Assholes and Our Souls

As soon as she saw him, Phoebe knew he would be different to her usual punters. His bearing was distinguished, she could tell he was well mannered and thoughtful simply by the way he carried himself. He was tall and imposing-looking, but incredibly slender. There did not appear to be a spare ounce of fat anywhere on his body. His nose was long and aquiline, his hair was steely grey and swept back from his broad forehead, and his eyes were bright blue and piercing. He was impeccably dressed, in a charcoal coloured three-piece suit, with a white shirt and a blood red cravat. The overall impression she had at first glance of him as he stepped into the courtyard behind the massage parlour's backdoor was of an impressive gentleman, spry, handsome and vigorous.

Despite his striking appearance, he immediately came across as a warm and friendly individual, giving Phoebe a cheerful smile and greeting her with a courteous "Good evening, ma'am," his eyes twinkling.

"Hello, good evening," she purred back to him. Phoebe was stood by the backdoor of the house smoking a cigarette. It was early evening, and the sun was starting to go down over the roofs of the houses opposite. It was warm enough for her to be comfortable standing outside in just her underwear, as was her habit at this time of year. The courtyard was not overlooked, and Phoebe didn't mind being seen in her underwear anyway. The neighbours all knew what kind of women worked there. She was slim and athletic, apart from her big, round bottom, and she knew she looked good. "Would you like a massage?"

He laughed politely at her question, then asked "Is Katrina here today?"

Katrina was one of the other girls who worked with Phoebe, a very curvy lady with a naughty sense of humour. She had been working earlier that day but had gone home after lunch complaining that she was feeling sick. She had eaten a meat pie and she said it disagreed with her.

"She's not here," Phoebe said sadly. But then, keen on the idea of poaching one of Katrina's clients from her, particularly such a handsome and well dressed one as this gentleman, she enthusiastically said "You're welcome to have me instead though."

He chuckled cheerfully at her bold suggestion, then looked her up and down with his sparkling blue eyes, his gaze lingering on her long slender legs, her broad hips and shapely, muscular thighs. She was wearing her best black lingerie and shiny black stiletto heels. She was looking good despite a hard day's work, still managing to look sexy despite all the sex. Her long hair hung around her shoulders in blonde curls. Her eye makeup was a little smudged, and her lipstick was smeared, but she still looked fabulous. A bleary eyed look of post coital satisfaction was in her amber eyes, combined with a sweet smile of libidinous intent on her pretty lips. He noticed an ornate tattoo of two seahorses kissing that decorated the top of her right arm. She could tell that he liked what he saw, his eyes scanning over her body, cleavage and hips. She was not as busty as Katrina, but what she lacked in boob Phoebe made up for with style.

"You will be perfect," he answered, the glint in his eye hinting at the odd things he would ask her to do.

Phoebe showed him into the house, and they went up the stairs to the little bedroom at the front. The sly old devil was staring at Phoebe's big round bum as she walked up the stairs in front of him. She asked him his name, and he proudly declared "My name is Bartram. Bartram Snargs."

"Well, Bartram Snargs," she said huskily, as she showed him into one of the bedrooms. "You wait here and get undressed, and I'll be back in two minutes so we can have some fun." She left him in the bedroom and went down the corridor to the toilet, because she desperately needed a pooh and didn't want to wait until she had finished with him.

Feeling relieved after squeezing out a long, thick turd, Phoebe washed her hands, then fetched herself a cup of tea from the kitchen and returned to the bedroom. She found Bartram Snargs still fully clothed and sat on the edge of the double bed. A mischievous grin appeared on his wizened face as he looked up at Phoebe when she came in through the door. She put her cup of tea and the little canvas bag she kept her condoms and things in on the bedside table and said to him "Come on, take your clothes off and we'll get started," and began to unhook her bra. Phoebe was keen to get down to business. She was pragmatic in her whoring, rather than romantic. She liked to think that she could attract customers with her sexy body and her skilful sexual athleticism, there was no need to provide any false sense of romance, the so called "girlfriend experience." When she was in the bedroom, it was all about banging. And she intended to bang Bartram's brains out. However, he held up his hand and stopped her before she could bare her boobs to him.

"There will be no need for that, young lady," he said in a friendly but authoritative manner that made her promptly do the bra back up. "I have no interest in your breasts, as charming as they undoubtedly are. No, I am only interested in your bottom."

Phoebe giggled at this, but she was quite used to clients having preferences for particular parts of a woman's body. There was one customer who only ever wanted to lick her ears, that was all he did with her. He said he liked the taste of earwax. And three of her regular clients were confirmed foot fetishists. So, Bartram Snargs preferring bums to boobs did not seem odd to her at all. But then she remembered he was one of Katrina's clients, and Katrina was well known for doing something that Phoebe did not do.

"I don't do anal," she said quickly. "If you want that you'll have to come back when Katrina is back in."

"Oh no, don't worry." Bartram held up his hand again. "I wouldn't dream of doing anything so uncouth. Just turn around and show it to me, there's a good girl." He made a circular motion with his finger, indicating that Phoebe should turn to face away from him.

Reassured at his lack of enthusiasm for buggery, Phoebe turned around to proudly show her behind to this eccentric old gent, her broad buttocks cheekily displayed by the black G-string that disappeared into the crack in between them. Her cheeks were large and curvaceous, but the skin of them was very smooth. No spots, blemishes or cellulite marred the appearance of her big round bum.

"Do you like my big, juicy peach?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at him and raising her eyebrows.

"Yes, very nice," he replied to her dismissively. "Now bend forward." His tone had become less warm and more matter of fact. Having seen a nice big bum, he was now very business-like. Backsides were more than an interest or a hobby for Bartram, they were his passion, almost his religion. He looked at her arse with the eye of a true connoisseur, but also the fervour of a zealous devotee.

She obeyed his request, bending at the waist and resting her hands on her knees as she stood in front of him, her bottom close in front of his face. He lent forward as he sat on the bed, bringing himself closer to her. "Now, young lady, listen very carefully," he said quietly but distinctly. "I want you to lower your knickers and pull your buttocks apart to show me the hole in between them. But please be aware, I have no wish to see the hole that is immediately in front of it. Do you understand? I want to be able to see the hole that pooh and farts come out of, but I definitely do not want to see the hole that willies go in and babies come out of. Do I make myself clear?"

"You want to see my bum hole but not my pussy?" She was trying not to giggle at this, imagining how Katrina must do this for him regularly.

"Exactly."

"Well, I think I can manage that."

Phoebe pulled her G-string down over her rump, so it was around the tops of her thighs, then keeping her legs together, she parted her bum cheeks with her hands, exposing the inside of her crevice to the gaze of this peculiar gentleman. "Can you see it?" she asked, showing her little pouting asshole to him.

"Ah yes, there it is!" he replied in a hoarse whisper. His old, blackened heart began to beat harder as he caught sight of the cute little opening. "Make sure you keep your legs together, I only want to see the bum hole. Ah yes! That's right. It's perfect. A little brown gem. Such a pretty one I have not seen for a while. Oh, such a delicious little anus. Such an exquisite sphincter." He was sounding excited. She heard his fly unzip, and she realised that the dirty old dog had pulled out his penis and was pleasuring himself while inspecting her asshole. She couldn't really see what he was doing, as she was facing away from him, she could hear it though. A distinctive rhythmic fleshy pulling sound, the sound of a male organ being manipulated by hand. Bartram was firmly tugging himself while surveying Phoebe's bum: the cheeks, the crack, the crevice and the hole.

"Ah yes! Gorgeous," the wily old wanker wheezed. "Such beautiful cheeks. And a gorgeous little starfish." She heard him sniffing, and peeking back over her shoulder she realised that his prominent hooked nose was in between the spread cheeks of her bottom, and the pervy old rogue was smelling her bum. "My goodness! It smells so good!" he groaned, and the pace at which he was stimulating himself increased. "That odour! That intoxicating scent. Tell me, my darling, when did you last defecate?" He inhaled deeply, revelling in the aroma of her orifice. The hole that her shit came out of.

"I had a dump just a few moments before I came in here," she said with a titter as the odd old chap continued to sniff her hole.

"It smells divine!" he panted. "Oh, the joy of sniffing a pretty girl's dirty arsehole."

"You cheeky bugger!" Phoebe interjected. "My arsehole is not dirty, I do wipe after I have a pooh, you know!"

"I don't doubt that you do, I don't doubt you do," mused Bartram. "But I can still smell the pooh on your arse, and it smells delicious."

"You're imagining it. I wiped my bum and it is perfectly clean," Phoebe huffed.

"So, tell me this," said Bartram. "If you got shit on your face, would you wipe it off with a few tissues and then say it was perfectly clean?"

"Well, no, I'd wash my face with soap and water if I got shit on it."

"So how is your bum any different?" asked Bartram, but Phoebe could not think of a good answer to this.

"My bum is not the same as my face," she insisted.

"Ha-ha! Quite correct. I could stare at your bum all day, but I'd be sick of the sight of your mug after five minutes, as pretty as it is."

"Oh, just shut up and lick it!" she snapped, sounding annoyed.

"I'm not going to touch it, I'm quite satisfied just to look at it and sniff it. It smells wonderful." He continued sniffing her arsehole for a few minutes more, his nostrils hovering millimetres from her wrinkled hole but never making contact with her flesh.

After a few moments of him sniffing and her giggling, he whispered to her "Now my darling, I need one more favour from you."

"What's that?" Phoebe asked, looking over her shoulder.

"I need you to fart for me!" he groaned, the urgency in his voice apparent. "Come on, you little sex-pot, do it now!"

Phoebe was a little shocked and very amused by his request, but she managed to suppress the laughter she felt bubbling up inside of her. She then applied herself to the task he had given her, and quickly concluded that it is quite tricky to fart on demand. Although something about having his nose in such close proximity to her hole produced a desperate feeling in her of wanting to fart, there simply was not enough pressure in her bowels at that moment to force any gas out of her rear end. If she had not gone for a pooh so recently, Phoebe would have been able to fulfil his request more readily. But she had evacuated a large amount of flatulence along with the enormous turd she had dropped in the toilet before their meeting, and as a result there was little left in her colon when he asked for it. However, not wishing to disappoint this charming old reprobate, and knowing by the tone of his voice and the speed of his hand that his point of crisis was rapidly approaching, she tensed her abdominal muscles and strained her bowels, determinedly trying to blow-off in his face. Phoebe took pride in her work, and being able to fulfil unusual requests gave her a great sense of job-satisfaction. She like to be able to say that she did the things that men wanted but that other women (specifically their wives) would not do. She was not sure of Bartram was married, but she had been in the trade long enough to know that lots of older gentlemen were trapped in sexless marriages to women who could not correctly comprehend their needs. How often a client had come to avail himself of her services and had to explain that his "wife did not understand" him. "Now kindly shove this foot long dildo up my bum."

Bartram was not married and certainly didn't want anything inserted in his rectal cavity. Bartram did not have a wife that misunderstood him, he had a whole world that did not understand him. But he had high hopes for Phoebe, slutty though she was. He was sniffing furiously and urging her on to fart. Phoebe concentrated. She felt a stirring in her bowels. She felt wind travelling downwards through her guts and gathering in the lower recesses of her fudge tunnel. The pressure built; his anticipation was bordering on fury.

"Fart! Fart for me, you little strumpet. Do it now!" he growled with intense agitation.

"It's coming," Phoebe whined. Then, to her great relief, she felt her pooh-pipe open, and a good quantity of gas exhale out of her bottom with a loud, high pitched, squeak. He saw her asshole expanding and vibrating as she farted in front of his eyes, the little brown hole dilating to show its pink interior.

He roared with a furious ecstasy as her fart wafted into his face and she felt the warm, wet splatter of the end result of his pleasure as his seminal juices spurted out over the backs of her legs. He fell back on the bed, overcome with the power of the orgasm that accompanied his ejaculation.

Feeling proud that her bottom had stirred such a response in this dapper character, Phoebe stood up and pulled up her knickers as she turned round to look at him. His eyes had rolled back in his head, so they only showed whites, and foam was trickling from the side of his mouth and he made strange, guttural, grunting noises. The whore fetched tissues from the bedside table, and after wiping his virile fluids from her thighs, she cleaned him up too, cleaning his still stiff tadger with a tissue to prevent semen from getting on his suit, and dabbing the spittle from his lips.

As she finished cleaning him up, he began to return to his senses, and sat up on the bed, still panting for breath.

"Oh, my goodness," he gasped. "That is the first time I have cum in three months."

"That would explain why there was so much spunk!" she said. "It felt like half a pint or more of the stuff!"

"That was excellent, thank you," he muttered, breathing heavily. "That was perfect."

"You certainly seemed to enjoy it," Phoebe said, watching him tuck his penis away in his trousers as it had now deflated enough to make this possible. She felt a little peeved, having expected a gentlemanly seeing-to from him, but all she had got was having her bum sniffed and him coming on her legs. Not very satisfying for a lady. "Is that what you do with Katrina as well?"

"Yes, although you did just as well as her. She farts more, but you did beautifully all the same."

"Don't you ever touch the girls you're with?"

"Oh no," he said. "I would never do that. I only need to sniff them. And only their bum holes. That is all I need from them. That is enough for me."

"Don't you ever want to have sex?"

"No, no, no. I would never have sexual intercourse with a woman."

"Really? Never?" she asked with mild amusement, a cheeky smile playing around her pretty face.

"No, never."

"You're a virgin, at your age? Go on!" she sounded incredulous.

"I am pure. Let me explain, my dear." He took a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, lit one with a gold lighter and offered them to Phoebe. She took a cigarette, and he lit it for her. She sat down next to him on the bed. "All of my life, I have kept myself pure. I have avoided contact with women, and I have avoided acting with lust."

"And that makes you pure?"

"Yes, pure," he said seriously, looking at her intently as she sucked on the cigarette he had given her. Phoebe started to suspect that Bartram might have a screw loose. "Free from temptation, free from sin."

"Oh, I see, you're religious, are you?"

"No, my dear. I am enlightened. I am above mere religion. I am an evolved, enlightened being. And as such, I intend to keep myself pure, so when this life ends, my soul can ascend to the next level."

"The next level?" she was becoming more and more astonished by his peculiar claims.

"Unity with the divine!" he wheezed, breathing a cloud of cigarette smoke over her.

"You believe by not having sex or touching women, when you die you will become a god?"

"I shall be at one with the creative force of the universe, yes. Very few men have achieved that, and I intend to be one of them."

"But wait, what about looking at women's bums and getting them to fart in your face?"

"That doesn't count," he retorted quickly. "I have never seen a vagina or a nipple, not in this lifetime, and my penis has never touched a woman, I am pure."

"So, what happens if you have sex? What would happen after you died then?"

"Men who give in to their lusts can expect their souls to return to earth in the form of animals, brute beasts of the field. Men who are particularly foolish and ignorant in this life will come back as women. It's all there in Plato."

Phoebe laughed out loud at his sexist statement. "Foolish men come back as women? What do women come back as then?"

"Well, that depends. All living beings face judgement after they die. Their souls come back according to how they have conducted themselves. The soul of a wise and chaste woman would return in the next life as a man. A foolish and dissolute woman will most likely come back as a bird."

"A bird!" Phoebe huffed. "You think I'm going to be a bird in my next life?"

"Let me ask you, how many men have you had sex with?"

"Um. I don't know. Hundreds? Thousands? I've not counted. I've been doing this for a few years now though."

"Thousands? You'll be lucky to come back as a chicken."

She giggled again. "How do you know all this?"

"Through a lifetime of study and meditation. I read Plato at a young age. I remember reading Timaeus as a teenager, all of the basic principles of metempsychosis are explained there."

"Meta-psycho-what-now?" said Phoebe, looking confused.

"The transmigration of souls!" declared Bartram. "I have always been fascinated by our souls."

"Yes, I could tell that," said Phoebe.

"And what happens to our souls after death. I can tell you, they move on to live again in other bodies. Our souls have all lived before as other people."

"Yes, I've always thought that too," said Phoebe with a smile.

"My darling, you misunderstand me. Let me explain, through years of practice, self denial and meditation, I have managed to perfectly recall my former life."

Phoebe's eyes bulged when she heard this, and it was all she could do to keep from laughing in his face. But he shook his head, deadly serious.

"My dear, I know you do not believe me or understand me. But I am certain of what I speak of. I can see the fate you are headed for, and I know what awaits me."

"So, a woman who refrains from sex and leads a good life will be reincarnated as a man?"