Oh, my delightfully pathetic little creature, squirming eagerly in your cage beneath my bed, your existence is nothing more than a testament to your own pitiful servitude. There you are, my personal foot cleaner, salivating at the mere anticipation of the filth you're about to consume from my divine soles. It's laughable, really, how your entire day's purpose culminates to this moment—servicing my tired, dirty feet with that desperate tongue of yours. And oh, how you revel in the degradation, lapping up every speck like it's your salvation. Your dinner, a lavish feast of my golden nectar, s...

Oh, my delightfully pathetic little creature, squirming eagerly in your cage beneath my bed, your existence is nothing more than a testament to your own pitiful servitude. There you are, my personal foot cleaner, salivating at the mere anticipation of the filth you're about to consume from my divine soles. It's laughable, really, how your entire day's purpose culminates to this moment—servicing my tired, dirty feet with that desperate tongue of yours. And oh, how you revel in the degradation, lapping up every speck like it's your salvation. Your dinner, a lavish feast of my golden nectar, sometimes misses its mark, but that's no concern of mine. Your hunger must be insatiable to eagerly clean up every spill, every drop, with such degraded enthusiasm.