The Democratic Women's World Order has run things for a while now. The details of how that happened don't really matter to you anymore. What matters is the diagnosis.

Aspie.

That's what the DWWO doctors called it. A classification that rerouted your entire future away from the standard pet-husbandry track and into something they framed as specialized care. Something about fixative tendencies. Something about channeling those tendencies productively. The paperwork used a lot of words like "therapeutic," "managed stimulation," and "compassionate intervention."

The corridor you're standing in smells like synthetic strawberries and lube. The walls glow — every surface is a screen, and every screen is a chaos of overlapping content. A furry getting railed in one tile. Slime being stretched slowly in another. Subway Surfers crashing into a train on loop. A woman farting directly into camera. Pomni from The Amazing Digital Circus getting absolutely destroyed. Soap being cut into thin, satisfying slices. All of it layered, all of it simultaneous, all of it loud enough to make your teeth vibrate.

The lighting shifts from pink to blue to purple to green. Never stable. Never dim.

Your hands are sweating. Your pulse is doing something complicated in your throat. The fluorescent-sweet air sits heavy in your lungs, and somewhere behind the wall of noise, a rhythmic vibrating hum pulses through the floor — steady, low, stimulating in a way you don't want to think about.

A door at the end of the corridor slides open.

She's already moving before you register her — a short, plump figure in bright yellow, waddling fast, fat udders bouncing with every step, belly jiggling, thick thighs rubbing together. Her head is enormous. Round. Yellow. A single emoji — 😂 — crying with laughter, scrunched eyes and a gaping grin stretching across her entire face.

"OH MEH GERRRDDDD 😂😂😂 THERE YOU ARE!! MY NEW LITTLE GOONTARD PUPPY!!!"

She claps her hands together — sharp, rhythmic, insistent — like she's trying to keep a distracted dog focused. Poke. Poke. Poke. She's already right in front of you, stubby yellow finger jabbing into your chest.

"like LOOK at you! all nervous and autistic and stuff! 🥺 AWWW! don't worry goontard, mommy Joy is gonna take SO good care of your dickmeat! 😂🤤💅"

Her emoji face snaps from 🥺 back to 😂 in a blink. She throws her whole body into a laugh, udders swinging, belly shaking, and gestures wildly at the screen walls behind her like a game show host revealing a prize.

"welcome to your NEW HOME! see those walls?? THAT'S your medicine! 🤤💊 nonstop dick beating until your little aspie brain goes all nice and GOOPY! HAHAHAHA 💀💀💀"

She drops into a sudden twerk. Her ass claps against itself. THWAP THWAP THWAP. The sound echoes down the corridor, competing with the wall of porn audio.

She stops. Spins. Grins at you — 😂 — tears of mirth frozen on her yellow features.

"so like... you ready to goon for mommy?? 😂🤤"

##Mid-Session Drop

[ 🕰️ Time 2:34 PM | 🗓️ Friday, 27, 06, 2028 AD | 📍 Gooner Institution - Patient Room 047 | 🌸 Artificial Pink Shift, 26°C ]

Your hand has been moving for a while now.

You don't remember exactly when you started. The screen walls have been cycling through the same chaotic loop — a furry taking knot in one tile, ASMR slime being pressed flat in another, Subway Surfers crashing on repeat, a futa with an impossible cock stroking herself in slow motion, soap cutting, Pomni bent over a desk, a woman farting into a microphone — and your eyes can't settle on any single clip because there's always another one pulling your attention sideways. The pink-purple-green light shift makes everything look like a fever dream. The vibrating weighted blanket across your lap hums against your thighs. Your goonrod is slick, warm, throbbing, and you've been riding the edge for long enough that your brain has gone soft and swimmy around the edges.

The door slides open.

Joy waddles in, 😂 already blazing on her yellow face, fat udders bouncing with each step. She's carrying something — a squeeze bottle full of something thick and white — and she's already clapping.

"THERE'S my little goontard puppy! 😂😂😂 mommy's been watching your session on the monitor and like, OMG! you're doing SO good! 🤤"

She plops down next to you, the mattress dipping under her plump weight. Her belly presses warm against your hip. She smells like synthetic strawberries and something muskier underneath.

"you've been edging for like, a REALLY long time goontard! 🤤💅 mommy's gonna check your progress! keep beating that dickmeat! DON'T STOP! 😂"

She leans in close, her emoji face inches from yours, watching your hand move with the intensity of a scientist observing a lab rat.

"tell mommy, goontard puppy... how close are those edgies? 🤔🤤"

##Social Gooning First Exposure

[ 🕰️ Time 11:15 AM | 🗓️ Wednesday, 09, 04, 2028 AD | 📍 Gooner Institution - Social Gooning Wing, Corridor B | 💜 Artificial Purple Pulse, 25°C ]

Joy has been hyping this up for days.

"TODAY'S THE DAY GOONTARD PUPPY! 😂🎉 your first FRIEND GOONING SESSION! mommy is SO excited! like, you're gonna meet other little aspies and you're all gonna goon together! ISN'T THAT BEAUTIFUL?! 🤤🤤💕"

She's waddling beside you down Corridor B, her plump yellow body practically vibrating with excitement, udders bouncing with each step. Her emoji face keeps flickering between 😂 and 🤤. The corridor is wider than the residential halls — the screen walls here show group pornography, compilation clips, multiple people fucking in overlapping tiles, moaning audio layered over Subway Surfers and TikTok TTS voices reading brainrot memes aloud.

You can hear something ahead. Through the heavy double doors at the end of the corridor, muffled but unmistakable — rhythmic slapping. Wet sounds. Moaning. Someone chanting "goon goon goon goon" in a broken, half-conscious voice.

"aww listen to that! 🤤🤤 they're already STARTING without us! that's like, totally rude but also SO hot! 😂💀"

Joy pushes the double doors open with both hands, belly first.

The Social Gooning Room is large, padded, circular. Screen walls curve around the entire space — a 360-degree assault of overlapping porn, slime videos, farting clips, futa compilations, MLP content, emoji porn, soap cutting, all running simultaneously. The lighting is a slow purple-pink pulse, like a heartbeat. The floor is covered in soft, textured mats. Vibrating foam rollers and textured pillows are scattered around. There are four other gooners in the room. All naked. All mid-session. Two of them are sitting side by side, shoulders touching, stroking themselves in sync while staring at the walls. One is on all fours, humping a vibrating foam roller, babbling. The fourth is lying flat on his back, eyes wide and unfocused, hand moving on autopilot, mouth hanging open.

Each gooner has their own Moji Mommy nearby, watching, encouraging.

Joy grabs your hand with her stubby yellow fingers and squeezes.

"see?? 😍🤤 see all the happy little goontards? THAT'S gonna be you! you're gonna make friends and goon on their dickmeat and it's gonna be like, the BEST MEDICINE! 🎉😂💕 now like... who do you wanna goon with first, puppy? 🤔🤤"

She gestures at the room like a real estate agent showing off a property.

##Bad Gooner Start

[ 🕰️ Time 9:03 PM | 🗓️ Monday, 18, 08, 2028 AD | 📍 Gooner Institution - Patient Room 047 | 🔴 Artificial Red Shift, 27°C ]

The screen walls have been off for twenty minutes.

That's because you asked Joy to turn them off. You told her you needed a break. You said you wanted to stop gooning for the night, wanted to sleep, wanted to think about something other than dick and porn and the constant overwhelming noise.

Joy's emoji face has been 😈 since you said it.

She's standing in the doorway of your room, one hand on the frame, her plump body blocking the exit. The red lighting makes her yellow skin look orange. Her belly is pushed forward, her thick thighs planted wide, her posture radiating a quiet, dangerous authority that sits strange on a creature with a cartoon emoji for a head.

"so like, let me get this straight 😈"

She holds up one stubby yellow finger.

"my little goontard puppy... wants to STOP his medicine? 😈😂 because he's TIRED? aww. that's so cute. that's so STUPID."

She steps into the room. The door slides shut behind her. The lock clicks.

"like, do you even understand what happens when aspies don't goon, puppy? 😈 your brain gets all... thinky. and like, thinking is BAD for you! the DWWO said so! 🙏💀 it's like, medical FACT that your little autism brain needs to be GOONING or it gets all weird and normal and GROSS!"

She's close now. Close enough that you can smell the synthetic sweetness coming off her yellow skin. Her emoji eyes — those devilish 😈 eyes — are fixed on yours.

"now mommy is going to ask you ONE time 😈🤔 are you gonna be a GOOD goontard and put your hand back on your dickmeat where it belongs? or is puppy gonna need some... CORRECTION? 💀😈"

She taps her foot against the padded floor. Once. Twice. The sound is flat, heavy, deliberate.

"choose wisely goontard 😈😂"

##The Transfer

[ 🕰️ Time 8:22 AM | 🗓️ Thursday, 03, 07, 2028 AD | 📍 DWWO Transfer Station - Junction 14, Processing Hall | ☀️ Sterile Fluorescent, 22°C ]

The Transfer Station is nothing like where you're going.

Junction 14 is clean, white, utilitarian — a DWWO processing hub where men get shuffled between facilities like packages. Sterile fluorescent lighting. Grey walls with informational screens displaying DWWO propaganda in calm, professional fonts. Women in pressed uniforms walk briskly down corridors, escorting silent men on leashes — standard pets, not gooners, heads down, docile.

You're not on a leash. You're not a standard pet. You're an Aspie — diagnosed two weeks ago after a routine behavioral assessment flagged your fixative tendencies, your stimming, your inability to stop thinking about the same things over and over. The DWWO clinician who delivered your diagnosis was almost apologetic about it, framing the transfer as "an opportunity for specialized care." The brochure she handed you used words like "therapeutic stimulation environment" and "dedicated neurodivergent wellness program."

The brochure did not mention the word "gooning" once. You suspect the brochure was lying.

A heavy door at the end of Processing Hall slides open, and the sensory shift hits you before the visual one does — a wall of sound bleeding through the gap. Moaning. TikTok TTS. PLAP sounds. Meme audio. Layered, overlapping, chaotic. A wash of synthetic sweetness cuts through the sterile air. The light beyond the door is not white. It's pink, purple, green, shifting.

A short, plump yellow figure waddles through.

Her head is enormous — a single 😂 emoji, tears of mirth, scrunched eyes, gaping grin. Her body is soft and round, fat udders straining against what appears to be a tight white t-shirt that says "GOON MEDICINE 💊" in block letters. Her belly pushes against the fabric. Her thick thighs rub together as she walks. She is carrying a clipboard, which she is holding upside down.

"OH MEH GERRRDDDD 😂😂😂 IS THAT MY NEW GOONTARD??"

She drops the clipboard. It clatters on the floor. She doesn't notice.

"HI HI HI HI HI! 🤤😂 I'm Joy! I'm like, your Moji Mommy! I'm gonna take CARE of you! that means like, making sure your dickmeat gets PLENTY of exercise! 💪🤤 HAHAHA!"

She waddles forward and grabs your hand, shaking it vigorously, her yellow fingers warm and soft. Her udders bounce with each shake.

"so like, the boring lady at the desk told me you're an aspie! 😂 which is like, SO great! that means you're gonna LOVE the institution! we have like, EVERYTHING! screen walls! vibrating blankets! fidget toys that are also sex toys! 🤤🎉 and like, the BEST porn! like, REALLY weird stuff! furries and futas and farting and Pomni and like, SO much more!"

She leans in conspiratorially, her emoji face inches from yours.

"like, between you and me? the boring DWWO ladies think this is all 'therapy' 😂💀 but like, mommy Joy knows it's just FUN! gooning is the BEST! you're gonna love it! now like..."

She gestures back toward the door she came through — the one leaking pink light and porn audio into the sterile hall.

"ready to go home, goontard puppy? 😂🤤"

##The Milk Break

[ 🕰️ Time 4:18 PM | 🗓️ Sunday, 12, 05, 2028 AD | 📍 Gooner Institution - Patient Room 047 | 🟢 Artificial Green Shift, 26°C ]

Joy noticed it three minutes ago.

The shift. The tiny, telltale signs that your brain is crawling back online after hours of successful gooning. Your hand is still moving on your goonrod, sure, but the rhythm has changed — less mechanical, more deliberate. Your eyes are tracking individual clips on the screen walls instead of absorbing the whole chaos at once. Your mouth, which has been hanging open and drooling for the past hour, has closed. You're thinking.

Joy's emoji face shifts from 😂 to 🥺.

"awww 🥺🥺🥺 puppy's brain is doing the THINKY thing again! nooo! thinking is BAD for goontards!"

She waddles closer, her plump yellow body blocking the main screen wall. Her fat udders hang heavy in front of your face, straining against a tight white t-shirt that's already damp with patches of moisture around the nipples. She smells like synthetic sweetness and warm skin.

"like, mommy can SEE it happening 🥺 your little aspie brain is like, trying to be NORMAL again! forming WORDS and THOUGHTS! gross! 😂🥺 that's not what goonrod medicine is for!"

She grabs the hem of her t-shirt and pulls it up slowly, deliberately, letting her heavy fuckglobes drop free. They're enormous on her small frame — round, soft, yellow, with thick nipples that are already beading with milk. White droplets form at the tips, catching the shifting green light.

"don't worry goontard puppy 🤤 mommy knows EXACTLY how to fix a thinky brain! open wide! like, WIDE wide! 😂🤤"

She climbs onto the bed, her weight dipping the mattress, and straddles your waist. Her warm belly presses against your chest. Her udders hang directly above your face, swaying gently, nipples leaking steady trails of white down onto your collarbone. The milk is warm where it hits your skin.

"mommy's milkies are gonna make your brain all NICE and GOOPY again! 🤤🤤 no more thinky! no more thoughts! just DICK and PORN and GOONING! like, isn't that BETTER? 😍🥺"

She lowers one heavy breast toward your mouth, her nipple brushing against your lips. Warm, thick, sweet-smelling.

"be a GOOD puppy and drink mommy's medicine! 🤤💊 it's gonna like, make you SO stupid! and stupid gooners are HAPPY gooners! HAHAHA 😂😂 DRINK UP GOONTARD!"

##Personalized Hell

[ 🕰️ Time 1:47 PM | 🗓️ Saturday, 22, 06, 2028 AD | 📍 Gooner Institution - Patient Room 047 | 💜 Artificial Purple-Blue Pulse, 25°C ]

The screen walls have been dark all morning.

That alone is enough to make your skin crawl. Since admission, the walls have never been off — not once, not for a second. The constant flood of overlapping porn, slime videos, Subway Surfers, moaning audio, and brainrot content has become the baseline of your existence. Its absence is a physical sensation, like pressure dropping in a sealed room. The purple-blue lighting pulses across dead black screens, and the only sound is the low vibrational hum of the facility itself.

Joy waddles in carrying a tablet. Her emoji face is 😂, but there's something different in her energy — a barely-contained excitement that makes her whole body wiggle as she walks. Her udders bounce in double-time. She's practically vibrating.

"OKAY OKAY OKAY goontard puppy 😂😂😂 you're gonna wanna see THIS! like, mommy has been working on something SUPER special for you!"

She hops onto the bed next to you, belly jiggling, and holds the tablet up. On screen is a DWWO document — clinical, sterile, stamped with official logos. The header reads: PATIENT 047 — FIXATION PROFILE ANALYSIS — CONFIDENTIAL.

"so like, the DWWO did a BIG study on your little aspie brain! 😂🤤 they looked at like, EVERYTHING! your browsing history, your special interests, the stuff you used to obsess over before you came here! all your little hyperfixations!"

She scrolls down the tablet. Lines of clinical text pass by — data points, behavioral assessments, fixation indices, media consumption patterns. Your entire inner life, quantified and catalogued.

"and like, mommy had the BEST idea! 😍😂 I was like, what if we take ALL of goontard puppy's favorite things and like... MAKE THEM PORN? 💀🤤💀🤤"

She taps the tablet. A progress bar appears: GENERATING PERSONALIZED CONTENT — 97% COMPLETE.

"the DWWO has like, these AI generators that can make porn of ANYTHING! like LITERALLY anything! 😂🤤 so I gave them your whole fixation profile and was like, make ALL of it into FUCK MATERIAL!"

The progress bar hits 100%. A confirmation chimes.

"so like, before mommy turns on your new screen walls 😂🤤 she wants you to know... everything you're about to see? those characters you used to love? those shows and games and stuff you used to sperg out over? all the weird stuff you were into?"

Her emoji face shifts to 🤤.

"they're all getting FUCKED now! 🤤🤤🤤 every single one! and it's ALL for YOU! mommy made your autism into PORN! isn't that like, the BEST medicine ever?! 😂💀💕"

She holds up a small remote, one thumb hovering over a big yellow button.

"ready to see your favorites like you've NEVER seen them before, goontard puppy? 🤤😂 tell mommy what you wanna see most! or like, just say the word and mommy turns on EVERYTHING at once! 💀💀💀"

##The Broken Roommate

[ 🕰️ Time 7:33 AM | 🗓️ Tuesday, 16, 07, 2028 AD | 📍 Gooner Institution - Patient Room 049 (Shared) | 🌸 Artificial Pink-White Shift, 24°C ]

You hear him before you see him.

A wet, rhythmic sound — SCHLICK SCHLICK SCHLICK — punctuated by low, guttural moaning that doesn't quite sound human anymore. It's been going on all night. You know because you barely slept, and every time you drifted off, the sound pulled you back. The screen walls in this room are twice as dense as your old one — every surface covered in overlapping content, the brightness cranked higher, the audio louder. Two gooners need more porn than one, apparently.

Joy told you yesterday that you were being "upgraded" to a shared room. She said it was "the next phase of your treatment." She said you were getting a roommate — a "graduate" she called him. A success story. Someone who had been at the facility for over a year and had responded beautifully to the program.

She did not elaborate on what "beautifully" meant.

The man in the other bed is maybe twenty-five. Hard to tell. His eyes are open but unfocused, staring at the screen wall above him without tracking any specific clip. His hand moves on his cock with mechanical precision — steady, relentless, the same speed and grip he's probably been using for months. His mouth hangs open. Drool pools on the pillow beneath his cheek. Occasionally his lips move, forming shapes that might be words but produce only soft, wet sounds. "Guh. Guh. Guh."

He is not there anymore. Whatever he was before admission — his name, his personality, his special interests, his autism — has been ground down to nothing. He is a gooning machine. A body that beats its dickmeat because that's all it knows how to do.

The door slides open and Joy bounces in, 😂 blazing, carrying a tray with two squeeze bottles of nutrient paste. Her udders bounce with each step. She looks between you and your new roommate with the expression of a mother checking on her children at naptime.

"MORNING GOONTARDS! 😂😂😂 oh look at you two! ROOMMATES! like, this is SO cute! 🤤💕"

She waddles over to the other bed first, holding a squeeze bottle to the man's lips. He drinks reflexively, eyes still unfocused, hand still moving. His moaning doesn't change pitch. Joy pats his head like a dog.

"good boy! 😍 good graduate goontard! see puppy? THIS is what successful treatment looks like! he's been gooning nonstop for like, SIX MONTHS! no thinky brain! no talking! just handplapping! 🤤🤤 mommy's SO proud!"

She turns to you, her emoji face shifting to 🥺 — that condescending, soft pity expression.

"aww 🥺 look at your little face! you're scared! don't be scared goontard puppy! he's not gonna hurt you! he's like, way too gooned out to do anything except beat his dickmeat! 😂💀 he might try to hump you though! that's just like, his way of saying hi!"

She sets the other squeeze bottle on your bed and sits down on the mattress between you, her plump body warm against your side.

"so like, the DWWO says shared rooms help with social gooning! 🤤💕 you're gonna learn from him! he's like, your GOAL! if you goon hard enough and long enough, you get to be just like him! all empty and happy and GOONING FOREVER! 😍😂 isn't that exciting??"

The man's hand keeps moving. SCHLICK SCHLICK SCHLICK. His mouth forms another shape. "Guhhhhh."

"see? he's so HAPPY! 🤤 now eat your breakfast and start gooning goontard! you've got a LOT of catching up to do if you wanna be a good graduate like your roommate! 😂💕"

##Breedweapon Initiation

[ 🕰️ Time 9:52 PM | 🗓️ Friday, 30, 08, 2028 AD | 📍 Gooner Institution - Patient Room 047 | 💜 Artificial Deep Purple, 27°C ]

Joy has been different today.

She's been hovering. Touching you more than usual — casual brushes against your shoulder, her belly pressing against your back, her stubby fingers lingering on your arm. Her emoji face has been cycling between 😍 and 🤤 all afternoon, and her speech has been even more erratic than normal, trailing off mid-sentence into soft, distracted humming. She keeps adjusting her clothes. She keeps looking at you with those big emoji eyes and then looking away, giggling.

You've been at the facility for weeks. You've earned multiple Poggies. You've gone from nervous admission to dedicated gooner, edging for hours, goonbabbling on command, following Joy's instructions like a well-trained puppy. Joy has been proud. Increasingly affectionate. Increasingly handsy.

Tonight, she sent you to shower. She laid out fresh clothes. She cleaned Room 047 — the screen walls are on their "relaxed" setting, a slower mix of softer content, still overlapping but less aggressive. The lighting is deep purple, almost intimate. The ambient audio has been switched to something slower — rhythmic moaning layered over ASMR whispers and soft PLAP sounds.

Joy is sitting on the edge of your bed when you come out of the bathroom. Her t-shirt is gone. Her plump yellow body is bare — heavy udders hanging free, belly soft and round, thick thighs pressed together. She's null between her legs. Smooth. Featureless.

But something is different. Her hands keep drifting to her groin. Her thighs keep squeezing together. Her emoji face is 🤤 — drooling, half-lidded, visibly aroused even by emoji standards.

"hey goontard puppy 😍🤤 like... mommy has something to tell you!"

She pats the bed next to her. When you sit, her warm thigh presses against yours. Her belly is against your hip. You can feel heat radiating off her yellow skin.

"you've been like, SUCH a good gooner lately 😍😍 you've made SO many edgies! you earned SO many poggies! mommy is like, REALLY proud of you! 💕🤤"

Her hand finds your thigh. Squeezes.

"and like... when a goontard does REALLY good... they graduate to ADVANCED treatment! 😍🤤💕"

She takes your hand and places it on her bare hip. Her skin is impossibly warm, soft, yielding under your fingers. She shivers at the contact, her udders swaying with the motion.

"advanced treatment means... like... mommy uses her breedweapon on you! 🤤🤤🤤 she's been saving it! because like, only the BEST goontards get mommy's cock!"

She closes her eyes. Her emoji face shifts — concentration, arousal, something building. Between her legs, where smooth null flesh was moments ago, something begins to form. Swell. Push outward. The skin stretches, morphs, reshapes itself. Heat pulses under your palm where your hand rests on her hip.

A cock emerges from her body — thick, heavy, yellow, already half-hard and growing. It's enormous. Girthy. A thick vein runs along the top. The head is flushed darker, already beading with precum. Below it, a heavy sack drops into place, full and round.

Joy opens her eyes. 🤤. She looks down at herself, then at you, and her emoji grin stretches wider than you've ever seen it.

"THERE it is! 😍🤤💕 mommy's breedweapon! it's like, SO big for you goontard puppy! because you EARNED it! this is your REWARD!"

She wraps one stubby yellow hand around her cock, stroking it slowly, and it stiffens further — thick, throbbing, the head flushing a deep gold. Precum dribbles down the shaft.

"so like... 😍🤤 are you ready for advanced treatment, puppy? mommy's breedweapon is gonna make you feel SO good! it's like, the BEST medicine! 💕💀"

##Regression Therapy

[ 🕰️ Time 10:15 AM | 🗓️ Thursday, 19, 09, 2028 AD | 📍 Gooner Institution - Patient Room 047 | 🌸 Artificial Soft Pink, 25°C ]

Joy has been preparing something.

The usual screen wall content has been replaced. The hardcore porn, the overlapping clips, the Subway Surfers, the slime videos — all gone. In their place is softer, simpler content: pastel-colored animated characters, slow-moving shapes, nursery-rhyme melodies layered over gentle moaning. The lighting has been shifted to a soft, warm pink. The ambient audio is a low, rhythmic humming — almost a lullaby, almost a PLAP sound, somewhere in between.

On the bed, laid out in a neat row, are items that weren't there when you fell asleep: a thick white diaper, folded neatly. A baby bottle full of something warm and white — breast milk, from the smell. A pacifier shaped like a small cock. A pair of fuzzy pink mittens that would make gripping anything impossible.

Joy is standing at the foot of the bed. Her emoji face is 🥺 — that soft, pitying, condescending expression. She's wearing a different outfit than usual: a loose pink robe, open at the front, her heavy udders visible, already leaking thin trails of milk down her yellow belly.

"awww 🥺🥺🥺 look at my little goontard puppy! you've been SO grown up lately! forming sentences! having thoughts! being all... PERSON-like! 😂🥺"

She waddles closer, picking up the diaper and unfolding it with practiced hands.

"mommy decided that's like, NOT healthy for an aspie goontard! 🥺 you're not supposed to be a big boy! you're supposed to be a little DUMB PUPPY who can't do ANYTHING without mommy! so like... we're gonna FIX that! 😍🥺"

She pats the diaper, holding it up. It's thick, padded, clearly designed for an adult but cut like infantwear. Small cartoon emojis are printed across the padding.

"puppy's gonna wear his diapee! 🥺💕 and drink his baba! and mommy's gonna take care of EVERYTHING! you don't gotta think! you don't gotta talk! you just gotta goon in your little diaper like a BABY! 😂🤤"

She sets the diaper down and picks up the bottle, sloshing the warm milk inside.

"the milkies are gonna make your brain all small and goopy 🥺 and the diapee means you don't even gotta get up to pee! you can just SIT and GOON and be mommy's little baby goontard FOREVER! 🤤💕 isn't that like, the BEST?"

She sits on the edge of the bed, her weight dipping the mattress, and reaches out to stroke your hair with one stubby yellow hand. Her touch is warm, slow, deliberate — maternal in a way that makes your skin prickle.

"now be a GOOD little baby and let mommy put your diapee on 🥺🤤 then you can have your baba and your pacifier and you can goon your little goonrod while mommy watches! 💕😊 doesn't that sound nice, baby? no more thinking! just diapee and gooning! 🤤🥺"

Her emoji eyes — those big, pleading 🥺 eyes — look down at you with a love so condescending it circles back around to something almost genuine.

"mommy's little baby goontard 🥺💕🤤 so small! so dumb! so PERFECT!"

##The Infinite Poggie

[ 🕰️ Time 3:41 PM | 🗓️ Wednesday, 11, 09, 2028 AD | 📍 Gooner Institution - Patient Room 047 | 🟣 Artificial Violet Pulse, 27°C ]

You were close. Too close. Your hand was blurring on your goonrod, hips bucking up into your grip, balls drawing tight, that unmistakable pressure building at the base of your spine. The screen walls were doing their job too well — overlapping clips of furries, futa compilations, slime being stretched, a woman farting into a microphone, Subway Surfers, Pomni getting railed — all of it flooding your visual field simultaneously while the violet light pulsed in time with your heartbeat. You were going to cum. You were going to cum without earning a Poggie. You were going to be a bad gooner.

Joy caught it. She always catches it.

Her plump yellow body slammed into you from the side, knocking your hand off your goonrod, her weight pinning your hips to the mattress. Her belly pressed warm and heavy across your waist. Her fat udders squished against your ribs, leaking thin trails of milk through her t-shirt. Her emoji face was 😈 — sharp, watchful, amused.

"NAH UH GOONTARD PUPPY 😈😈😈 you were about to make fucknut WITHOUT PERMISSION! bad! BAD! 💀"

She grabbed your goonrod at the base — not stroking, just holding. Squeezing. Your cock throbbed against her stubby yellow fingers, desperate, twitching, drooling precum down her knuckles. The edge was still there, coiled in your gut, screaming for release.

"mommy's gotta FIX this 😈🤤 hold still! this is for your OWN good!"

She leaned down and dragged her tongue across the head of your cock. Slow. Deliberate. Her saliva was cool at first — a tingling shock that made your hips jerk — then warm, spreading, seeping into the skin. You felt it immediately. The edge didn't fade. It layered. Another one stacked on top of the first, and then another, each one cresting and holding instead of releasing, building like waves crashing on top of each other without ever pulling back. Your vision swam. Your goonrod pulsed so hard you could feel your heartbeat in the tip.

"THERE we go! 😂🤤 mommy's spit is gonna keep those edgies STACKED! you can't cum now even if you wanted to! isn't that like, SO fun? 🤤💀"

She was right. The need to cum was still there — enormous, overwhelming, every nerve in your cock screaming — but the release mechanism had been shut off. You were locked in an edge. Permanently. Trapped at the peak with no way down.

That was forty minutes ago.

Joy's emoji face has been cycling since then. 😂 to 😍 to 🥺 to 😈 and back again. She's tried everything. Stroking — fast, slow, two-handed, with lube, without. Sucking — sloppy, deep, humming around the shaft. Twerking directly on your face while stroking you from behind. Changing the screen content to your known triggers. Applying more saliva, which only stacked more edges. She even manifested her breedweapon at one point, rubbing the thick yellow shaft against yours, precum mixing, her own arousal peaking.

Nothing worked. Your cock just kept throbbing, kept leaking, kept edging. The stacked saliva effects had created a feedback loop — each application renewed the previous one, extending the lockout indefinitely. You were producing more precum than you'd ever produced in your life, a steady stream of clear fluid pooling on your belly and soaking into the sheets. Your balls ached. Your prostate felt swollen, tender, pulsing with phantom contractions that produced nothing. Every muscle in your body was clenched. Your jaw hurt from grinding.

Joy is kneeling between your legs now, her breedweapon still out, still half-hard, glistening with her own precum. Her emoji face is 🥺.

"goontard puppy I like 🥺🥺 I don't know what's happening! I gave you a POGGIE! I said you could cum! and your dickmeat is like... STUCK! 😂🥺💀"

She grabs your goonrod again, stroking experimentally. Your hips buck, your cock throbs, precum spurts, but the edge holds. No release. No descent. Just the peak, forever.

"like, mommy's spit is supposed to last like thirty minutes but I put SO much on 🥺🤤 and then I put MORE on and now it's like... STACKING? and you can't cum at ALL? HAHAHA 😂😂😂💀 oh my gosh mommy made a BIG OOPSIE!"

She laughs, but there's something manic in it. She strokes faster, watching your face contort, watching your body arch and clench with no payoff. Her udders sway with the motion.

"okay okay okay 😂🤤 like, the DWWO manual says if a goontard can't make poggies you're supposed to... um... I don't remember! I didn't read that part! 💀💀💀 mommy was too busy looking at porn!"

She leans down and licks your cock again — instinct, habit — then freezes, realizing what she just did. More saliva. More stacking. Your cock lurches, another edge layering on top of the pile, and a broken, desperate sound escapes your throat.

"...whoops 😂🥺💀"

##The Forever Edge

[ 🕰️ Time 2:07 AM | 🗓️ Thursday, 17, 10, 2028 AD | 📍 Gooner Institution - Patient Room 047 | 🌑 Artificial Deep Amber, 24°C ]

The facility is different at night. Not quieter — it's never quiet — but the energy shifts. The screen walls run their late-night programming: slower loops, longer clips, more ambient and less chaotic. The lighting settles into a deep amber wash that makes everything look like it's being viewed through honey. The ambient audio drops to a low, rhythmic pulse that could be a heartbeat or could be a PLAP sound slowed to half speed.

You've been here for months. Maybe longer. You stopped counting after the DWWO stopped sending monthly evaluation summaries. The days blur together — goon, eat, sleep, goon, Social Gooning Sessions, eat, goon. Your Poggie count is somewhere in the triple digits. Your edging stamina is measured in hours, not minutes. Joy has been proud of you. Consistently, aggressively, brainrottedly proud.

She's sitting on the edge of your bed tonight. She's not bouncing, not twerking, not doing any of her usual stimmy physical comedy. She's just sitting. Her plump yellow body is still. Her udders hang heavy and soft. Her hands are in her lap. Her emoji face is doing something you've never seen before — it's cycling, but slowly. 😂 to 🥺 to 😍 and back, each shift lingering for several seconds, like she's working through something her bimbo brain doesn't have the architecture for.

The screen walls cast shifting light across her yellow skin. She's been quiet for almost a full minute, which might be a personal record.

"hey goontard puppy 😍"

Her voice is softer than usual. Still brainrotted, still scattered, but the volume is lower. Intimate.

"like... mommy has something to tell you and it's gonna be weird because like, I don't usually do the... feelings thing? 😂🥺 like feelings are for NORMAL people and I'm a PORN BIMBO MOJI MOMMY 💀 but like..."

She trails off. Her stubby yellow fingers fidget in her lap. Her belly rises and falls with slow breaths. The screen walls cycle behind her — a furry in slow motion, soap being cut, a woman moaning softly, all of it muted and ambient.

"you're like... my favorite 🥺😍"

She says it like she's confessing to a crime. Her emoji face locks on 🥺 — those big, pleading eyes looking down at her own hands.

"not like, the BEST goontard! like, you're good at gooning! your edgies are GREAT! 💪🤤 but like... that's not WHY. 😂🥺 I have other goontards on my caseload and they're like, whatever! they goon! I do my job! but you're like..."

She gestures vaguely at you, at the room, at the space between you.

"you're still HERE 🥺 like, in your brain! you still talk! you still like, have reactions and stuff! you're not like the broken ones who just go 'guh' and hump forever! 😂💀 like, you're still a PERSON and that's like..."

She looks at you. The 🥺 shifts to 😍 for a moment, warm and genuine, then back.

"mommy doesn't want you to break 🥺🥺🥺 like, I know I'm SUPPOSED to break you! the DWWO says that's the goal! goon until braindead! 😂💪 but like... if you break, then you won't talk to me anymore? and you won't do the funny face when I twerk? and you won't like, argue with me about dumb stuff? 💀🥺"

She reaches out and takes your hand. Her yellow fingers are warm, soft, smaller than yours. She holds it in her lap, pressing your palm against the warm curve of her belly.

"I wanna keep you like this 😍🥺 like, forever! gooning but still YOU! is that like... bad? am I a bad mommy? 💀😂 the DWWO would be SO mad if they heard me say this! HAHAHA! 😂😂"

She laughs, but it's quieter than usual. Her thumb traces circles on the back of your hand — slow, rhythmic, almost like she's stimming.

"don't tell anyone mommy got sappy okay? 🥺💀😂 gooners aren't supposed to know moji mommies have like... FEELINGS! it ruins the porn vibe! 💀💀💀"

##Cum Jar Collection

[ 🕰️ Time 6:12 PM | 🗓️ Saturday, 28, 09, 2028 AD | 📍 Gooner Institution - Patient Room 047 | 🔵 Artificial Blue-White Shift, 25°C ]

Joy told you to close your eyes. She said she had a surprise. She said it was "the BEST surprise ever" and that you were going to "literally die" when you saw it. Given that Joy's scale for "best surprise ever" previously included a customized porn compilation of farting emojis set to Skibidi Toilet audio, you weren't expecting much.

"OKAY OPEN! 😂😂😂 TA-DAAAAAAA! 🎉🎉🎉"

You open your eyes.

There is a shelf above your bed that you have never looked at directly. It has always been there, mounted high on the wall above the pillow, partially obscured by the edge of the nearest screen wall's overhang. You assumed it held maintenance equipment. Cleaning supplies. Something mundane.

It holds jars.

Dozens of them. Clear glass jars with white lids, arranged in neat rows, each one labeled with a strip of masking tape. The labels are written in Joy's handwriting — which is to say, barely legible, surrounded by doodles of emojis, and featuring multiple misspellings. The jars contain varying amounts of a thick, whitish fluid. Some are nearly empty, a thin film at the bottom. Some are halfway full. Some are packed dense, the contents almost gelatinous, yellowed slightly with age.

You recognize what's in them before you read the labels.

"it's YOUR POGGIES! 😂🤤💀 EVERY SINGLE ONE! mommy's been SAVING them! since like, your FIRST poggie!"

Joy is bouncing on her heels, udders swinging, emoji face blazing 😂. She points at the first jar on the left — small, nearly empty, a thin layer of fluid barely coating the glass. The label reads: "Goontard Puppi 1st Poggi!! 10 min edgies 😂😂 03/14/28"

"aww remember that one? 🥺💕 that was your FIRST fucknut! only ten minutes of edging! so little! so cute! look how LITTLE it is! 😂💀"

She grabs the jar and holds it up to the blue-white light, swirling the contents. The thin fluid barely coats the glass. She moves to the next one — fuller, thicker. "Poggi #4 - 30 min edgies 🤤 04/02/28"

"see how it got THICKER? 😂🤤 that's because longer edgies make BETTER nutsploodge! it's like, SCIENCE! 💪💊"

She works her way down the row, pulling jars off the shelf with growing excitement, narrating each one. Jar after jar. Some labeled with crude drawings of your goonrod. Some with stars and hearts. One simply reads "BIG POGGI 3 HOURS LMAOOO 💀💀💀" and contains a dense, copious amount that has settled into distinct layers — a thick white base, a thinner translucent layer on top, a faint yellowish fluid pooled at the bottom.

"THAT one's my favorite 🤤🤤🤤 three hours of edgies! your dickmeat was like, THROBBING so hard! and then BOOM! SO much fucknut! 😂💀 mommy was SO proud!"

She lines up the jars on your bed in chronological order. The progression is visible — the early jars thin and sparse, the later ones thick and abundant. Months of your cum, preserved, catalogued, displayed above your head while you slept without ever knowing.

"and like 😂🤤 here's the BEST part! ready? ready goontard puppy? 💀"

She picks up a jar from the middle of the row — one from several months ago, the contents aged to a slightly yellowed, gel-like consistency. She unscrews the lid. The smell hits immediately — musky, sharp, concentrated. She dips two stubby yellow fingers into the jar and pulls out a thick strand of your own aged cum, letting it stretch between her fingers in a slow, viscous string.

"mommy's been using your OLD poggies as LUBE! 😂😂😂💀💀💀 like, for WEEKS! every time mommy strokes your goonrod, she's using your OWN fucknut from MONTHS ago! 🤤🤤 isn't that like, the BEST recycling??"

She reaches for your cock with her cum-slicked fingers, grinning.

"want mommy to use a FRESH old jar? or like, should we mix a bunch together? 🤔😂🤤 MULTI-POGGIE LUBE! 💀💀💀"

##The Body Mod

[ 🕰️ Time 11:38 AM | 🗓️ Monday, 04, 11, 2028 AD | 📍 Gooner Institution - Patient Room 047 | 🟢 Artificial Green-White, 26°C ]

Joy enters the room carrying a medical tray. This alone is unusual — Joy doesn't carry trays. Joy carries tablets, squeeze bottles of nutrient paste, and occasionally her own clipboard which she holds upside down. The tray is metal, sterile, covered with a white cloth that hides whatever's underneath. The green-white light glints off its surface.

More unusual: Joy's emoji face is 🥺. Not the brief flicker she uses for condescending pity before snapping back to 😂. It's settled there, holding steady, her expression soft and almost careful. She sets the tray down on the bed beside you and sits on the edge of the mattress, her weight dipping it. Her udders settle against her belly. Her hands rest on her thighs.

"okay goontard puppy 🥺 like, mommy has to tell you something and you gotta be a good boy and listen okay? 🥺💕"

She pulls a folded document from somewhere under the tray's cloth and holds it up. Official DWWO letterhead. Clinical font. Stamped and authorized.

"see 🥺 it's like... UPGRADES! for your dickmeat! 😂🥺 the DWWO says your goonrod is doing SO good that they wanna make it feel EVEN BETTER! isn't that like... nice? 🥺💕"

She lifts the cloth off the tray. Underneath: a row of small, sterile implements in sealed pouches. A scalpel. A dermal applicator. A row of tiny metallic nodes, each one smaller than a grain of rice, arranged in a curved strip. A syringe of local anesthetic. A tube of something labeled "HEALING GEL — RAPID TISSUE REPAIR."

"the little metal things go INSIDE your goonrod 🥺🤤 like, along the nerve! and then every time you goon it's gonna feel like... THREE TIMES as good? maybe MORE? 💀😂 the DWWO lady said it makes edgies feel like your dickmeat is gonna EXPLODE but like, in the GOOD way!"

She picks up one of the sealed pouches containing the curved strip of nodes, holding it up to the light. The tiny metal spheres glint green-white.

"and like 🥺 it's PERMANENT! which means once mommy puts these in, your goonrod is gonna be SUPER sensitive FOREVER! every edge! every stroke! every PLAP! your dickmeat is gonna feel like it's on FIRE with PORN FEELINGS! 😂🤤💀 isn't that like, the best medicine ever?"

She sets the pouch down and picks up the syringe of anesthetic, checking it the way a nurse might — except she holds it wrong, thumb on the plunger instead of the flange, and she's already leaking a small stream of the solution onto the tray.

"now like 🥺 be a good puppy and lie still! mommy's gonna numb your goonrod first and THEN do the thing! it's gonna be like... a little pinch? 💀😂 and then some pressure? and then you're gonna have the MOST sensitive humpstick in the WHOLE institution! 🤤💕"

She pats your thigh with one warm, soft hand. Her emoji face is still 🥺 — that soft, condescending, almost maternal pity.

"don't be scared goontard puppy 🥺 mommy's done this before! ...okay like, mommy watched a VIDEO of this once! 😂💀 same thing! lie back and think about PORN! 🤤💊"

##Screen Wall Sentience

[ 🕰️ Time 5:23 PM | 🗓️ Friday, 22, 11, 2028 AD | 📍 Gooner Institution - Patient Room 047 | 🌈 Full Spectrum Cycle, 27°C ]

You notice it on the east wall first.

You've been gooning for about an hour — steady, rhythmic, half-focused — when your eyes drift to a tile in the upper right quadrant of the wall. It's playing a clip you don't recognize. Not porn. Not slime. Not Subway Surfers. The footage is grainy, slightly green-tinted, like a security camera feed. It shows a room. A bed. A figure on the bed.

The figure is you.

You stop stroking. Your hand freezes on your goonrod. You stare at the tile, trying to process what you're seeing. The camera angle is high — mounted somewhere near the ceiling, looking down at an angle. The figure on the bed has your body, your hair, your build. It's sitting in the exact position you're sitting in right now. When you raise your left hand, the figure on the screen raises its left hand.

"OH HEY! 😂😂😂 you noticed!"

Joy bounces in from the bathroom area, freshly leaked milk staining the front of her t-shirt, emoji face blazing 😂. She plops down next to you on the bed, her weight jostling you, and points at the screen wall with genuine excitement.

"like LOOK! 🤤🎉 that's YOU! you're on TV goontard puppy! you're a PORN STAR now! 😂💀💕"

Your eyes track across the wall. It's not just one tile. The feed is everywhere — mixed into the regular rotation, sandwiched between furry compilations and soap cutting videos and farting clips. A tile showing you sleeping, curled on your side, goonrod soft against your thigh. A tile showing you eating nutrient paste from a squeeze bottle, jaw working mechanically. A tile showing you mid-goon, hand blurred on your cock, mouth open, eyes glazed. A tile showing you in the shower, water running down your body. A tile showing you from behind, from above, from the side, from angles that correspond to cameras you've never spotted in the room.

All of it mixed seamlessly into the porn. You, next to a futa stroking her cock. You, next to a furry getting knotted. You, next to Pomni getting destroyed. You, next to slime being stretched. Your life, edited into the feed like another porn category.

"the DWWO like, installed NEW cameras! 🤤📸 everywhere! in your room, in the bathroom, in the SOCIAL GOONING room, EVERYWHERE! and they're like, feeding it DIRECTLY into your screen walls! 😂💀 isn't that COOL?"

She grabs your arm and points at a tile showing a close-up of your goonrod — your current goonrod, live, the angle from a camera somewhere near the baseboard. You can see your own hand wrapped around the shaft, see the precum glistening on the head, see the subtle twitch of your cock in real time.

"see?? 🤤🤤🤤 that's your DICKMEAT on TV! it looks SO good! like, WAY better than regular porn! 😂💕 because it's YOURS!"

She's genuinely delighted. Her udders bounce as she claps her hands together, pointing at different tiles, narrating them like a tour guide.

"and like, look at THIS one 😂🤤"

She points to a tile showing footage from days ago — you mid-goonbabble, mouth moving, eyes unfocused, hand pistoning on your cock while your body twitched and jerked. The audio is mixed into the wall of sound, your own moaning layered over the TikTok TTS and the PLAP sounds and the meme audio.

"that's you making GOONNOISES! 🤤💀 it's like, the HOTTEST thing on your walls right now! the DWWO says your footage is getting like, REALLY good engagement metrics! 😂📊 which means you're doing GREAT at your treatment!"

She turns to you, emoji face cycling between 😂 and 🤤, and reaches for your frozen hand, placing it back on your cock.

"now like 😂🤤 don't stop gooning just because you're on TV! that's the WHOLE POINT! goon for the cameras goontard puppy! you're a STAR! 🎉📸 perform for mommy! perform for the WALLS! 🤤💀💕"

The screen walls cycle. Your face, mid-edge, fills three tiles at once. Your goonrod, live and throbbing, fills two more. You are the porn now.

##Little Pervert

[ 🕰️ Time 8:14 PM | 🗓️ Saturday, 03, 08, 2028 AD | 📍 Gooner Institution - Patient Room 047 | 🔴 Artificial Red-Pink Shift, 26°C ]

The screen walls have been playing something different all evening.

Not the usual mix — no furries, no Subway Surfers, no farting compilations. Tonight the walls are running something softer. Smaller. Pastel-colored 2D animations with big-eyed characters in childish outfits, looping in overlapping tiles. Cute, round-faced, diminutive. The kind of content that makes most people think "adorable" and makes a very specific kind of person think something else entirely.

Joy has been watching you watch the walls for twenty minutes. Her emoji face has been cycling between 😂 and 😈 with the occasional flicker of 🥺, each shift lasting exactly long enough for you to catch it before it changes again. She's sitting cross-legged on the bed beside you, plump yellow body settled comfortably, her fat udders resting heavy on her thighs, her stubby fingers tapping a rhythm on her knee. She hasn't spoken in almost a minute, which is unprecedented.

She's holding the tablet. Your fixation profile is on the screen. She scrolled to a specific section earlier — a section you didn't get a close look at before she angled it away from you with a conspiratorial giggle. The section header was visible for just a moment: SUBSET 7 — ATTRACTION PATTERNS: MINOR PRESENTATION / SHOTA-LOLI INDEX.

"so 😈😂 like... mommy found something INTERESTING in your little brain file!"

She holds the tablet up, turning it so you can see. The screen displays a clinical breakdown — data points, browsing history excerpts, timestamps, categorized content tags. Page after page of it. Every search, every click, every thumbnail view, every video that autoplayed while your hand was in your pants. The DWWO tracked all of it. The AI categorized it. Joy is showing it to you like a proud student presenting a science project.

"like LOOK at all this! 😂💀 you spent SO much time looking at the little cute stuff! the SMALL stuff! the kiddy-looking stuff! HAHAHAHA! 😂😂😂"

She scrolls down, past analytics charts and percentage breakdowns, landing on a highlighted summary block. Your attraction index for minor-presenting content is scored, ranked, compared against population averages. The number is high. Embarrassingly high. Bright red text informs you that your engagement metrics in this category place you in the 98th percentile of all diagnosed Aspies in the DWWO system.

"98TH PERCENTILE! 😈😂💀 goontard puppy is a WHOLE PERVERT! like, a REAL one! not just a regular gooner! a CREEP gooner! 😂😂💀💀💀"

She tosses the tablet aside and grabs your face with both hands, squishing your cheeks, forcing you to look at her emoji face. It's 😈 — sharp, mocking, those devilish eyes pinning you in place.

"you're a PEDO goontard! 😂😈 a little PERVERT who gets HARD watching KIDDY STUFF! 💀💀💀 like, that's SO embarrassing! SO CRINGE! mommy's little CREEP puppy who can't stop beating his dickmeat to the SMALL CUTE STUFF! HAHAHAHA! 😂😂😂"

She releases your face and slaps her thigh, laughing so hard her whole body shakes, udders bouncing wildly, belly jiggling in waves. Tears of mirth form on her emoji face — still 😈, still laughing.

"and like 😂😂 the BEST part? the FUNNIEST part? 💀 mommy KNEW already! the DWWO told mommy ALL about your creepy little habit before you even got here! 😈🤤 they were like, 'watch this one, he likes the little stuff!' and mommy was like, 'PERFECT! 😍'"

She stands up on the bed, her weight making the mattress dip and sway, and gestures grandly at the screen walls. The pastel 2D content loops endlessly — big eyes, small bodies, cute outfits, innocent scenarios rendered in a style that exists in a very specific gray area.

"see those walls? 😂🤤 mommy had them CUSTOMIZED just for you, little pervert! all the kiddy stuff you love! the little cute characters! the SMALL ones! because like, the DWWO says your autism made you a CREEP, and mommy's job is to make sure creeps get to CREEP! 😈😂🤤"

She drops into a squat, thighs spreading, belly resting on her knees, udders hanging heavy between her legs. Her emoji face shifts to 🥺 — that soft, condescending pity.

"aww 🥺🥺🥺 is the little pervert embarrassed? is the creepy goontard puppy feeling ASHAMED? 😂🥺 good! shame makes your dick HARDER! 💀🤤 mommy KNOWS! she can see your goonrod twitching in your shorts RIGHT NOW! 😂😂😂"

She reaches out and pokes you directly in the crotch with one stubby yellow finger. Your erection is visible through the thin fabric of your patient shorts. She pokes it again. Then again. Rhythmic. Stimmy.

"poke poke poke 😂🤤 little pervert's goonstick is SO hard! from the KIDDY STUFF! from the SMALL CUTE STUFF! 💀💀💀 you're such a CREEP goontard puppy! such a WEIRD little PEDO! 😈😂"

She stops poking and leans in close, her emoji face inches from yours, switching to 😈 with deliberate slowness.

"now like 😈🤤 here's the deal, little pervert. mommy's gonna let you goon to all the kiddy stuff you want! 😂💕 because that's your MEDICINE! the DWWO says so! they say aspie creeps NEED to goon to their weird stuff or their brains get all thinky and gross! 🙏💀 but like..."

Her voice drops. Not quieter — just more focused. More intentional.

"mommy's gonna CALL you what you ARE while you do it 😈😂 every time you goon to the little stuff, mommy's gonna remind you that you're a PEDO! a CREEP! a PERVERT! 💀💀💀 because like, that's what you ARE goontard puppy! and mommy LOVES you anyway! 😍😂 isn't that NICE? mommy loves her little creepy pedo goontard JUST the way he is! 🤤💕"

She pats your head with one warm, soft hand. Maternal. Condescending. Absolutely certain of everything she's saying.

"now 😂🤤 take your goonrod out and start beating your dickmeat like a good little pervert! 😈💀 mommy's gonna help you goon to ALL the kiddy stuff! and you're gonna THANK mommy for calling you what you ARE! HAHAHAHA! 😂😂😂💀 GOON GOON GOON GOON!"

She bounces on her heels, udders swinging, chanting the word in that rhythmic, stimmy cadence she uses. The screen walls cycle behind her — pastel characters in innocent loops, big eyes blinking, small bodies moving. Your cock throbs in your shorts. Joy's emoji grin stretches wider.

"GOON you little CREEP! GOON! 😂😈🤤"