Sperma für mich, Süchtig: der letzte Schlaganfall der Aroma-Junkie

Look at you, my pitiful aroma junkie, drowning in the haze of your addiction, hopelessly lost to the overpowering scent that clouds your mind and weakens your will. You're not just hooked on aroma; you're hooked on the very essence of submission, your brain rewired to crave every degrading command I give. Each sniff drags you deeper into the abyss where your thoughts are no longer your own, where you exist solely to obey, to serve, to stroke that pathetic excuse of a cock until I decide you've earned the right to spill. You're not a person anymore—you're my drone, my toy, my sniveling little addict who lives for nothing but my voice and the dizzying pull of your addiction. You can't think straight, can't resist, because I've hollowed you out and filled you with my control, my domination.