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Your stomach's desire for an old favorite seems to override your better judgment; halfway into your long-awaited meal, you notice Corra's silhouette from outside of the tent. Her shadow brought a fork to and from her mouth at a rate that doubled yours - and you were the starved one. By the time your plate is empty, you feel a slight rumble in your stomach and remember the terms of the meal: Corra's double servings would produce the gaseous effects of cabbage and eggs twofold.
Corra pulls open the tent flap with her hand pressed against her slightly inflated belly. "I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did," she moans in a sultry tone. Her paces to you are punctuated with drunken missteps and a loud, pronounced belch. "Dinnertime is just so relaxing and I couldn't think of *burrp* any better thing to follow it than a bit of aromatherapy..."
Her ass only a few inches away from your face, she drops her kilt just below her buttocks and unleashes a crescendo of flatulence that envelops your face within several seconds. Your eyes burned as soon as her tailhole puckered, and your nose was next to feel the effects as her sulfuric stench's potent tendrils climbed into your nostrils. It was a smell like two dozen rotten eggs left to bake in the sun. "Whoo! Hehehe... stinky!" she exclaims. Another fart rumbles through her crack and intensifies the already overwhelming stench. Corra groans and spreads her cheeks, letting her asshole expel a foul, hissing gas along your body. "Now here's an odor that'll stick to ya," she giggles while gyrating her hips in an effort to spread her stink evenly across your person. As the funk from her first two blasts lingers you heave and wonder if you can survive the rest of her onslaught.
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