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Mmm, there you are—my loyal little scent-obsessed freak, already kneeling and drooling the second I walk in the door. I just got back from the gym, all sweaty and soaked in my natural scent, and you know exactly what time it is… Good boy scent training. You’ve been waiting so patiently, haven’t you? And now, it’s time to condition that needy little brain of yours to get even weaker for me. I press my filthy gym shoes right up to your face and make you sniff every inch like a good boy. Then come my sweaty socks, soaked through and sticky with every step I took while you were home waiting. But we’re just getting started. I shove my bare feet right in your face, and you inhale like it’s air—because let’s be real, my scent is your oxygen. You think I’m done? Not even close. I shove your face into my sweaty ass, then lift my arms to make you breathe in my pits like a desperate, addicted little pet. You’re being trained, owned, completely broken down by my scent—and you love it. And just when you’re at your lowest? I spit right in your open mouth. That’s it. Swallow it. Because you’re not a man anymore. You’re mine. My good boy. My scent slave.