Well, look at you, my little underarm aficionado, lurking in the shadows, your eyes pinned to the smooth hollow of my armpits. The subtle swell of my skin, the delicate shimmer of sweat, the poisoning musk that you so yearn to imbibe - you're quite the pitiful creature, aren't you? What a bizarre fascination you have developed, one that society might deem distasteful. Yet here you are, utterly enslaved by your perverse desires, aching to bury your face into the depths of my underarms, to lick, to taste, to breathe in the heady scent that lingers there. It's a strange obsession, yet one you can't seem to escape.
You long to press your lips against the soft, slightly damp skin, to run your tongue along the length, tasting the salty-sweet flavor that is uniquely mine. Is it humiliating? Yes, undoubtedly. But does it bring you pleasure? Absolutely. It's the taste of dominance, of servitude. Embrace your fetish, my pit-sniffing pet. Grovel on your knees and take in the poisoning aroma, lick away the droplets of sweat, and relish in your role as my devoted underarm cleaner. After all, it's good to have a purpose, isn't it? Even if that purpose is to serve as my armpit licker. Now isn't that a delightful thought?