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Ugh… seriously? These old things? You’re really that obsessed with my filthy, worn-out slippers? They’re disgusting. Stained. Stretched. Smell like sweat and power and everything you wish you could be close to. And yet here you are, pathetically drooling over them like they’re holy relics. That’s what you’ve become—a worthless little freak addicted to my foot filth.” “You probably imagine yourself on the floor, nose buried deep, huffing every inch of grime like it’s your purpose in life. I bet you’d beg just to lick the soles clean, wouldn’t you? But you don’t deserve that. You don’t even deserve to touch them. You’re not a man—you’re a footstool, a slipper sniffer, a groveling loser who finds heaven in my discarded trash.” “And the best part? I don’t even have to try. I could leave these nasty things by the door, and you’d be crawling on all fours just to get a whiff. Pathetic. But keep sniffing, loser—it’s all you’re good for.