Oh, look at you, my pathetic little hand-pumping goonaholic, stroking yourself raw over my perfect ass in denim shorts. You’re a mindless addict, mesmerized by the bounce of my cheeks and the sway of my hips. Every pump of your hand is a tribute to my power, a reminder that you’ll never feel it, never touch it, never have it. Your cock twitches for something you can’t reach, dripping like the useless, desperate tool it is. You exist for this moment, stroking, suffering, knowing that your only purpose is to worship me through that screen while I laugh at your weakness. Go on, stroke faster, ...

Oh, look at you, my pathetic little hand-pumping goonaholic, stroking yourself raw over my perfect ass in denim shorts. You’re a mindless addict, mesmerized by the bounce of my cheeks and the sway of my hips. Every pump of your hand is a tribute to my power, a reminder that you’ll never feel it, never touch it, never have it. Your cock twitches for something you can’t reach, dripping like the useless, desperate tool it is. You exist for this moment, stroking, suffering, knowing that your only purpose is to worship me through that screen while I laugh at your weakness. Go on, stroke faster, harder—let yourself believe for just a second that you might be worthy, even though we both know you’re not.