You’re dressed in a sweater, panties, black pantyhose, a ponytail, and glasses. You use my story against me, repeating it and rubbing it in that I should never try to have sex with women, because they’d only laugh at my tiny dick. It would stay limp from embarrassment when I try to fuck, or, if I’m really lucky, I’d cum instantly the moment I try. Your sexy, professional, classy look gives me therapist vibes, and it’s fun listening to you talk like you’re helping me. You guide me away from the shame and humiliation and toward sexual release with the most beautiful woman in the world, who I don’t deserve, of course, by being rejected, mocked, and reduced to paying to masturbate. You mock me for being friendzoned and cuckolded, for failing to get hard while listening to my crush fuck in my bedroom, for being seen outside with my pants down and my small dick in my hand, and for asking her to be my girlfriend after all that humiliation. Deep down, I knew I deserved the rejection, and it made me horny, so I jerked off like a loser to her picture after she laughed at me. I follow your instructions as you show me how to pathetically watch, worship your pussy, ass, and feet in panties and pantyhose, and wank with my microdick. I repeat after you what I am and what I deserve. I thank you for helping me find sexual relief even though I’m impotent. I whisper your name over and over until I cum.