Comment devenir mon zombie branlant

The urge to pump and edge is too strong, overwhelming any semblance of self-control you once had. With every mind-numbing stroke, you're erasing your own identity, becoming nothing more than a drooling, stroking puppet. You're not a person anymore; you're a tool, an object, existing solely for my entertainment. You love how it feels, don't you? To be so utterly mindless, so completely under my control. It's all you crave now, the only thing that gives your miserable existence any meaning. You've become a slave to your own hand, a hopeless jerking drone, and the saddest part is, you begged for this. Begged to be humiliated, used, and humiliated. And I, being the generous Goddess I am, granted your wish. Now, you're trapped in an endless cycle of gooning and edging, too dumb and addicted to do anything else.