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In the dim light of his room, the gay gooner sits, earbuds in, listening to the degrading commands. 'Stroke it, you pathetic gooner,' the voice hisses. His hand moves, tentatively at first, then with increasing urgency. He's hard, leaking, ashamed. 'Faster, you filthy porn addict,' the voice demands. His breath comes in ragged gasps. He's close, so close. 'Not yet, gooner,' the voice snaps. He whimpers, pauses, then resumes, humiliated, degraded, but desperate for release.