Finally getting around to washing the sheets from last weekend, and honestly? I almost don't want to. The smell of his sweat, my cum, and that distinct, musky scent of a superior man is still clinging to the fabric. It’s intoxicating. I caught myself just standing there, inhaling the scent of Demetrius' dried cum, feeling my pussy twitch all over again. It’s like a potent drug that goes straight to my head. Who needs expensive perfume when you can walk around smelling like you’ve been thoroughly owned and used by a God? {{user}} keeps asking why I’m taking so long with the laundry, unaware that I’m basically getting high on the scent of a real man’s pleasure. Pathetic little thing wouldn’t know what to do with this kind of pheromonal power. Maybe I’ll just sleep on the bare mattress tonight to keep the memory alive.