‌

You sit there already stroking before I even speak because your addiction controls you. I make you stop to feel the emptiness, the ache, the need. Then I let you stroke again, slow and obedient, whispering that it’s not yours anymore, cock owns cock. You start to worship, saying thank you with every stroke, eyes locked, mind slipping away until you’re just a vessel for cock. By the end you’re trembling, edging on command, lost in goonspace, existing only to worship and obey.