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Hi there, you little loser.
Look at you—always the same. Always staring at women you’ll never have. Why are you even here? Do you really think that one day things will change? Poor thing. You’re pathetic, and deep down you know it.

Go on, take that disgusting little dick out if you want. It only gives me more reasons to laugh at you. You’ll always be rejected—always. You’re ugly, a failure, a fucking loser with a tiny, pathetic cock. You dream about a woman like me, but what’s the point? Dreaming about things you can’t have just makes you weaker, more desperate… and girls like me will always mock you for it.

Look at yourself. Your face, your body, that tiny little thing in your hand. Is it hard? I can barely see it—it’s so small, so embarrassing. Stroke it for me. Slowly. If you go too fast, a weak little loser like you will lose control immediately. You’re desperate, shaking, leaking already… of course you are. Premature, pathetic, completely owned.

I just got home from work, and honestly, making fun of you is the perfect way to relax. You can look, but you will never have this. You’re lucky I even let you watch. This is far too much for someone as small and useless as you. You were born a loser, and that’s all you’ll ever be.

Keep stroking. Don’t cum unless I say so. You’re too weak to resist, too horny to think, and I know exactly how easy it is to control pathetic little things like you. You’re not used to real women—when you see one, you freeze, you shake, you don’t know what to do.

Stroke it harder now. Harder. You exist to amuse me, to make me laugh. You’re my little clown, my dirty little pig. And because you’ve been so desperate, so obedient, I’ll let you finish.