The monolithic rapper strolls casually to a titanic leather armchair, in the centre of his mansion's living room. Your stomach heaves with every step. Outside the room's tall windows the street is pitch black - 50's at home all alone with you, after a long and tiring gym workout. He settles into his chair like a king in his throne, then drops you onto the hardwood floor before his white Nike sneakers without a word. You lie there, on edge, gazing up at the semi-trailer sized feet, and 50 reaches down to untie both shoes' laces. As soon as he slips his first bare foot out, the hot odour surrounds you like fog. You squeeze your nose, your gorge rising, and beg in a small, squeaky voice for the urban giant to PLEASE put his sneakers back on. The gargantuan rapper only smiles a sleazy, toothy grin and lifts the foot high over your tiny body. You begin to tremble. "Mr Cent.. Wha.. What are you.." "Better have a strong back, pretty boy - and stomach, haha. You gonna be under there a long time." And down it comes..
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