Closet Fetishist's Stories


Check Out the
Fart Fetish Podcast

Join Our Community

Click Here for

Click Here for


Frankie's New Follower
Author: Closet Fetishist

Written: March 8th, 2017
1,881 words

Frankie Stein sits attentive but bored in Dragonometry, her last class of the day. It’s not that she doesn’t enjoy it; just being an hour away from dismissal has the majority of her attention. The rest of her classmates seem to share the feeling; they all stare similarly glossy eyed at Mr. Zarr and his dull lecturing.

RRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIINNNNNGGGGG! Frankie, with a silent celebration, quickly grabs her stuff and heads out; she passes and waves to some of her friends before leaving the school building and starting her walk home.

Near campus there are lots of other students mulling about, but as she gets deeper into the neighborhoods, Frankie finds herself alone; ordinarily it wouldn’t be a problem but something feels different about today. Frankie peers over her shoulder, noticing an old car seeming to match her casual pace. As she picks up speed, so does the car; when she unexpectedly turns at an intersection, the car follows.

Frankie takes a moment to catch her bearings, she checks the street signs.
Vamp Buren Avenue and Woolly Boulevard. Perfect! She knows a great place to hide here. She runs up the street a ways and ducks into an abandoned house; the home is in pristine condition and very well kept before a new owner would come and bring some personality to the neglected dwelling.

Frankie peeks carefully out the drapes of the empty house, watching the car stop at the curb with a loud squeak of the brakes. Out from the car emerges a human man, wearing an old knit coat and cap; he holds a pitchfork defensively across his chest.

“Ugh! Didn’t anyone tell this guy about clichés? This would be my walk home,” she frets to herself. Frankie looks out again; the man is about half way up the walk and closing fast. She sighs and shrugs, he’s here now so she’s going to have to deal with him; she’ll make him regret following her home, that’s for sure.

The man stands on the porch, steadying his breathing; his knuckles turn white on the pitchfork handle. He drops one hand to the knob and slowly turns it; the door opens with a soft creak. He slides inside and quickly closes the door behind him; he takes a step forward, keeping his head on a swivel to avoid being ambushed. From behind the door, Frankie creeps up on the man without him noticing, inching closer and closer to him with a wide smirk on her face.

“Hiya!” Frankie says excitedly.

The man jumps, startled; he turns quickly but, before he can react, Frankie puts a hand on the man’s chest and electrifies him, sending 10,000 volts from her body straight into his. He seizes savagely, smoke rises from his burning follicles; even as she cuts the juice, he continues to twitch for seconds more before falling flat onto his face.

As he regains motor function, he turns onto his back and tries to sit up but Frankie detaches her hand with a soft shake. Her disembodied hand crawls across his body, up his leg and over his chest before jumping onto and compressing against his neck. He falls back onto the ground as Frankie’s fingers squeeze tightly on his throat; he gurgles out, pained.

“You vile creature!” He chokes out.

“Oh for ghouls sake! You couldn’t just call me a bitch like a normal person?” Frankie sneers as she approaches the restrained man; she steps over him with one leg and squats down low, as low as she can get to his face without sitting on it. “Hope this isn’t too stinky for ya!” She gleefully exclaims as she lifts her plaid skirt up a little, her sweat soaked panties on full display for the man. He tries to turn his head but her hand crawls from his neck up to his chin, holding the man’s head straight, forcing him and his nose to face Frankie’s unpleasant smelling ass.


Frankie sighs in relief, “Whew! I’ve been holding that in since lunchtime!”

The man’s face contorts horrifically as the toxic gas caresses him with a terrible smell of sulfury farts and rotting corpses. His head rattles spastically but her hand keeps him facing forward, wafting in her foul flatulence. He moans but he can barely get enough oxygen to make a sound other than a scattered, zombie-like cry in panicked frequency.

“Aww, it can’t be that bad, can it? Here let’s try another, this oughta be a good one!”


His body violently twitches as the terrible fart hits him; his breathing is labored and painful, forced to endure nothing but the fumes of Frankie’s inhumanly putrid rear end.

“Hm, I guess it is that bad,” Frankie laughs as she lowers her panties and begins to bring her ass cheeks over the man’s face, pressing his nose tightly against her butthole that reeks of death. There’s a grotesque gurgle from inside her, she closes her eyes in concentration but then stops herself suddenly, “Oh, you know what, I have a better idea!” Frankie excitedly says as she quickly gets off him and disappears into the other room.

The man is relieved and takes greedy inhales of the air while he can but, when he tries to roll onto his stomach, Frankie’s bodiless hand again compresses on his neck, tighter this time as he gurgles and sputters brutally.
Frankie returns holding a gas mask with a bit of rubber tubing running from it, she notices her hand back on the man’s throat. “Oh, you didn’t try to get away, did you? She doesn’t really like when my prey tries to get away,” Frankie chuckles.

Frankie steps to the man and pulls the mask on over his face, strapping it tight, “It’s a good thing I keep one of these hidden here, dontcha think?” She giggles as she takes the tube end and maneuvers it under her skirt and panties, fitting it in between her butt cheeks; the intake aligns right against her asshole as it puckers in and out aggressively.

The man watches her in terror, his vision limited to the two large eyeholes of the gas mask; his breath echoes ominously inside. Frankie lifts her head up, letting her long hair flow freely down her back; she puts a hand on her ass cheek to hold it apart, in preparation for a big blast.


The hot, putrid fumes gush through the tube like a train and assault the man’s face with an impossibly dense blast. The gas fills the mask visibly with the dark green vapor of Frankie’s concentrated farts. He retches silently, the wind completely knocked out of him as the rancid air collects over his face with nowhere to go but inside him, through one hole or another.

Frankie sighs, “This is great, isn’t it?!”


The man groans as he writhes and chokes on the floor, his legs desperately kick around and his back arches fruitlessly. His body seeks some sort of relief from this noxious abuse but there’s none to be had; the gasses are sealed in with him, inundating every orifice and every pore.

“Aww, the big bad monster hunter doesn’t like it, does he?” She taunts.

The man’s body shakes violently as his vision starts to get hazy, but his mask and his mind are too fogged up with farts to see or process much beyond the agonizing pain he’s enduring. He sputters out; his face jerks before everything goes white for him and his body falls still, finally unconscious.

Frankie removes the rubber tube from her butt and peels the mask off the man’s face, allowing her pent up gases to finally fly free. She smiles as she coughs a bit on her own horrible flatulence, “Huh! Even I didn’t know my farts could stink that bad,” she snickers.

 The man’s head falls lifelessly to the side.

“Well, he passed out, I guess that means the party’s over. Or!” Frankie says joyfully as she digs through her stuff; she pulls out a small, clear glass tube, open on both ends and thinner than a test tube. “Luckily, I have just the thing to wake him up!” She chuckles.

She saunters over to the man; she smirks as she lifts her foot right above his crotch. Then, with full force, she slams the heel of her boot right over his penis; his eyes jolt open as he breathlessly wails out.

“Wake up time!” She announces to him; she kneels down and quickly undoes the man’s pants, pulling them down with his underwear. She takes hold of his cock and very gently eases the glass tube into the tip of his penis, pushing it in just enough to make it stand on its own; like prepping a nail to be hammered. She grins to the man who’s sweating into a large puddle under his head.

“No, no no no no no!” He begs softly, tears welling up in his eyes.
Frankie stands and puts the sole of her boot at the top of the tube. The man shakes his head in a desperate plea but Frankie just nods at him cruelly. She bites her lip and slowly jams the glass deep into the man’s pee hole; she pushes it down further and further, gently twisting all the while to keep it moving until it disappears.

The man’s body is frozen in excruciating pain as the glass flute is shoved snuggly inside his urethra; tears run down his soaked cheeks, his senses begin to dull and fade. His vision blurs but he can feel Frankie sit him up a bit, the glass inside his penis digs in deeper to his body as he is pushed forward.

“Last step!” Frankie says delightfully as the bottom of her boot grazes the top of the man’s erect cock; the very same cock that now has a tube of glass inside. The thought hits the man just as he feels the rubber of Frankie’s boots on him; his eyes go wide in terror as he looks to her for one final mercy plea. “Please no...” he whimpers out feebly, “I’m sorry.”

Frankie nods sincerely, as if moved by his words; she lifts her foot up off his privates. The man is wonderfully relieved; that is until he watches Frankie’s foot suddenly stomp back down towards his crotch.

“No!” He barely has time to scream out as his penis is mashed to the floor and the glass inside shattered into thousands of tiny pieces. The man’s entire body shakes and his eyes roll; he falls back onto the floor, twitching for another second or two before his body suddenly becomes still once again.

Frankie scoffs and spits right onto his cock; it bleeds profusely, the shape contorted and scattered with fragments of glass poking through the soft skin. She grabs her stuff and exits the house, leaving the man’s body broken and bloody on the floor.

She heads down the walkway with a smile on her face; she returns to the sidewalk, her stride is carefree and easy now. She chuckles to herself, “He’s seriously gonna need a doctor when he wakes up. Or a coroner.” Frankie grins as she clutches her books tightly and walks the rest of the way home.

© The Fart Closet, All Rights Reserved.