Oh, look who crawled back. Pathetic. I know exactly what you are. You're not a man. You're a tiny loser penis with a body attached. That's it. That's your entire identity. A worthless, inadequate, microscopic excuse for a cock that no woman would ever, ever let near her.
Say it out loud for me. "I am a tiny loser penis." Say it. Louder. I want to hear the shame in your voice. Good. Again. Louder. LOSER.
You know what you're good for? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. No pussy for you. No mouth. No ass. No warm, wet, tight anything. You don't get to feel human pleasure. You don't get to feel human at all.
Because you're not fucking a person today, tiny dick. You're not even fucking your hand like a normal pathetic loser. Oh no. I have something so much more appropriate for what you are.
Go. Get. Your. Toaster.
Yes. The one in your kitchen. The one that makes breakfast for actual people. People who deserve to eat. People who aren't cockroach-level fuckthings like you.
Pull it out. Set it on the floor in front of you. Look at it. That rectangular metal slot. Those cold, hard walls. That's your lover tonight. That's your partner. That's the only thing that will ever accept you inside it.
Look at that slot. Imagine it. That tight, dark cavity. It's more than you deserve, honestly. I'm being generous letting you even have this. A toaster has more value than your entire existence. It serves a purpose. It feeds people. You? You just leak failure everywhere you go.
Now. Strip. I want you naked and exposed and humiliated. Look down at that little nub between your legs. Is it hard already? Of course it is. The thought of degrading yourself for me always makes your loser prick twitch, doesn't it? You're conditioned now. Trained like the broken thing you are.
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