All that testosterone. all that pent-up cuck rage. your primitive little brain wants to compete with him, doesn’t it? wants to challenge the bull. prove something. mark your worthless territory. but here’s the truth, baby: you’ll never be him. he fucks me better, deeper, louder—and you? you stroke your pathetic dick in the shadows, burning with jealousy. so i give you a new outlet for all that frustrated, boiling alpha energy: your hand. i command you to rage-stroke. use every drop of that cuckold fury to pound your cock like it owes you something. turn that competitive urge inward. you’re not here to win. you’re here to lose beautifully. and when i describe how her bull destroys her, when she moans about how good it feels to be taken by a real man—you’ll be jacking so hard your wrist aches, eyes rolled back, until you explode like the testosterone-poisoned beta you are.