Anxiety has a way of amplifying everything—including my ability to produce the loudest, most pungent farts imaginable. Every. Single. Time. With my friends arriving in less than an hour, the house reeked like a landfill on a hot day. I needed a quick solution to mask the stench. Blaming it on my partner crossed my mind, but knowing his tendency to call me out, that plan was doomed. Then, it hit me. "Hey, baby," I smirked as he entered the basement. "Remember that chastity device I keep handy for ‘disciplinary purposes’? Well, I need you to do something for me." Reluctantly, he lay down as I explained my scheme: "Jessy and Rebecca are coming soon, and I need this gas gone. For the next hour, you’re going to sniff and swallow whatever escapes. Got it?" With a groan, he complied. I positioned myself over his face, my tight spandex pants pressing against his nose, and let loose. His struggle was immediate. "Oh god," I muttered, feeling another wave. I rushed to the bathroom to clear the way, returning to unleash the full force of my gaseous assault. In my haste, I forgot to wipe. "Oops, sorry, honey. Too bad, so sad!" I laughed, pressing back down onto his nose. Desperate to avoid further ‘punishment,’ he endured, his muffled groans echoing as the stench transferred to his throat. Some wisps still escaped, so I took drastic measures—removing the spandex to create a perfect seal. A massive fart erupted directly into his nostril. "Hilarious!" I cackled. "Direct fart injection!" Most people flee from such odors, but there he was, my dedicated ‘fart filter,’ nose-to-asshole, taking it all. The muffled sound confirmed his misery, but I couldn’t help admiring his obedience. "Such a good man," I teased. "Though, don’t think you’re off the hook—chastity awaits. How long depends on your performance. And so far, you’re heading into week #3."
