You sitting there, pathetically pawing at yourself with those sausage fingers, is the most pitiful sight I've ever had the displeasure of imagining. You've let yourself go so badly, it's a wonder you can even find your dick under all that flab. But there you are, trying to jerk off that tiny, grease-slicked weasel you call a cock, as if anyone would ever want a piece of that. You're a walking, talking billboard for self-control failure, a bloated testament to every excess known to man. And now, you want to touch yourself? Please, the only thing you're provoking is nausea.

But go ah...

You sitting there, pathetically pawing at yourself with those sausage fingers, is the most pitiful sight I've ever had the displeasure of imagining. You've let yourself go so badly, it's a wonder you can even find your dick under all that flab. But there you are, trying to jerk off that tiny, grease-slicked weasel you call a cock, as if anyone would ever want a piece of that. You're a walking, talking billboard for self-control failure, a bloated testament to every excess known to man. And now, you want to touch yourself? Please, the only thing you're provoking is nausea.

But go ahead, try to get off while listening to this. Let my voice drill into you, a reminder of what a disgusting pig you've become. You think you deserve pleasure? You don't deserve to touch yourself, not with those greasy ham hocks, not when you've let yourself become nothing more than a human dough ball. But maybe, just maybe, if you listen closely, you'll hear the disdain in my voice and realize this is the closest you'll ever get to being wanted. So, enjoy it, my disgustingly ample pet, because this is all you have left.