THE HEART-SHAPED HOT TUB

Hey everyone, happy Friday! I would just like to thank everyone who ended up reading “the Atom Bomb”! All of your upvotes mean the world to me!

The idea for today’s story; a VERY enjoyable time in a hot tub, was based on an original concept from
u/RepulsiveAd2495, and it’s over twice as long as my last short story. So please, sit back, relax and enjoy yet another gassy blast to the past. Happy reading!

FETISH DISCLAIMERS: Farts, feet & masturbation.

CHAPTER ONE:
A WARM WELCOME

The avocado green AMC Gremlin pulled up to the main building of the Cupid’s Notch Resort.

“Finally, we’re here”, said Tara Olsen. “Two-and-a-half hours behind the wheel is more than enough for me. That traffic was crazy! I’ve gotta get some rest before we can think of doing anything tonight.”

“Don’t be such a spaz Tara, you’ve gotta relax! We’re gonna have the time of our lives these next few days and I don’t want you ruining it! We might have dodged a huge bullet by leaving Cindy back in the city, but I don’t want you ruining it in her place.”

“Oh shut up Linda! You’re the lame-o who didn’t want to do this trip to begin with. Plus, you’d be mad too if you lost THREE nail extensions in a day!” Tara replies. “But anyways, we’re finally here and we’ve got four straight days of having fun to look forward too! Hiking, skating, dancing, banging, you name it, we’ll be doing it!”

Linda Wilson narrows her eyes at Tara “You know, by the way your acting, everybody’s going to think you’re still a cherry.”

“Well, at least I can keep a man for more than a month Linda!” and after saying that, Tara straightens her pink-tinted sunglasses, steps out of her car and slams the door shut.

It was the week of Tara Olsen’s 22nd birthday, which had just occured the day before. She had just recently finished her junior year at NYU and was an intern at an established Wall Street investing firm. Life was good for both her and her lifelong friend, who was almost a year older than herself, and a successful graphic designer. Both of them were rapidly paying off their tuition, and their money flowed freely.

This week was going to be an especially good one. Tara and Linda had traveled to the exclusive and luxurious Cupid’s Notch Resort in the beautiful Pocono’s of eastern Pennsylvania. Set in a small valley by a lake, the resort contained three swimming pools, two restaurants and the main attraction; a large discotheque overlooking the water, with a dance floor that doubled as a skating rink and roller derby venue. Because of these amenities, it was a haven for honeymooners, young single people and swingers alike, and was the setting for many wild business professional weekenders. Whatever happened in Cupid’s Notch, stood in Cupid’s Notch.

If anything was emblematic of what it stood for as a resort, it was its lobby. Vine-covered columns held up a glass ceiling. The walls on both sides of the lobby were covered with orange-tinted mirrors and, in the middle of it all, there was an elegant mirror-covered fountain that was radiant with light provided to it from the ceiling above. To Tara, this was a paradise in the league of a Las Vegas casino, but much closer to home.

“Hello! Welcome to the beautiful Cupid’s Notch Resort”, says the mustached man behind the front desk. “Are you here to check in?”

“Yes, for me and my friend.”

“Okay. No problem miss…”

Check-in was a fairly quick and easy process. As quick as it was, however, Tara still had enough time to notice the cardboard carton labeled “Trojan” on the lower shelf of a book case behind the front desk. This place really wore its heart on its sleeve.

“If you ever need anything, just give me a call” the receptionist said with a wink.

But Tara wouldn’t be needing anything.

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CHAPTER TWO:
ARRIVAL AT THE PALACE

The freestanding cabins that provided the accommodations at the Cupid’s Notch were all newly-renovated, and referred to as “palaces”.

And palaces they were.

Whatever expectations that Tara had for the resort, were to be exceeded by what she would find in her own two-story palace (the concierge had knowingly gave her one of the best on the property), and upon opening the front door, she felt as if she had been transported to her own personal Versailles.

There was a gold chandelier hanging from a popcorn ceiling, floral wallpaper, a sunken seating area with a floating fireplace, and a minibar in the corner of the room. A wrought-iron spiral staircase led to the loft upstairs, and the floors were covered with burnt orange shag carpet.

“Wow, this is more far-out than Linda’s cabin!!!!! I better take off my boots before I explore any further.”

Tara takes off her yellow-and-blue platform boots. A characteristic odor rises right away.

“P-U” she says, wrinkling her nose. “My feet smell just like that cheese fondue that I had last night. I won’t get any tonight with them smelling like this!”

Her feet had to wait however. She was falling in love with her surroundings, and needed to explore them. And so, she walked through a big, round open doorway into the bedroom.

The bedroom was just as, if not more beautiful than the living room she had just seen. In the corner of the room, there was a big, round water bed, with mirrors on the ceiling above it. The walls were covered with crushed red velvet, and a set of sliding doors led to a balcony looking over the lake. Round glass sidetables sat at either side of of the bed, on top of very shaggy white carpet.

On the opposite side of the room from the bed was a big floor model TV set. She sits down on the bed and right next to the resort gift basket, there’s a remote control! She turns on the TV to find an episode of “the Love Boat” playing. It was a color TV too!

And with that, she falls back on her bed and enters a deep sleep in the afternoon warmth, tired out by the long drive from New York City.

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CHAPTER THREE:
THE GREAT AWAKENING

“IT’S DARTH VADER WATCH OUT, AND HE’S GOT A LIGHT SABER!”
Tara wakes up abruptly at around 7:30 pm to a blaring commercial.

“Dang TV, you ruined my dream!” she yells.

Not able to find her remote, she picks up a pillow instead and throws it at the TV set. It turns off as soon as it hits the screen.

“Wow, that was a great dream that I had! Too bad it was ruined.” she thinks to herself, recalling a dream that she just had. In it, she had been the happiest she had ever been, but she was quickly forgetting exactly how as she was waking up.

All of a sudden there came a knock at the door. She walked to it, opened it, and there was Linda.

“What’s taking you so long?!?! We’ve gotta be getting ready, the band starts playing in two hours!” Linda exclaims.

“Alright, alright Linda. Calm down! Go smoke some grass or something!”

“Tara, you know me like a book”, says her pink-eyed hippie friend laughingly.

“Well, it’s just my luck that I’d go on this trip with a space cadet like you. Just help me get my suitcases out of my car and I’ll get ready for tonight!”

Tara goes out to her car and grabs a suitcase in each hand, and Linda grabs the other two. Even though there were a few dark clouds looming in the distance, it was a relatively comfortable 70 degree July evening, and the distant murmur of crickets could start to be heard.

Despite it being a Wednesday night, it was peak travel season at Cupid’s Notch, and the place was pretty busy. Large luxury cars; Cadillacs, Lincolns and the occasional Mercedes Benz, were parked outside of over half of the “palaces”, and there were going to be more in the coming days. More cars = more sex was the way of thinking at this resort.

She leaves the suitcase containing her outfit and cosmetics for that night out on her bed, and she and her friend put the other three into the roomy bedroom closet.

Tara grabs her outfit for that night out of the suitcase and sets it aside. It consists of an short-sleeve orange ruffled blouse, a pair of shiny, skin-tight black disco pants and purple sandals.

Linda was in awe “Wow, you’re gonna look like a real brick house in that getup! I’m already dressed for tonight.”

Her outfit for that evening was a wide-collared paisley button-down with flared sleeves, a gold-buckled Gucci belt, bell-bottom jeans and brown platform shoes. “Don’t you just dig my outfit?”

Tara playingly replies “Sure Linda, everyone will now know you’ve never grown out of your tomboy phase.”

Now, while imitating the Fonz, Linda fires back.

“Oh Tara, sit on it! You should be more focused on getting yourself ready, so why don’t you try that instead, capeesh?”

“Yeah, capeesh”, Tara replies, this time with a sigh.

“Good, I’m proud of you toots.” Linda says, giving her friend a firm pat on the back and a playful kiss on the cheek. “Alright, I’ve gotta skitty. I’ll catch you on the flipside.”

She makes her way back to the door and before leaving, looks back and says “for Pete’s sake Tara, take out your garbage. I can smell something funky in here!”

“The only funky thing around here is you Linda, you burnout.”, she replies under her breath after the door closes.

Deep down inside Tara knew that it was her own foot odor that her friend was picking up on, and she settled on what would be a pivotal decision.

She was finally going to take a shower and get ready to have a great night.

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CHAPTER FOUR:
FIT FOR A QUEEN

The bathroom instantly becomes Tara’s favorite room of them all.

There was a marble sink, a red toilet and more shag carpet covering the floors, pink this time. Like the lobby, the walls were covered with mirrors, and like the bedroom, a well thought out portion of the ceiling was also covered with mirrors.

Then, much to her suprise, the bathroom did not have a shower, but instead had something much, much better.

In the corner of it, underneath the mirror-covered portion of ceiling and flanked by four gold-painted columns, was a large red fiberglass heart-shaped hot tub.

Tara was blown away. This was far better than anything that she could’ve ever imagined.

On a table next to the hot tub was a stereo, a telephone and an ash tray.

“It’s a good thing that they have this” Tara thought, looking at the tabletop stereo. “I left my tape deck, along with all of my 8-tracks and cassettes at home by mistake.”

She starts filling the tub with lukewarm water, and then turns on the radio. The disc jockey plays some ABBA, followed by some Donna Summer. She calls up to make a request, and the DJ promises to play it a little while later. This was a good start to what would become an even better night.

She then looks into the bathroom mirror and tries to make a mental note of her appearance now, so she can compare it to how she’ll look later. “Man, I’m grungey looking” she thinks to herself.

Grungey or not, Tara Olsen was a stunning young woman. While her friend Linda was attractive in her own unique way, with a thin build, straight brown hair and a basic fashion sense, Tara fully embraced her feminine side, and earned a reputation for being the most glamorous in her friend group.

A contestant and winner of many citywide NYC beauty pageants over the years, and a “kissing booth” attendant at a charity carnival that was held just a month prior, Tara was as beautiful as any woman could be. Her Norwegian heritage gave her a head of long, voluminous natural blonde hair. Her eyes were a brilliant blue and her lips were full.

“I may be grungey right now, but I’m sexy 24/7” she says to her reflection, before get undressed for her bath.

First, off goes the bandana that had been holding back her hair, followed by the short denim romper she was wearing that day. She had no bra to remove, so she only had to take off her flesh-colored pantyhose and white lacy panties to get completely naked.

She had a very pronounced bust, and a hourglass figure that many thought could only be painted by an artist.

She then takes a whiff of the feet of her sweaty pantyhose.

“Wow, these are stinky!” she says, and straight into the bathroom trash they go.

A few short minutes later, the tub was now finally full and “the Chain” by Fleetwood Mac was playing over the radio. Even though her request wasn’t being played yet, she was a big Fleetwood Mac, and in fact, a lot of her friends said that she looked like Stevie Nicks.

At this point, all that was needed to complete the ambiance was some rose-scented Avon bubble bath, a few lit candles, and a bottle of Wild Irish Rose, and the resort had provided their guests with all of these things in complimentary gift baskets. Was this the paradise that Tara had dreamt about?

She lights several tea light candles and surrounds the tub with them. She then pours herself a glass of Wild Irish Rose and slowly gets into the tub. Once in, she presses the button to turn on the jets. It feels good. REAL good. This next hour was going to be amazing.

Tara had been in a hot tub once before, during a ski trip that she took to Aspen during last years Christmas vacation. But that experience didn’t compare to this one.

Last time, her hairy, Columbia University linebacker ex-boyfriend was taking up half of the tub, but this time she had the whole thing to herself.

The hot tub in Aspen was a regular rectangular one, but this time it was heart-shaped. With her back resting against the point of the heart, she was able to fully open up her legs and relax like she had never relaxed before.

There were rose-scented bubbles everywhere; covering everything from her feet to her neckline. The only problem was that they weren’t warm enough.

With the jets still running, Tara emptied a lot of the lukewarm water down the drain and replaced it with hotter water. Now the water was much more comfortable and, recalling what she had read about saunas, the warmer the temperature of the fluid surrounding you, the better for your health it was.

She reaches for the hotel-sized bottle of bubble bath only to find it empty. It really didn’t matter though, as the water already felt perfect and still smelt vaguely of roses.

Too add to the already wonderful moment, light rain started to fall outside. This was bliss.

‐——‐———————————————–
CHAPTER FIVE:
“WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?”

The jets of the hot tub felt so, so good, and had a way of caressing all the right places. For one thing, the back pain that she had gotten as a result of being stuck in a firm driver’s seat for two and a half hours was quickly alleviated.

The jets massaged her arms, legs and feet. Best of all, they provided an almost euphoric sensation to the area between her legs. At 8:15 pm, a full hour and fifteen minutes before she was set to go out, she was already having a wonderful time.

Then came a realization.

“I better be careful with letting these jets near my stomach. I had all that food for luch earlier and I don’t want to throw it all up.”

On their way to the resort, Tara and Linda had stopped at a McDonald’s halfway for lunch. There, they shared an order of 4 quarter pounders, 2 filet-o-fishes and 3 orders of onion nuggets. Linda didn’t care for the onion nuggets so Tara ended up eating them all. She was unfortunately starting to feel the effects of her decision.

So, in an attempt to feel better, she turned her body completely around, now resting her chin on the tip of the heart. She props up the lower half of her body by getting on her knees, and arches her back. Her stomach is now mostly above the water and she’s in far less pain.

The sound of the rain outside is starting to get louder, and a distant boom of thunder can be heard. The humidity in the surrounding air is getting more and more noticeable by the minute.

Tara, still on her knees with her butt in the air, makes plans to lay back down in the tub now that she’s feeling better. She begins to raise her head slightly to start the process of turning back over.

All of a sudden, something happens.

The radio turns off just as Barry White was singing about how he “turned and looked” and “saw that message in your eye.” It was the song that she had requested.

The bathroom lights go off, and the tub jets suddenly stop. The only lights in the bathroom now are the dozen or so small candles surrounding the tub.

The sudden loss of electricity startles Tara, who was just about to leave her doggy-style position, and she accidentally releases a small, quiet puff of damp air from her rear.

With this, she decides to turn back around completely, and lie back down in the tub.

Now back in her original position, she picks up on a very, very slight odor, but it isn’t bad at all and ultimately, it dissipates within a few seconds.

“Well, this stinks” says Tara, sitting in the tub now lit up by just candles. “How am I supposed to finish my bath?”

Thinking quickly, she tries to call the office using the tub-side telephone. No answer. She tries again a minute or two later, still without luck.

“Bummer! I can’t even go to the office looking and feeling the way I do! Linda’s gonna have to wait or go without me tonight. Hopefully, this band cancels, they sounded kinda bogue anyway…”

All of a sudden, a small line of bubbles appear in the tub, followed by a second slightly larger line and a third even larger line.

“Nice, we’ve got power ba…..hold on a minute, why are the lights still off? Why can’t I hear anything?”

Then came a slight rumble of her stomach, and another line of bubbles formed. There was a slight noise within the water itself this time as well.

If this alone didn’t provide enough evidence of the source of the bubbles, the few that floated up to her face did.

When they popped, she could detect a very familiar smell. This wasn’t merely a case of déjà vu either, as she could instantly pick up on the source of the rather pungent odor.

Deep-fried onion nuggets.

“PHEWWW, I knew I shouldn’t of eaten all those. Leave it to fuckin’ Linda to make me do that kind of thing.”, Tara says, waving her hand in front of her nose. “Let me open the window a bit. It already stinks in here!”

But it was no use, the bathrooms sole small window wouldn’t budge.

Tara gets back into the tub, not knowing about the truly night-changing experiences she would start having in a few short moments.

She leans over to take a sip of her Wild Irish Rose thinking “I hope I don’t pass gas again, because I REALLY don’t want to have to use the toilet in the pitch dark.”

Her wish becomes instantly vanquished however, and she hears a much louder stream of underwater bubbles forming this time around. A small cluster of bubbles she made are floating on the surface, and once again, quite a few of the newly formed ones float to Tara’s face, and congregate at her chin.

They all popped simultaneously.

The onion nugget smell wasn’t noticeable now, and it was replaced with the smell of something new altogether.

Eggs. More particularly, farm fresh hard-boiled eggs.

“WOO-EEE, STINKAROONIE!” she says, holding her nose almost gagging at the smell, but then she comes to a certain realization.

That smell was very nostalgic for her.

Many years back, her and her brother used to travel out to Minnesota for their summer vacation, where they’d help out their Uncle Lars and Aunt Anna on their farm.

Back in those easier, simpler times, they’d milk cows, feed pigs and pick apples, and earn $15 every week to split between them. Life in northern Minnesota was good, and every moment not spent working was spent exploring everything that the area had to offer.

She remembered one summer in particular, now a decade in the past. It was by far her favorite, as it was the summer of her first romance.

It was also the summer of the great egg boil.

With thanks to the fact that she herself was the daughter of a farmer from Vermont, Aunt Anna was skilled with all forms of agriculture.

She had about three dozen chickens, and during that summer, the supply of eggs produced by them all greatly exceeded the usual demand, and there were more of them than they would be ever able to ever sell at their roadside farm stand. Aunt Anna, a child of the great depression, didn’t want them to go to waste.

However, she herself couldn’t eat the excess eggs as they “didn’t agree with her” and her brother-in-law’s children could only eat so many, though both Tara and her little brother enjoyed doing their part.

However, Aunt Anna was a quick thinker, and she came up with a plan to solve the whole egg issue. She’d boil all of them, several hundred in total, with help from her niece and nephew, and sell them through nearby general stores, diners and bars as cheap snacks. The plan worked, and the profits were enormous.

Tara breathes in deeply through both her nose and mouth, and is reminded of the good old, stress-free days of her youth.

“I can’t remember the last time I ate a boiled egg” she says, “but I sure could go for one right now.”

A few more farts are released back to back, with bubbly, trombone-like noises signifying each. In the process, even more bubbles form on the waters surface, and the warmth of the water is miraculously maintained. The smell of boiled eggs begins to grow more and more prominent and, by this time, the rose-scented Avon bubbles are now being rapidly replaced with those that she produced herself.

Then, once again, the sound and smell evolve

A few new batches are released with long hisses and, upon leaving her anus, they follow a slightly different path than usual.

For the first time, about half of them travel directly upwards, and brush right up against her recently-shaved vagina (she was not a fan of the “bush” look popular at that time), lightly tickling the outside like round wet fingers, before popping.

The other half simply travel up towards the surface, and due to it now being already mostly covered with bubbles, the majority of them pop right then and there, releasing a far more potent, week-old rotten egg smell into the water. A rarer few travel up through the surface and pop above it, perfuming the surrounding air.

This less-pleasant stench doesn’t phase Tara at all, however, as she is now completely enamored with the sensation of the vaginal bubbles.

More and more streams of bubbles emerge in increasing numbers, and the tub is now on the verge of overflowing with them.

Masses of them gather around both of her stretched out smooth legs, and at both of her feet, with all of the smallest ones settling in the crevices between her toes. She pops all of these crevice-settling bubbles, and is able to pop a suprising amount of the surrounding bubbles with her size 5.5 soles.

“I wonder what my feet smell like now?” she thinks, wishing that her nose could reach them.

She solves the problem by bringing her right one to her nose, and giving it a big hearty sniff.

“Dang, these are stinkadelic! They smell like the outhouse at Aunt Anna’s farm after someone poured a curdled bottle of milk in the toilet!, PHEWWW, I’m a smelly, naughty girl!”

As repulsive as the smell is supposed to be, Tara continues to pop the small toe bubbles, releasing the smell further.

She was the kind of girl to give everything in life a second chance and tonight, her feet were no exception.

She brings her left foot up to her face this time and smells it. It has the same rancid odor as her other foot, but it doesn’t seem as rancid to her now.

Back in her high school days, Tara was captain of the cheerleading team, and she was famous for her flexibility.

Using the flexibility that helped her out so much back in her high school cheerleading days, she takes her foot and, before she has any chance to ask herself what she was doing, she sticks the top of her big toe right in her mouth.

Surprisingly, it was delicious.

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CHAPTER SIX:
SELF-ACCEPTANCE

A thunderstorm is now taking place outside, and the humidity is intense. All of the bubbles that Tara pops with her feet are being replaced with new batches as soon as they pop. That McDonald’s really did a number on her stomach, but at least it made her more productive! Her manager would be proud.

Besides her feet, the bubbles also gather in large masses inbetween and on top of her E-cup sized boobs, and she pops these also, releasing even more pockets of stink into the surrounding air. Now THIS was fun!

“Oh, those are stinky, so, so ssssssttttttttiiiiiiiinnnnnnkkkkkkkyyyyyyy. I smell both fresh eggs and fresh dumped crap, what a beautiful natural combo!” Tara says under her breath, blushing at her own statement. “They go together better than peaches and cream, and would pair perfectly with this wine I’ve been drinking! Mmmmmm, what a perfect, smelly meal that would be!”

She looks at all of the bubbles surrounding her.

“I’m so, so proud of ALL of you girls” she whispers “I love all of, my stinky, stinky daughters!”

“Where’s daddy bubble, he needs to come fu…”

She bites her bottom lip to suppress the sensual moans she feels like letting out, and then deeply inhales through her nose.

The absolute rush that she feels in her head does not compare to anything else that she has ever known.

The sedation of cigarettes, the buzz of wine, the high of marijuana and even the vibrance of acid are nothing in comparison to the feeling that Tara gets from breathing in her farts.

“Wooooow” she thinks “I’m spewing out pure stinky gas! No man wants a woman who smells like a sewer, hahaha. But no man deserves me!”

Every release of gas from her anus felt SO, SO GOOD, and she was counting them as they happened. 5, 10, 15, 20, 25…..there seemed to be no end in sight! Tara was starting to not mind this power outage at all, in fact she was starting to hope things would stay this way.

“All of this farting is making me hungry”, she says out loud.

Just as she says this, she spots a perfectly round bubble floating past her face.

With her mouth wide open, she jolts her head forward and catches it in her mouth, where it pops.

“MMMMMMMMMM. FARTASTIC! I’d know this taste anywhere. It’s a boiled egg! A boiled egg bubble! Okay, maybe it’s a bit overcooked and past it’s expiration date, but at least it’s well seasoned!” she thinks, picking up on the very slight, but still nose-biting spiciness. She is breathing a bit heavier now, and her heart is starting to beat faster.

She closes her mouth and swallows what remains.

“Ahhhhhhhhh, so gooooood”, she says breathily.

This bubble was to help create even more bubbles, or more “girls” as Tara had started calling them.

“No wonder they call me Stinkarella! I’m that pretty blonde babe who stunk up the ball with her feet and her farts. I still managed to fuck the prince at the end though”, she says, struggling to contain her laughter.

The bottle of wine that she had just finished was working all of its magic at this time, and she was able to come up with an idea to bring her whole experience to the next level.

She lowers her body into the tub a little bit more and raised both of her legs out of the water. Then, she set each one of her hands on to its corresponding booty cheek.

Despite standing at only 5’1″, and being very dainty, Tara was blessed with 39″ hips, and quite a bit of effort was needed to spread her ass cheeks to the desired extent. She pulls herself backwards, and gets to the point where the friction between her fat, round cheeks and the fiberglass tub were able to keep them apart.

Then, by the light of the remaining candles (she had “blown out” about half of them), she guides her left hand to the empty bubble bath bottle sitting on the ledge of the tub and grabs it.

She was going to try to use it for an enema.

With the bottle firmly in her grasp, she dunks it underwater and presses it right up tight against her asshole. She can immediately sense discomfort from the rim of the plastic bottle, and while considering the fact that her hole was already sore from a couple of years of anal and Hitachi “Magic Wand” use, she decides to abandon the enema idea.

Just as she’s pulling the bottle away, she can hear a light “pop” come from underwater.

Tara takes the bottle out from underwater in an upright position to preserve it contents, and out of curiosity, quickly runs it past her nose to catch a cautious whiff.

The smell was of stagnant water. Very sulfuric stagnant water at that.

While screwing the cap back onto it, she thinks to herself “it’s a shame that I couldn’t bottle and sell my bath water. Just about everyone I know would buy it.”

But at least she had a souvenir, and possibly a new perfume, for herself.

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CHAPTER SEVEN:
“A FINAL PLAN”

While her left hand was exploring the possibilities of an enema, Tara was running her right hand back and forth over her boobs. Her nipples were firm at this point, and her whole body tingled with excitement. She now knew what she had to do.

She now looks her right hand over. Covered in warm, bubbly water, it was the hand that all three of the false nails that she had broken were on. She had broken them earlier that afternoon when was loading luggage into the back of her car, but that didn’t matter anymore. Instead, all that mattered was the fact that her thumb, index and middle fingers on that hand were lacking the glittery blue false nails her seven other digits still had. Perfect.

Now it was time to get to work. Her hand dives underwater and glides very gently past her clitoris, before she lifts it back up out of the water and repeats. After this, she lifts it out yet again, and resubmerges, gliding past her clitoris for a third time, and the cycle continues.

Her asshole joins in on the fun, and once again, begins letting out a rapid fire chain of fart, after fart, after fart, after fart. The scent of hot, eggy, fecal flatulence now fills every corner of the bathroom, and would probably fill her whole “palace”, had she left the door open.

The full-blown thunderstorm that was happening outside showed no signs of slowing down. There were strong winds, and lightning that seemed to strike almost constantly. The storm was at its peak.

However, Tara didn’t even notice anything happening. Now audibly letting out moans of ecstasy, she was about to reach her own peak.

She began to imagine everyone she had ever slept with lining up to pucker up and kiss her farting asshole, all while digging their nose into her pussy.

She was, once again, a kissing booth attendant.

At the front of the line there was Greg, her first boyfriend from Minnesota that she was with for four consecutive summers. She imagines using both of her hands to force his head down to her anus. He puts up a big fight and tries to pull away, but she lets off a huge nasty fart right into his mouth before he has any chance to.

He realizes that he loves it, and he buries his nose deeper into her vagina, and sticks his tongue directly into her asshole. The smell of eggs and poop combined even makes her own mouth water.

“Man, I hope I don’t shit on you” she says, after letting out about a dozen succesive farts, but he finishes in his pants right then and there.

Overwhelmed by the sensation, the stench and the taste, he then passes out.

After Greg, it’s Lou’s turn, and he faces the exact same fate as his predecessor. Lou is followed by John, then Frank, then Darius, then a succession of more than a few others. Linda Wilson is near the very end of the line.

Tara’s quick passes over her clitoris have now evolved into her massaging it between her index and middle fingers.

She’s now almost where she wants to be, and she lets out one more happy little fart to celebrate.

At this time, yet another false nail falls off due to it not being able to withstand all of the action. It’s her right pinkie nail. Just what she was hoping for.

She very carefully sticks her pinky into her anus and, with a rapid in-and-out motion, she fishes out even more farts.

She gives her foul-smelling finger a taste, and it’s even more spicy and delicious than the bubble that she had earlier. If that was the appetizer, this was the main course.

She moves her pinky back down to her asshole.

Her middle and index fingers move up to, and then into her vagina.

Her thumb embraces her clitoris.

This red heart-shaped fiberglass tub containing mountains of fart-scented bubbles, that she produced herself, has now become a paradise. The jet-induced euphoria that she had felt at the beginning was NOTHING compared to this.

And all of a sudden, the power in the bathroom comes back on.

Power is restored to the baroque bronze light fixtures hanging above the sink.

Power is restored to the heated towel rack.

Power is restored to the bathroom outlets, and to the curling iron that Tara was going to use to create a feathered Farrah Fawcett-type hairstyle for that evening.

Power is restored to the radio, from which there was now no music playing, but instead a news anchors voice saying that this was the “biggest blackout that the city of New York and the surrounding area has seen in twelve years!” and that “Eastern Pennsylvania had already gotten its power back!”

And then it happens. The tub jets come back on.

Just as Tara was moving her right hand up to her mouth to sample her moist goodness, the jet right at the inward facing point of the heart sends a stream of water directly to where her hand had been.

THIS. WAS. IT.

Tara finally feels her sweet release, and climaxes with an incredible amount of power.

Nothing mattered now.

Not the now-passing storm.
Not the time.
Not the fact that she could actually see what she was doing now.

Nothing. Nothing at all.

It was just her, her hot tub and all of her girls. This was what she had dreamt about.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/vuv2gy/the_heartshaped_hot_tub