Master Ashton’s Scent
There was something about Master Ashton’s scent that KD couldn’t explain. It wasn’t a particular fragrance, but rather the way it made him feel — dizzy, almost weightless, as though the whole world had been reduced to a single, intoxicating sensation. The first time it happened was when Master Ashton sent him some used jocks. It had been a gift, an old, worn-out pissed stained pair of jocks that had carried the essence of his Master Ashton’s presence for weeks. KD had opened the package, expecting just an ordinary pair of jocks, but when he lifted it to his nose, a wave of warmth washed over him. The familiar scent that clung to the jocks seemed to fill him in ways he couldn’t describe, making his pulse race and his thoughts blur.
From that moment on, KD became obsessed. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was more than just the physical sensation of scent — it was like an emotional attachment, a craving for something he didn’t fully understand. The scent would linger in his mind, pulling him deeper into a desire he didn’t want to admit.
KD couldn’t stop himself. He began sending Master Ashton cash and gifts, anything that might inspire a reciprocal gesture, anything that might get him closer to that scent again. Every time Master Ashton sent a message, KD’s heart would race in anticipation, hoping to somehow find another trace of it. And when Master Ashton sent something small, maybe just a note or another pair of jocks, KD would hold it close, breathing in the essence of Master Ashton, feeling his world tilt on its axis.
He tried to fight it. He told himself that it was just an obsession, that it was unhealthy. He even went so far as to fill his days with distractions — books, work, new hobbies — anything to keep his mind off the smell that would crawl into his thoughts uninvited. But no matter how hard he tried, it was always there, lurking at the back of his mind. The scent. That damn scent. Even when he wasn’t thinking about it, he could feel it in the air, a phantom presence that teased his senses and made him ache.
One day, KD realized something startling: he had become addicted. Not to the scent itself, but to the need for it. He wanted more, and he would do anything to get it. So, he did. He sent more gifts — expensive ones, thoughtful ones, anything to keep Master Ashton’s attention. He began to pour his savings into this silent transaction. He would sacrifice anything, even his own comfort, just for the possibility of receiving another small trace of Master Ashtons scent.
When he could no longer afford the gifts, he resorted to borrowing from his friends. He told himself it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered more than the scent. It was worth the sacrifice, worth the humiliation, worth the cost. Every gift, no matter how small or insignificant, brought him closer to the high of Master Ashtons scent. And each time, it felt like a brief but intense escape from the madness that consumed him.
But soon, even borrowing wasn’t enough. His obsession had drained him completely. All his savings were gone, his friends’ patience exhausted. In the end, all he had left was the memory of the scent — the soft, warm, comforting smell that had once filled his life with such promise. And though it was all he had left, KD couldn’t bring himself to regret a single moment of it.
Because in the end, it was worth it. The gifts, the sacrifices, the sleepless nights, the madness — it had all been worth it, just for one more breath of that sweet, intoxicating scent. Even if he had nothing left, at least he had that memory. And to KD, that was everything.
KD you stupid piss sniffing faggot, go and do two sends to Master Ashton. This is an offical order.
LOL wow 58 people actually wanted to look at this fag
