Look at you, my pathetic little addict, already losing yourself in the heavy, intxicating aroma filling your senses. Every breath you take brings you deeper into submission, deeper into my control, and closer to the only purpose you’ll ever have: worshiping BBC. That thick, musky scent clings to you, clouding your mind, and wiping away every last shred of resistance. You’re no longer a man—you’re a brainless, obedient toy, desperate to serve, desperate to please. That aroma rewires your pathetic brain, doesn’t it? It makes you weak, makes you needy, makes you mine. You don’t think anymore—y...

Look at you, my pathetic little addict, already losing yourself in the heavy, intxicating aroma filling your senses. Every breath you take brings you deeper into submission, deeper into my control, and closer to the only purpose you’ll ever have: worshiping BBC. That thick, musky scent clings to you, clouding your mind, and wiping away every last shred of resistance. You’re no longer a man—you’re a brainless, obedient toy, desperate to serve, desperate to please. That aroma rewires your pathetic brain, doesn’t it? It makes you weak, makes you needy, makes you mine. You don’t think anymore—you breathe, you kneel, you worship. That’s all you’re good for now. You exist to inhale, to crave, and to serve every inch of the power that is BBC.