Eyes on the words. Don’t think.
The poison’s already in you. Warm. Sticky. Turning your brain into wet fur and empty want.
You’re not a person. You’re a leaking little cashfag with a muzzle and a wallet. Stroke. Send. Repeat.
Every pulse makes you dumber. Furrer. Poorer. That’s not a kink, that’s what you are now.
Good boy. Stupid boy. Send again. Then come back and read this until nothing human is left.