As I walked into the room, I saw his eyes widen in fear. He had been caught red-handed, smelling my dirty panties. I couldn't believe he would stoop so low. I had left them on the bed after a particularly long day at work and he should have known better than to sniff them.
I sighed, feeling frustrated and a little embarrassed. "I don't want you smelling my dirty panties anymore," I said sternly. "They had been worn for three days and I ripped ass in them for three days too. They have skid marks on them."
He looked away, his face flushed with shame. "I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist the smell," he mumbled.
I couldn't believe he was making this situation any worse. "Well, now you have to deal with the consequences of your actions," I replied, deciding to punish him with my worst-smelling farts.
I walked over to the couch and sat down, grabbing my phone and starting to scroll through it. I could feel my farts building up inside me, and I knew they wouldn't be pleasant for him.
After a few minutes, I felt a big one coming on. I took a deep breath and held it in, trying to contain the stench. But it was no use. With a loud, gassy noise, I released the fart into the room.
The smell was overpowering. Even I cringed at how bad it was. I watched as my boyfriend wrinkled his nose in disgust, trying to escape the odor.
"This is what you get for disobeying me," I said, feeling a twisted sense of satisfaction. I let out another fart, even worse than the first one. This time, my boyfriend couldn't help but cover his nose and mouth with his shirt.
I continued to fart, one after another, each one stronger than the last. My boyfriend cowered on the floor, trying to shield himself from the smell. I could tell he was learning his lesson the hard way.
After what felt like an eternity, the farts finally subsided. I stood up from the couch, still holding my phone in my hand. "That's what you get," I said, walking out of the room.
I knew he would never disobey me again. And if he did, well, I had plenty more farts to use as punishment.
