Iamdirtydoll - I Stand, He Suffers – My Gas is His Prayer

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Iamdirtydoll - I Stand, He Suffers – My Gas is His Prayer

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The Scent of Worship

The air around me is thick with anticipation as I stand tall in my tight grey jumpsuit. My legs are spread wide, inviting him to take a deep breath of my essence. With one hand gracefully cupping my ample backside, I let out the first powerful belch of the day. The sound echoes through the room, sending shivers down his spine. He knows that this is no ordinary gas - it's a divine force that can either bless or curse him at my whim. And right now, it's all for him.

The Goddess of Gas

As he kneels before me, eyes locked on my every movement, his gaze shifts to the floor. He takes a tentative step forward, his nose almost touching my exposed crotch. The scent is intoxicating - a mix of sweet and sour, like a fine wine that both soothes and excites the senses. He inhales deeply, feeling the power of my farts washing over him in waves. It's not just the smell though - it's the sense of awe and submission that comes with it. I am the goddess of gas, and he is my humble devotee.

The Art of Fart Control

With a soft giggle, I release another stream of gas directly into his face. This time, he doesn't flinch - he knows that any sign of hesitation will anger his deity. His eyes beg for more as he watches my body rhythmically expel fart after fart. It's like watching a symphony play out before him - each note adding to the overall experience. And yet, there's an element of danger in it as well. One wrong move from him could trigger an uncontrollable chain reaction within me - a reaction that could either bless or curse him forever.

The Divine Dance of Discomfort

Slowly, I begin to dance around him, my jumpsuit hugging every curve of my body. With each step, I release another fart into the air, creating a cloud of gas around us. He follows my movements like a puppet on a string, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that would make any normal person uncomfortable. But not him - he's used to discomfort. This is his prayer, his connection to the divine. And I am the one controlling it all.

The Power of Ass Worship

Finally, I turn to face him, my ass pointing directly at his face. Without hesitation, he leans forward, pressing his nose against my cheeks. The warmth of his breath sends shivers down my spine, reminding me of the power I hold over him. With a smirk, I lean down and whisper into his ear. "Worship my ass, my slave. For it is through my gas that you find your salvation." And with that, I let out one final, earth-shattering fart, sending him into a trance-like state of submission.

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