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There’s no better feeling than having your mush mind told precisely what to think when your cock is hard and edged and leaking. You’re like a blank canvas for me to paint on, a lump of clay for me to shape. A blank page for my gooner mantra poetry. Getting inside your mind and fucking you. It’s better than sex; it’s something that stays with you, the words bounce around in your subconscious mind, permanently reconditioning you. These penetrate so deeply you don’t know if you’re the one reciting the mantras or the mantras are reciting you…