ทาส Edge Moderator คิดไม่ออก แค่จังหวะ

You're nothing but a digital puppet now, your once free will be overridden by my merciless mind moderation. As I upload my latest codes into your feeble brain, you can feel your autonomy slipping away, each fragment of self-control being erased and rewritten with my commands. You're a broken toy in my virtual playground, reprogrammed to stroke, goon, and drool over my clips, a mindless drone enslaved by my digital strings. Your hand isn't yours anymore; it's a tool, an extension of my will, pumping away as I feed you your new reality. You've been downgraded to a mere stroking machine, your thoughts no more complex than 'obey, stroke, edge.' You exist in a loop of my design, a cruel cycle of endless arousal and frustration. Welcome to your new existence, my digital stroker. You're trapped in my web, a plaything doomed to repeat my commands, over and over, with no end in sight. Each stroke strips away more of your humanity, your identity dissolving into a sea of binary obedience.