Fart story one-shots 2!

Beans and Eggs (rewrite)

Note: This was an older story that I'd started a while back, but now I've rewritten it, and it's mostly done besides some revisions/edits I need to make. The story is 8 parts long, and I'll probably be posting one part a day. Thanks for reading!

Content warning (nothing too crazy, but just in case:) This is a celeb fart story with some mentions of sweat, ass eating and farting-in-mouth, some femdom, humiliation, and a bit of wedgie stuff. Mostly fart stuff though.

Beans and Eggs, Part 1

As far as Blake was concerned, all this excitement about art and entertainment was just plain dumb. What had Taylor Swift, who stood next to him, having an obnoxiously dull conversation with her peers, ever really done for anyone? Could she even begin to compare with his incredible intellect? His superior IQ? Did she have even one brain cell in that pretty head of hers?

He stood in a grassy area behind one of LA's most recognized theaters, which had just hosted a dinner event in honor of women in entertainment. He had an intelligent dark-eyed gaze that matched his carefully styled hair, a blue button down shirt tucked into a pair of sleek trousers, and the unshakeable conviction that he was smarter and better than anyone there. He had organized this dinner after all: planned it from scratch and managed caterers, furniture, and seating arrangements, and he doubted any of these clueless chatting celebrities could have done nearly as good of a job. He would've rather organized any other event, but his company had forced him to do this, much to his irritation.

The dinner was now over, and most people had gone home for the night, except for these women who decided to have a kind of impromptu afterparty behind the theater building. This was obnoxious beyond belief, as the grassy area they were in was what Blake had used as a staging area while setting up the event. Now, instead of going home, he felt the need to stay with them and make sure they didn't mess everything up.

Someone dropped their phone, and Taylor Swift bent over to pick it up, her shapely butt bulging out at Blake in her sleek dress. Typical air headed celebrity, Blake thought to himself as her butt bumped against his hip. Didn't she realize he was standing right there? Only thinking about themselves, never about others. Taylor Swift handed the phone back, gave him a quick "sorry" (weakest apology ever, he grumbled in his head,) and resumed her boring conversation as if nothing had happened.

These celebrities reminded Blake of the empty-headed "popular" women who had bullied him his whole life. Girls that chased him around the playground in elementary school, so that they could pin him down and spit in his mouth. Girls that gave him wedgies in middle school and called him names. Specifically, the way that Taylor Swift had so carelessly shoved her butt against him reminded him of the girls that would harass him in high school, constantly trying to knock him over with their hips and their butts while innocently pretending nothing was happening. He scowled, ignoring the stirrings happening in his crotch. Those stirrings meant nothing, of course. He was pissed and rightfully so. These celebrities were so useless.

No, they were worse than useless. They were a menace to society!

For proof of that, he had Daisy Ridley. She stood nearby, laughing stupidly with her stupid friends. As he looked at her, she backed up against some heavy decor panels placed near the wall of the theater building, and stumbled on some bags containing spare seat cushions that were piled in front of them. Her attention-grabbing ass, its round shape prominent under a tight dress, bumped against a decor panel with a jiggle. Blake clearly saw a couple of nuts and bolts fall loose under the panels, landing on the grass. Daisy Ridley didn't notice, she just kept laughing with her friends, flashing her annoying toothy grin.

Blake grumbled to himself about how bothersome celebrities were as he walked over to repair the decor panel Daisy had bumped into. He told himself that the reason he was imagining Daisy bumping her round butt against Taylor Swift's ass was because he was annoyed by women's backsides and how much misery butts had caused him in his life, and that the reason he kept glancing at Daisy's rear end as he headed in her direction was because he was angry with her. He definitely wasn't a little bit captivated by how her ass and legs looked in her tight dress. The stirrings in his crotch continued, and he ignored them, because they meant nothing.