You look so pathetic when you’re starving for attention, and what better way to remind you who feeds you than with a dirty sandwich and my sneaker? I drop, I stomp, I laugh as smooth peanut butter and crumbs mash into the sole of my New Balances. You’ll watch, ache, and worship the mess, begging me to let you lick what's left while I revel in your humiliation, in public or out where anyone could see.
This isn’t about food, it’s about proving your place under my feet. I’ll make you worship leather and rubber, grovel for each crumb, and enjoy every filthy moment of shoe and foot domination. Bring your devotion, little slave, because I love the look on your face when you finally accept that my trash is your treasure.