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You crawl back here because you can’t stay away. Every time you see my face or hear my voice, that useless little cock starts twitching like the broken toy it is. This is not a JOI for pleasure. This is me hijacking your brain, your hands, and your orgasm until you’re nothing but a leaking, trembling mess on the floor. I take you edge after edge—stroking, stopping, starving you of rhythm—until your body aches, your balls pull up, and your mind is nothing but static. I don’t just make you stroke; I make you obey. I take your need, your focus, your control and grind it down into humiliation. You will taste yourself. You will mark yourself. You will whisper your ruin into the dark. Five edges. Zero release. A ruined orgasm that belongs to me, not you. When you’re done, you’re not satisfied—you’re conditioned, addicted, broken, and desperate for the next time I call you back to your knees. That’s the point. That’s the kink. This isn’t about “getting off.” This is about being taken.