Slave to the Smell: A Fetishized Tale
He lay there, his face buried deep in the folds of my soft skirt, his nose just inches from the target he yearned for. My thighs were parted, offering him an inviting glimpse into my most intimate spaces. He breathed in deeply, his nostrils flaring as he tried to catch even the faintest whiff of what lay beneath. And then, it happened - a telltale rumble from deep within my abdomen. The sound was unmistakable, and he knew what was coming next.
Slowly but surely, a warm, gaseous cloud began to escape my body, making its way towards his eagerly awaiting nostrils. I could feel it building up inside me, a primal force that seemed to demand release. I savored the moment, teasing him with every passing second.
Finally, I gave in to the inevitable, releasing a long, loud fart onto his face. It was a right royal stinker, one that filled the air between us with its pungent aroma. As he winced and coughed, trying to get away from the noxious cloud enveloping him, I couldn't help but chuckle maliciously. He was my slave, after all, and I held the power over him - both in the bedroom and out of it.
Again and again, I relished in his discomfort, taking great pleasure in the way his eyes watered and his face contorted every time I released another fart onto his unsuspecting face. It was an intimate dance of dominance and submission, one that we both knew only too well.
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