Listen up, you sniveling aroma puppet, you're embroiled deep in the filth of your own making at Sniff Academy, Day 4. You're the star of this debased circus, gyrating in your squalor, a slave to your own vile desires. It's not just about getting off; it's about sinking lower, basking in your own filth.

Inhale deeply, you addict. Let the chemicals fog your already pitiful brain, reminding you why you're here—you crave this debasement, this utter humiliation. Your hand, that traitorous appendage, is now just an extension of your depravity, jerking your pathetic excuse for manhood in ...

Listen up, you sniveling aroma puppet, you're embroiled deep in the filth of your own making at Sniff Academy, Day 4. You're the star of this debased circus, gyrating in your squalor, a slave to your own vile desires. It's not just about getting off; it's about sinking lower, basking in your own filth.

Inhale deeply, you addict. Let the chemicals fog your already pitiful brain, reminding you why you're here—you crave this debasement, this utter humiliation. Your hand, that traitorous appendage, is now just an extension of your depravity, jerking your pathetic excuse for manhood in a sad attempt to feel anything but hollow.

You're not just playing with yourself; you're affirming your wretchedness, acknowledging your place in the mire. With every huff, you descend further, letting the aroma dictate your worth, your rhythm, your very existence.

Feel the rush, you disgrace. That's not pleasure—it's the acute awareness of your own degeneration. You're a spectacle, a joke, panting and stroking in a haze of chemical and sexual debasement. And you love it, don't you? This cycle of shame and arousal, this dance of degradation—it's what you live for.