Announcement Canadian Flatulence Fetishist's Fart Fetish Fantasy Realized in Shanghai

[shanghaidomme]

I am Shanghai Femdomme Alessandra. I have crafted a wickedly eproctophilia scenario for a Canadian fart fetishist who is sexually aroused by flatulence.

Without breaking eye contact, I slowly leaned back in the chair, casually resting my arms on the armrests. I tilted my head slightly, giving him an impassive smirk as I allowed my body to relax.

Then came the first one — a low, subtle burst of hot air escaping from my perfectly round ass, muffled by the latex clinging to my skin. His eyes widened, and I saw the exact moment when the scent hit him. His nostrils flared, and he let out a soft, helpless whimper.

“You like that, don’t you?” I sneered, watching him inhale with desperate reverence.

I shifted slightly, pulling my skirt higher, allowing him a better view of the very place from which I would grant him his depraved wish. I stood up and strolled over to the bed. With predatory grace, I climbed onto the mattress on all fours, presenting my ass to him.

“Get closer. Smell me,” I ordered.

He obeyed instantly, crawling on his knees until his face was near my ass. I arched my back slightly, teasing him with my movements. With deliberate timing, I released another warm, wet puff directly against his face. This time, he moaned — a sound of pure, broken ecstasy.

I decided to escalate his degradation further. What he didn’t know was that I had been intentionally holding back. Thanks to my frequent constipation, my farts were far more smelly than he could have imagined — thicker, heavier, and unbearably pungent.

I smirked wickedly as I retrieved a thin, flexible plastic pipe I had prepared in advance. I leaned down, gripping his chin with my gloved hand, and met his wide, eager eyes.

“You want to worship my scent properly? Let me help you.”

With clinical precision, I inserted one end of the pipe into his left nostril, ensuring it fit snugly. Then, with slow, deliberate cruelty, I slid the other end deep between my ass cheeks, pressing it against my puckered hole. The fit was perfect — the airtight connection would ensure he inhaled every ounce of my raw, unfiltered scent.

“Breathe deeply,” I ordered, my voice dripping with condescension.

I leaned forward slightly, resting my hands on the bedframe for balance. Then I pushed. The first release traveled through the pipe in a thick, concentrated stream, hitting his nostril with brutal force. His entire body convulsed as he gasped sharply, overwhelmed by the unrelenting stench of my backed-up gases.

I laughed cruelly, watching his eyes water. “Poor thing… too much for you?” I mocked, my voice full of mock sympathy.

But he didn’t pull away. No. He gripped my thighs instead, desperate for more. His moans were muffled by the pipe, his entire existence reduced to one primal act: inhaling my filth.

Shanghai Femdomme Alessandra