Look at the great men. Look how we have reduced them. Humble doormats under our feet of enchantment. Theres one he cant even lick. He is not allowed. He can only smell the little feet of his goddess: he breathes deep and sniffs, like an animal. He no longer enjoys the pure air: he only enjoys breathing in the sweat of his Mistress divine feet. He tries to gather the scent of those beautiful feet in his nostrils and hopes that that sensation will last afterwards, that it will remain in his sense of smell, in his mouth, in his nose. He lives for that, the asshole. He is content with that. The sniffing slave begs to be impregnated with that scent.
