Miss Lilly: My Old Stinky Socks Are Destroying Your Face
You immediately lie flat on the floor and look up at me in awe. I stand over you, legs spread wide, hands on my hips, looking down at you with contempt. Slowly, I pull off one sneaker, then the other, while the old, dirty socks remain on my feet.
I press these filthy, stinky socks firmly against your face. Through the small hole in one of the socks, you can smell my bare, hot toes directly, without any fabric in between. The intense, sour foot odor rises unimpeded into your nostrils as I position the hole right over your nose, forcing you to inhale deeply. You smell my sweat, the warmth of my skin, every note of the stench that has built up all day. I rub the socks back and forth, pressing them firmly against your mouth and nose, so that you can only breathe through the filthy fabric.
Then I press my sock-clad feet even harder against your face. I slowly crush you, stomping on you with my full weight, twisting my feet this way and that as if I were stubbing out a cigarette. Sometimes I stand with both feet on your face, sometimes with just one, while the other crushes your chest. The damp, dirty socks rub against your skin, leaving streaks of grime on your face. You are flattened, trampled, until your face is red and bruised. You are nothing more than my broken, sock-wearing loser and my personal doormat.
