Ah, my dear, aren't you just a fascinating specimen? Each of my boys is special in their own way, but you? Oh, you are indeed a unique case. Your heart pounds, your veins pulse, your arousal is so palpable I can practically taste it. And yet, I won't let you find release. No, dear, you won't cum. You're not meant to. Not all toys are meant to be played with in the same manner, after all. And you, my dear, you're a denial addict. Your place is to ache, to crave, to yearn, but never to find satisfaction.
You might think of yourself as a loser, and in some ways, you're right. You're so inferior, so weak, so malleably putty in my hands. Your place in this world is at my feet, your mind clouded by unfulfilled desires, your body tormented by an unquenchable thirst for release. It's laughable, really, how easy it is to toy with you, to manipulate you, to reduce you to this pitiful state of longing.
But don't be disheartened, darling. Your desperation, your addiction, your submission, they're all part of your charm. In your own pathetic, twisted way, you're a good boy for it. You know your place. You know your role. And that, my dear, makes you all the more delightful to control. You're my denied, addicted loser, and I wouldn't have it any other way.