electric. He didn’t say anything, just stared ahead, processing.

Lisa caught his look and chuckled, her voice rough and teasing. “What? Never heard a lady rip one before? Get used to it, kid—I’m not exactly dainty.” She grinned, drumming her fingers on the wheel.

The next few minutes passed in near silence, the car weaving through suburban streets, trees and houses blurring by. Ethan’s mind churned, replaying that moment, the bluntness of it sticking with him. Lisa seemed oblivious, humming along to the radio, one hand dangling out the window.

She perked up suddenly, breaking the quiet. “Hey, you hungry? Wanna hit up Taco Toro with me? It’s only, like, four miles from here—won’t take long.”

Ethan blinked, still half-dazed, but his stomach growled on cue. “Yeah, sure,” he mumbled, curious where this detour might lead. The idea of food—and more time with her—sounded good.

“Sweet,” she said, flicking the blinker. “Let’s roll.”

The drive to Taco Toro took about ten minutes, the coupe winding through a mix of backroads and strip malls. Lisa kept the windows cracked, the breeze tugging at her short, dark hair as she rambled about some dumbass coworker who’d spilled coffee on her desk that morning. “Guy’s got two left hands and a brain to match—sloshed it right over my paperwork, then just stood there giggling like a jackass,” she said, her loud laugh bouncing around the car. Ethan nodded along, stealing glances at her—the way she drove with one hand loose on the wheel, the other tapping out a beat on her thigh. She was a force, unfiltered and raw, and it was starting to mess with his head in ways he couldn’t quite name.

They pulled into the lot of Taco Toro, a squat fast-food joint with faded stucco walls and a flickering neon sign that buzzed faintly in the late afternoon light. Lisa swung the coupe into a spot near a few occupied outdoor tables, shaded by big red umbrellas, and killed the engine with a twist of the key. “Alright, let’s fuel up,” she said, kicking her door open and hopping out, her flip-flops slapping the pavement.

Ethan followed, the heat of the asphalt seeping through his cleats as they crossed the lot. Inside, the air hit them with a blast of cool, greasy relief—ceiling fans whirring lazily overhead, the smell of frying tortillas and spiced meat thick in the air. The place was half-dead, just a couple of trucker types slouched at a booth and a bored cashier picking at her nails behind the counter. Lisa strode up like she owned the joint, leaning on the counter with a grin. “Gimme the Mega Five-Bean Burrito Supreme—load it up, everything you got. And don’t skimp on the hot sauce.”

The cashier, a lanky girl with a nose ring, barely looked up as she punched it into the register. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Lisa jerked her thumb at Ethan. “Whatever he wants.”

Ethan stepped forward, still sweaty and out of place in his soccer gear. “Uh, just a petite burrito. Plain.” His voice felt small next to Lisa’s brash boom.

The cashier smirked, like she’d seen this mismatch before, and rang it up. “$8.50”

Lisa fished a crumpled ten from her shorts pocket, slapping it on the counter. “Keep the change.” She winked, then turned to Ethan, nudging him toward a sticky vinyl bench by the door. “Sit tight, kid. They’re slow as hell here.”

They plopped down, the bench creaking under them. Lisa sprawled out, legs kicked wide, one arm slung over the backrest, while Ethan perched stiffly, hands on his knees. The hum of the kitchen filtered through—sizzling griddles, a muffled shout in Spanish, the clatter of a spatula. Lisa drummed her fingers on the bench, then let out a low Pfft!—a quick fart that slipped out like an afterthought. She didn’t flinch, just smirked and shifted her weight. “Oops. Sneaky one.”

Ethan’s face heated up, but he kept his eyes on the floor, tracing cracks in the tile. The smell hit him a second later—sharp, like burnt cumin—and he swallowed hard, that weird thrill sparking again. He didn’t say anything, just nodded faintly when she chuckled.

After a few minutes, the cashier called out, “Mega Bean and a petite!” Lisa sprang up, grabbing the bag. “C’mon, let’s eat outside—too nice a day to be cooped up.”

They settled at a circular metal table, the umbrella casting dappled shadows over them. Lisa tore into her burrito like a linebacker, grease dripping down her chin as she chomped through layers of beans, cheese, and salsa. Ethan nibbled at his, barely making a dent, while she demolished hers in under five minutes, smacking her lips with a grunt.

“Goddamn, that hit the spot,” she said, leaning back and rubbing her belly with both hands. She tilted sideways, her shorts shifting, and unleashed a BRRRRAAAAPPPPP!—a monstrous, five-second fart that boomed across the patio, rattling the table’s edge. “Whoo-wee!” she hollered, waving a hand behind her ass like she was fanning a campfire.

Heads turned. A family two tables over gasped, the mom shielding her kid’s eyes. Downwind, an older couple coughed and shot Lisa a death glare, but she just cackled, unbothered. Ethan flushed red, sinking lower in his seat, his heart pounding—from embarrassment and the raw thrill he felt from it. The wind carried the smell away from him, sparing him the full hit, but the sheer audacity lit something up inside him.

“Alright, let’s bounce,” Lisa said, wiping her hands on her shorts. They trudged back to the car, Ethan buckling up tight while Lisa flopped into the driver’s seat, skipping her seatbelt. She jabbed a button, locking the windows shut, and grinned. “Hold tight, kid.”

She grunted, lifted her hips off the seat, and cut a PFFFFRRRRTTT!—a wet, three-second blast that she wafted toward him with a lazy hand. The cheesy, sour stench flooded the coupe, thick and inescapable. Ethan coughed, gagging loud and dramatic—“Oh god, that’s rank!”—but it was an act. His soccer shorts tightened, the smell hitting him like a secret rush he couldn’t admit to.

Lisa smirked, clocking his overreaction but playing dumb. “Oops, my bad—guess that burrito’s talking already.” She threw the car into gear, but instead of heading toward Ethan’s place, she peeled off onto a winding backroad lined with pines and patchy farmland. “Let’s take the scenic route—more fun this way,” she muttered, her tone casual but edged with something else.

Ethan didn’t argue. The idea of stretching this ride out, of being stuck in this rolling fart box with her, made his pulse race. “Yeah, cool,” he said, voice steady despite the heat creeping up his neck.

Five minutes in, the road curved through a quiet stretch of woods. Lisa shifted, grunted low, and ripped a BRRRRPPPPT!—a choppy, four-second blast, sour and meaty, that hung heavy in the sealed car. “Ahhh,” she exhaled, like she’d just taken a sip of a fresh cold beer, settling back as the stench curled around them. Ethan’s hands gripped his thighs, his breath shallow, the funk sinking into his skin.

A few miles later, the trees thinned, giving way to rolling fields. Lisa took a deep breath, leaned forward, and blasted a PHHHHHRRRRTTT!—a long, six-second hiss, sharp and spicy, fogging the air with bean-soaked heat. She slapped the steering wheel, laughing. “Fuck me, I’m so gassy!” The smell seeped into Ethan’s nose, thick and warm, his head spinning with a mix of shock and silent arousal.

Halfway down another quiet stretch, the road dipped into a valley. Lisa groaned, shifted sideways, and dropped a BLAAAARRRRT!—a deep, three-second bomb, earthy and pungent, that made the leather creak under her. “Fuck, that felt good,” she sighed, grinning as the funk filled the coupe.

Ethan stayed quiet, face burning, hands digging into his legs as the car became a rolling chamber of her chaos, each whiff stoking something wild in him.

She glanced over, her smirk sharp but not calling him out. The ride stretched on, the backroads looping lazily toward town. After about fifteen minutes, she veered off onto a residential street, pulling into the driveway of a modest two-story house—hers, not his. She parked, leaving the engine running, and turned to him, her eyes glinting.

“Alright, Ethan,” she said, voice low and knowing. “I see how you’re squirming over there. You’re into this, aren’t you? My farts get you going.”

Ethan froze, mouth dry, unable to form words. His heart hammered as she leaned over, her breath hot against his ear. “Jake’s staying at Tyler’s tonight for that project. So, here’s the deal: I can drop you off at your folks’ place, no harm done. Or you can ‘hang out’ with me here. Just us. You know what I mean.” Her whisper was a tease, heavy with intent.

He couldn’t speak, his brain short-circuiting. Lisa pulled back, reading his silence. “Shake your head no if you wanna go home. Nod if you’re coming inside.”

Ethan nodded slowly, hesitant but sure. Lisa grinned, a spark of excitement flashing across her face. “Good choice, kid.”

She cut the engine, and they climbed out, the evening air cool against Ethan’s flushed skin. They met at the front of the car, where a single walkway stretched to the porch. Lisa stepped close, her hand darting to his crotch, grabbing him through his soccer shorts. She squeezed, feeling him out, and giggled at his sharp intake of breath, his eyes widening. “Not bad,” she said, locking onto his gaze before letting go and sauntering ahead to the door.

Ethan followed, meek but buzzing, as she unlocked the front door and led him inside. The house smelled faintly of cedar and laundry detergent, a stark contrast to the car’s chaos. Lisa kicked off her flip-flops, tossing them by the stairs. “Fuck waiting,” she said, turning to him. “Follow me.”

She started up the stairs, her small, perky ass swaying in those cargo shorts. Ethan trailed behind, eyes glued to her, heart thudding. Halfway up, she let loose a PFFFFRRRRRTTT!—a long, wavering fart that shifted pitch with each step, trailing off as she hit the landing. She stopped, grunted, and pushed out the rest—a BRRRRAAAAPPP! that echoed down the stairwell, a solid five seconds of pent-up gas. “Been holding that since the driveway,” she said, sighing deep. “Surprised you didn’t blow your load right there.”

Ethan stood frozen on the steps, basking in it, the warm, sour wave washing over him. He loved it—the domination, the shamelessness. Lisa grinned, stepping aside, and led him down the hall to her bedroom. She shoved the door open, leaving it wide, and leapt onto the bed—arms and legs spread, landing on her stomach. The mattress bounced, each jolt forcing a sharp Pfft! or Toot! from her ass. She rolled onto her back, one hand on her belly, the other flung out casually, and fixed him with a look. “Well? You gonna do anything?”

Ethan stood there, rooted, his inexperience screaming at him. Lisa cocked her head, smirking. “Oh, you’re a virgin, huh?” His face burned, but she giggled, unfazed. “Don’t sweat it, kid. I’ll take care of you.”

She slid off the bed, peeling off her tank top and shorts in one fluid motion, revealing a lean, tanned body—small breasts, tight curves, no hesitation. Ethan’s jaw dropped, his fantasies colliding with reality. He’d always thought she was cute, her attitude magnetic, but this—her naked, grinning, farting like a horse—was beyond anything he’d imagined.

She stepped over, tugging his jersey over his head, then yanking down his shorts and boxers. His cleats clattered to the floor as she stripped him bare. Grabbing his shoulder, she guided him to the bed’s edge, sitting him down. She knelt between his legs, her hand wrapping around his dick—the first time anyone but him had touched it. Her grip was firm, confident, and she worked him with tricks he’d never dreamed of, sending jolts through him like she was playing a game controller.

Then she leaned in, her mouth closing around him, warm and wet. Ethan’s eyes snapped open, meeting hers as she looked up, smirking around his cock. He nearly lost it right there, but she pulled back, popping him out with a grin. “Not yet, champ.”

She turned, her naked ass facing him, and a thought hit him—she hadn’t farted in a few minutes. Before he could finish it, she pressed her asshole to the tip of his cock and unleashed a BRRRRAAAAAPPPPPPT!—the biggest yet, a roaring seven-second beast that vibrated through his shaft. He gasped, the sensation wild, as she reached back, guiding him into her ass. She yelped at first, then eased down, the fart shifting into a low rumble as her heat enveloped him.

The slide from the tip of his cock to the base did it for her—she shuddered, cumming hard, her ass clenching around him. Ethan wasn’t far behind, blasting a load deep inside her, his head spinning as the pleasure hit. She stayed there, recovering, her weight sinking onto him for a minute or two before she stood, his dick slipping out with a wet pop.

“Follow me,” she said, leading him—both still naked—to the bathroom. She turned on the shower, testing the water with her hand until it was just right. Stepping in, she motioned him to join. Ethan, a bit more confident now, climbed in after her. She handed him Jake’s body wash—a blue bottle he recognized from sleepovers—and grabbed her own, a citrusy gel. They scrubbed themselves in silence for a bit, steam rising around them.

Then Ethan couldn’t resist. He squeezed soap onto his hands and ran them over her ass, massaging the firm cheeks. She glanced back, smiling, and tensed—PFFFFLLLRRRT!—a wet, sloppy fart burst out, mingling with the steam, the smell thick and warm. He grinned, kneading harder, lost in it.

After a few more minutes of soapy intimacy, they rinsed the soap off. Lisa shut off the water. She grabbed two towels from a rack within reach, tossing him one. After drying off they stepped out of the shower. After she grabbed a bottle from the sink counter, Lisa slathered lotion all over herself, her fingers gliding across her skin. Ethan watched, mesmerized by every move, every curve.

She wiped her hands and sauntered back to the bedroom, him trailing like a lost puppy. She flopped onto the bed, patting the other side. Ethan climbed in, lying on his side to face her. Their eyes locked, and he hesitated before asking, “What about Jake? If he finds out…”

Lisa thought for a beat, shrugging. “I won’t tell him. If he finds out and flips, I’ll say it was my idea—me coming onto you. He’ll get over it.” Ethan smiled, uneasy but grateful. He didn’t want her taking the fall, but what else could they do? Too late to undo it now.

She rolled onto her other side, scooting back until her ass pressed against his dick. He thought another fart was coming, but she twisted slightly, looking at him. “You gonna hold me or what?” His face went red—he’d missed the cue. “Yeah, sorry,” he mumbled, wrapping an arm around her lightly. “Harder,” she said, and he tightened his grip, pulling her close.

Their knees bent, bodies slotting together, his crotch nuzzled against her ass. They lay there, quiet, as she let out a few more farts—Pfft!, Brrrpt!, Frrrrt!—each one warm and teasing against him. He drifted off with her, the night fading into a stinky, surreal close.

[miragemaven]

Aunt Marie's Shed

This story includes farts and sex This story was made with the help of AI. Hope you enjoy!

Sam stretched his arms overhead as he stepped out of his apartment, the screen door banging shut behind him. Nick’s text had come through that morning—an invite to a BBQ at his Aunt Marie’s place, just a 15-minute walk across town. The promise of cold beer, smoky ribs, and a break from his usual Saturday routine of Netflix and takeout had him sold.

He slung a light denim jacket over his shoulder, the late afternoon sun already turning the asphalt into a shimmering haze. The air hummed with cicadas as he started down the quiet street, his worn sneakers scuffing against the pavement. A faint whiff of charcoal smoke teased his nose as he got closer to Marie’s cul-de-sac, where her modest ranch-style house sat, its backyard sprawling with promise.

He pushed through the rickety wooden gate, the hinges squeaking, and took in the scene. The yard was a lively mess—mismatched lawn chairs scattered across the patchy grass, some empty, most cradling Nick's sunburned relatives with beers or red plastic cups in hand. Kids darted between picnic tables laden with potato salad, watermelon wedges, and glistening pitchers of lemonade.

Nick lounged near the center, his shaggy blond hair poking out from under a faded baseball cap. He spotted Sam and waved lazily. “Yo, you made it! Grab a seat, man.” Sam grinned, dropping into the creaky metal chair beside him, the frame groaning under his lean, wiry build.

They fell into their usual rhythm—shop talk about landscaping gigs, a busted mower that’d given Sam hell all week, and plans for a fishing trip that’d probably never happen. Their chatter rolled on, easy and familiar, until a deep, rolling sound cut through the air

Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuurp

a belch, loud and unapologetic, stretching out for a solid five seconds.

Sam’s head whipped around, eyes scanning the yard, trying to figure out who was burping that loudly. There, by the grill, stood a woman, spatula in one hand, a silver beer can glinting in the other. Her head was tilted back slightly, mouth open as the last rumbles of the belch faded.

She was striking—curvy, with a red-and-yellow sundress that hugged a slim waist, accentuating a perky chest and an ass that defied gravity. Dark, wavy hair spilled past her shoulders, streaked with hints of gray that only added to her presence. She took a casual sip of beer, unbothered, as if she hadn’t just rattled the party.

Nick snorted beside him. “That’s Aunt Marie. She’s a damn character.” Sam nodded, stealing glances at her as he and Nick picked up their conversation. Marie moved with a kind of effortless command, flipping burgers with a flick of her wrist, sipping her beer between tasks.

Her face stayed neutral, scanning the crowd, until her hazel eyes caught his. Their gazes locked, and a slow, sly smile spread across her lips, crinkling the corners of her eyes. Sam flashed a shy grin back, feeling a flush creep up his neck.

Just then, Nick’s phone buzzed insistently in his pocket. He groaned, fishing it out. “Aw, hell—it’s the boss. Gotta take this. Be right back.” He clapped Sam’s shoulder and trudged off toward the house, leaving Sam alone amid the hum of the party.

Sam’s eyes drifted back to Marie. She tracked Nick’s retreat for a moment, then turned her gaze to Sam, her smile sharpening. She beckoned Sam to come over.

He blinked, glancing around—surely she meant someone else? He pointed to himself, eyebrows raised, and she nodded, her grin widening into something playful, almost daring. His pulse kicked up, and he pushed to his feet, shoving his hands deep into his jeans pockets as he crossed the yard.

The scattered stares of cousins and uncles prickled his skin, but he kept his focus on her, drawn like a moth to a flame. Marie turned back to the grill as he approached, prodding a sizzling rib with her spatula.

He stopped beside her, close enough to catch the faint floral whiff of her perfume mingling with the smoky tang of the grill. She glanced at him sidelong, her voice warm and gravelly. “You one of Nick’s landscaping buddies?”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m Sam.” “Sam,” she repeated, letting the name roll off her tongue as she nodded. She focused on the grill again, adjusting a burger with care.

Sam seized the moment to let his eyes wander—her sundress clung just right, the fabric stretching over her curves, her perky breasts straining faintly against the bodice, her ass a perfect swell below that slim waist. She was chatting now, something about the heat and how the ribs were her specialty, when a sudden, sharp pffft erupted—a loud, brassy fart that puffed her dress out like a parachute for a split second before it fluttered back into place.

“Oh, damn,” she chuckled, her laugh low and rolling. “That’s the English breakfast I had this morning—those beans’ll get you every time.” No blush, no hesitation—just pure, shameless ease. Sam’s jaw dropped slightly, a mix of shock and awe rooting him to the spot. The rawness of it jolted him, stirring something he couldn’t name.

Marie caught his stunned look and smirked, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Hey, you mind helping me with something in the shed? Need an extra hand.” Sam, still reeling from the fart, managed a shaky “sure” and followed her across the yard.

The party’s noise faded as they approached the weathered shed, its paint peeling in strips. She swung the door open, its hinges groaning, and held it for him. He stepped inside, the dimness swallowing him as the door thudded shut behind her.

The air was thick with dust, the faint bite of gasoline, and the earthy scent of old wood. Marie moved to a cluttered pile—paint cans, a rusted mower blade, a sack of potting soil—and bent over, rummaging through it.

Sam’s eyes locked on her ass, the dress taut against her curves, when another fart ripped loose—a deep, resonant brrrrp that echoed off the shed walls. The force flipped her dress up higher this time, flashing smooth skin and the undeniable fact she wasn’t wearing a stitch underneath. His breath caught, arousal surging hot and fast, tangled with a dizzying confusion.

She straightened slowly, turning to face him, and stepped closer, her presence filling the cramped space. “I know you like my gassy ass, Sam,” she purred, her voice a velvet tease, her eyes locked on his.

Marie tilted her head, her smirk deepening as she let the silence hang for a beat. Then, in a tone that was half-challenge, half-invitation, she murmured, “So, Sam—wanna do me?” Her words hit like a spark, casual yet loaded, her gaze unwavering as she waited for his response.

He froze, heart hammering, his mind a jumbled mess of shock and desire. “Uh—y-yeah,” he stammered, voice cracking as embarrassment wrestled with the throbbing heat in his jeans, his stunned state leaving him wide-eyed and fumbling.

Aunt Marie's smile widened before she grabbed Sam's collar, leading him to the back of the shed behind a shelf where a pile of stacked tarps sat making an incredibly primitive bed

With a firm shove, she sent him sprawling onto them, his back hitting the rough pile with a soft thud. Marie dropped to her knees, crawling toward him, her sundress riding up her thighs, her gaze predatory and sure.

She loomed over him, pushing him flat with a hand on his chest. Her fingers moved fast, unbuttoning his jeans and yanking them down along with his boxers, the cool air hitting his skin as she freed him.

Her hands roamed—first a teasing graze along his cock, then a firm squeeze of his balls, rolling them in her palm with a wicked grin. She climbed atop him, straddling his hips cowgirl-style, her dress hiked up to her waist as she sank down, enveloping him in tight, wet heat.

Her hips rolled slow at first, deliberate, building into a steady grind that had him gripping the tarps beneath him. She paused, fully seated, and grabbed his balls, pressing them snug against her asshole. A low, rumbling fart vibrated through—hot, pulsing, the sensation buzzing up his spine.

Sam’s head slammed back, a ragged groan tearing from his throat as his hips bucked hard, involuntary and desperate. Marie giggled, a delighted, throaty sound, reveling in the power she held over him.

She shifted then, spinning gracefully into reverse cowgirl, her ass now facing him as she resumed her rhythm. Each thrust drew gasps from them both, sweat beading on his brow, but it was the farts that unraveled him—sharp, wet blasts that rippled up his stomach, across his chest, and straight into his face.

The first was a quick pfft, musky and warm, curling into his nostrils. Then a longer brrrt, the scent earthy and intoxicating, fogging his mind as he inhaled reflexively. She rode him harder, another fart—phrrrp—blasting out mid-thrust, the heat of it washing over him as her giggles mingled with his moans.

His hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into her flesh, lost in the wild, sensory overload. Minutes stretched into a fevered blur, her pace relentless, until the pressure built to a breaking point.

A final, shuddering fart vibrated against him as they climaxed together—Sam’s body arching beneath her, a choked cry escaping his lips, while Marie trembled atop him, her breath hitching in sharp gasps. She stilled, chest heaving, then eased off him, brushing her dress down with a satisfied smirk.

“Thanks for the ride, young buck,” she said, winking as she stood, leaving him sprawled on the tarps, dazed and spent. Sam lay there, staring at the shed’s cobwebbed ceiling, his pulse thudding in his ears.

Eventually, he stirred, dragging himself up and snagging a grimy rag from a shelf to wipe the sweat and stickiness from his skin. He fumbled his boxers and jeans back on, legs unsteady as he staggered to the door.

Stepping outside, the sunlight hit him like a slap, the party’s noise rushing back. He shuffled past the grill, where Marie had resumed her post, flipping a burger with that same sly grin.

As he passed, she let out one last fart—a quick, deliberate pfft aimed his way. His cock twitched hard again, straining against his jeans, and he yanked his jacket low to cover it, hurrying back to his seat.

Nick was already there, slouched in his chair, phone call done. “Where you been, man?” he asked, eyebrow cocked. Sam sank into the chair, voice rough.

I was helping your Aunt Marie with something in the shed...