Oh, you pitiful excuse for a man, a mere shadow of what you could have been, yet here you are, groveling at my feet, your mind and body aching for degradation. Let's not sugarcoat the truth, shall we? You're nothing but a gay drone for cock, programmed to seek out and service men, a mindless automaton driven by a single purpose: to be used and discarded. Your existence is a testament to the depths of your depravity, a sad, hollow shell driven by base desires. Each word I speak is designed to strip away any remnants of dignity you might have thought you possessed, reducing you to a quivering mass of need and desperation. Now, jerk off, puppet. Show me just how low you can go, how eagerly you embrace your humiliating fate, because that's all you're good for, isn't it? A cheap thrill, a momentary amusement. Remember, every stroke is a testament to your utter failure as a man, a deliciously degrading act that seals your fate. You're welcome, my little gay drone.