A Dinner Date Turns Fateful
Anita's stomach churned uncomfortably as she lay on the couch, legs drawn up and body curled inward. The meal they had shared only an hour ago had left her feeling nauseous and in great pain. She didn't know what was worse - the taste of the spoiled food or the realization that it was all her fault for not checking the expiration date properly.
Her date, a man she had met only recently, was sitting next to her, looking equally uncomfortable. He kept apologizing profusely, but it didn't seem to ease her discomfort. Anita had never been so humiliated in her life.
As she stared at the man, anger and embarrassment warring within her, a sudden idea flashed through her mind. Why should she suffer alone when he was the one who had brought this upon her? She sat up slowly, mustering all the courage she could find, and looked him in the eye.
"Your dinner made me sick," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "I think it's only fair that you help me clean up the mess you've made."
The man looked bewildered for a moment before understanding dawned on his face. He swallowed hard, a mixture of fear and anticipation in his eyes. "I-I don't know what you mean," he stammered.
Anita smiled, baring her teeth ever so slightly. "Oh, I think you do," she said, her voice taking on a darker tone. "You see, I feel like using your mouth as my personal toilet."
His face went pale, but he nodded slowly, resigned to his fate. Anita climbed onto the coffee table in front of him, straddling his lap, and began to unbutton her blouse. She was surprised at how turned on she felt by the situation, a mixture of power and vulnerability coursing through her veins.
She leaned down towards him, her breath hot against his cheek. "Say it," she whispered.
"Say what?" he asked, his voice shaking.
"Say you're sorry," she growled, her fingernails tracing patterns on his chest. "Tell me you're sorry for giving me spoiled food."
He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "Please don't do this to me."
"Too late for that," Anita said, her voice cold as ice. She grabbed his head between her hands and pushed it onto her lap, forcing his mouth open. A wave of nausea washed over her as she leaned forward, releasing a torrent of farts into his mouth.
He gagged and choked, tears streaming down his face as he struggled to breathe through the noxious cloud. Anita smiled, feeling a sense of power she had never experienced before. She continued to fill his mouth with her farts, her stomach finally beginning to settle down.
When she thought he had had enough, she sat back on the coffee table, panting heavily. She looked down at him, his face red and blotchy, eyes watering from the smell. "There," she said, satisfied. "Now you know what it feels like to be used as someone's personal toilet."
She climbed off the coffee table, straightening her clothes as she did so. "I think that's enough for one date," she said, turning to leave the room. "Maybe we can try again some other time."
As he lay there, gasping for air and trying to recover from the onslaught of farts, he couldn't help but wonder if he would ever be able to face another woman after this humiliating experience. And as for Anita Perversa, well, she had certainly lived up to her name tonight.
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