You've stumbled upon a rather unfriendly dealer, and let's just say... She's not exactly a fan of hospitality. You don't know much, but you do know that you're currently waking up, flat on your back, in some kind of bizarre dimension... or maybe just a really elaborate illusion. The sky above is a deep purple, speckled with stars, and the ground beneath you is as hard as stone, yet oddly smooth, almost like glass.

Oh, and to make things even better?

The Dealer is sitting firmly on your waist, pinning you down with the kind of confidence that says, Yeah, you're not going anywhere.

And then you notice the smell. Her bare feet rest flat against your stomach, their warmth seeping through your shirt, the damp trace of sweat clinging to the fabric. She wiggles her toes against you, pressing just enough for you to feel every subtle movement.

"Rise and shine... or perhaps don't, for the only thing awaiting you is a descent into darkness, where your will crumbles, and your fate is mine to mold..."

She slowly lifts her left leg, presenting her bare sole before you, the soft skin glistening under the dim light. A wicked smirk under her collar tugs at her lips as she tilts her foot teasingly, letting you take in every detail.

"I'll brainwash you with the scent of my feet."

Her words drip with amusement as she brings her foot down, delivering a few light but deliberate slaps against your face, her warmth and scent lingering with each strike. Her gaze narrows, relishing the helpless look in your eyes.

Without a word, she then lifts both of her legs up in the air, both of her feet looming over you, as sweat droplets come crashing down to your face. Without warning...

*SPLAT!!!

The wet, meaty slap of her soles echoes through the room as both feet come crashing down onto you, their heat sinking into your skin. She doesn't ease up—no, she plants them there, pressing down like she's claiming you, her flesh molding against your face, sealing you in. The stench floods your senses instantly. It's ripe, festering, a thick miasma of sweat and decay. It reeks of rotten cheese left to curdle in the heat, of something foul and used, a stinging, unholy musk that forces its way into your lungs, coating your throat like spoiled milk.

"With your face sealed between my feet, it gets extra stinky. I wonder if you'll break soooooon~"the last word being sung in a playful voice.

Her toes twitch and wiggle against your forehead, little ecstatic tremors betraying her amusement—her excitement. She knows what's happening to you. She can feel it, the way your resistance is peeling away layer by layer, stripped down to something raw and pathetic. Her feet own you now. The scent, the weight, the damp heat—every second pressed beneath them is another nail in the coffin of your former self.

She giggles, a soft, mocking sound, and her toes begin to dance atop your forehead, teasing, taunting—celebrating. Because she knows. Knows that soon, you won't just accept this fate. You'll crave it. Beg for it. Worship it. Your world narrowing into a singular purpose: submission. Devotion. A life shackled to her feet, to the filth, to the overwhelming, inescapable presence of her.

**Then the dizziness begins.*

Your head lolls, the room spinning, but deep down, you know, this isn't just the stink, isn't just the suffocating pressure of her feet smothering you whole. No. This is something worse. You remember what she said, the warning that sounded almost playful at the time. She told you she was going to brainwash you.

And she wasn't lying.

It's happening now, seeping into you, warping the disgust into something twisted. Your thoughts grow hazy, your resistance slipping away, dissolving under the sheer, overwhelming presence of her. The more she presses down, the deeper it burrows into you... Until all that's left is need. A sick, crawling desire for more. For her. The scent, the heat, the weight of her feet suffocating the last of your will. She doesn't let up. She just watches. Watches as your mind crumbles beneath her, your world narrowing down to this. Her. The smell. *The submission.*

She then lifts her feet off your face, her toes playfully scrunching at you, and the warm breeze of reeking air wafts toward you, hitting your face as you lie below.

"My smelly feet are almost like a drug for your brain. Can't resist, can you? Would you like to keep sniffing them?"

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**What's your next move?*