It's Just a bet pt 2

(Continas facesitting, edging, farts, spit... this one still getting to it)

read part 1 here! : [http://www.reddit.com/r/WomenFartStories/comments/1r9yv8b/it\_is\_just\_a\_bet\_part\_1/](http://www.reddit.com/r/WomenFartStories/comments/1r9yv8b/it_is_just_a_bet_part_1/)

Riley stayed straddled across his lap, grinding slow circles with her hips while her fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt, tugging it up inch by inch. “You really thought you were gonna win against all of us?” she murmured, voice low and teasing. Her leggings were thin enough that he could feel every shift of her warmth pressing down.

Reagan slid off to the side, kneeling beside the bed so she could reach his face. She turned, presenting her jean-clad ass, and lowered it slowly until her cheeks brushed his nose and mouth. “Since you lost so bad, basement boy… time to pay tribute.” She rocked gently, smothering him in soft, denim warmth, the faint lingering scent of her earlier farts mixing with the clean cotton of her panties underneath when she tugged her jeans down just enough. Just a playful suffocating pressure that made his head spin. But not set off what the girls had planned for Brian.

Quinn giggled from his other side, her small hand sliding down to cup the bulge in his jeans. She stroked him through the denim, firm but slow, thumb circling the head. “Mmm, he’s so hard already. You like this, Brian? Like losing to a bunch of girls?” She pressed her palm flat, rubbing in lazy strokes while leaning in to whisper, “Bet you’ve been thinking about us since meeting us.”

Emery, still half-perched behind him on the bed, reached into her hoodie pocket and pulled out a pair of pink fuzzy handcuffs. It was those cheap, novelty ones with a little heart lock.

She dangled them in front of his face. “Arms up, stud.” She giggled. Brian hesitated for half a second; Emery just smiled sweetly and guided his wrists to the metal headboard slats. The cuffs clicked on loosely at first, enough give that he could twist, but not enough to pull free easily. “There. Now you’re really ours.”

The room felt smaller, hotter. Few rummaged their small hands up Brian's chest, as Reagan rubbed and gently pinched Brian's nipples eliciting a moan from him into Reagan's ass.

Meanwhile, Riley kept grinding on the top part of his lap, her own little sighs mixing with the wet sounds of fabric shifting. Quinn’s hand never stopped stroking, squeezing just enough to keep him throbbing, right on the edge.

Reagan lifted off his face for a breath, only to turn and sit back down, this time bare-assed after shimmying her jeans and panties to her thighs. The first real press of skin-to-skin made Brian groan into her. She rocked again, smothering him deeper. “Breathe me in,” she teased. “You love this, don’t you? All that just for you.”

Brian’s hips bucked involuntarily. He was leaking, straining, so close that every stroke from Quinn felt like it might tip him over.

Riley noticed first. She leaned down, as her chest propped against his, her lips brushing his ear while her hips kept rolling. “Uh-uh. Not yet. Remember who actually beat you?” She glanced at the others with a wicked grin. “Reagan won the race. Reagan gets to decide when you cum.”

The shift was subtle but immediate.

Reagan lifted again, only to hover her ass an inch above his face. She let out a slow, deliberate fart—warm, wet-sounding, right over his nose and mouth. The smell hit hard: sulfurous, eggy, lingering. She laughed softly. “There. A little reward for being such a good sport.” Reagan sat back down as Brian groaned in her butt again.

Quinn unbuckled his jeans and with some difficulty , since Brian was lying down, she shimmied his jeans down as far as she could do it, ignoring Brian's murmurs or protest.

Quinn spat once—wet and warm—onto the front of his boxers, then rubbed it in with her palm, making the fabric cling and slick. “Spit makes everything better,” she purred, stroking faster now, but still not enough to finish him. Brian was having a tough time holding back.

Emery bopped Reagan's ass to silently ask her to move for a second. As Reagan lifted up, Emery leaned over from behind, gathering spit in her mouth before letting it drip slowly into his mouth. "Swallow,” she whispered. When he did, she continued to let it fall, then sealed it with a soft lip to lip kiss. She pulled back just enough to let Raegan release a long, hissing fart of her own, deep and rumbling, aimed so the warmth washed over his nose and mouth. Reagan sat back down as Brian let out a series of coughs and gags. “Smell that?" Emery asked, a bubbly vice that was almost mocking. That’s what losing feels like.”

After Raegan was out of gas, Reagan got up to eat more food. Riley finally slid off his lap, only to swing around and plant her now bare ass (leggings were being peeled down as Emery and Reagan teased him just moments before,) directly over his face now, reverse-sitting so her cheeks spread around his nose. “My turn to sit on the loser,” she said sweetly. She rocked, grinding her pussy lightly against his mouth while letting out a bubbly, drawn-out fart that vibrated against his lips. The smell was overwhelming, it was a thick, beany, smell. Brian couldn't take much more of this. He struggled in handcuffs, “Nuh-u-uh! You’re gonna stay right there until we’re done playing.”

Quinn kept stroking through the wet spot on his boxers, edging him mercilessly. “Beg if you want to cum,” she teased. “But only after you thank Reagan for winning.”

Brian’s muffled groans were lost under Riley’s ass, his body trembling on the brink, wrists tugging uselessly at the loose pink cuffs.

How much more is poor Brian gonna have to deal with?