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With a mischievous grin, he starts, his monster barely contained in his boxers. He teases it out, letting it spring free, already hard and eager. His hand wraps around it, feeling the pulse of life. Slow, tantalizing strokes, up and down, base to tip. His breathing picks up, his body responds, but he's in control. He's the puppeteer, his dick the puppet, dancing to his rhythm. The room fills with his grunts, the sound of flesh on flesh, the wet sounds of his pre-cum making his strokes slicker. But he won't let go, not yet. Not until he's had his fill of this delicious torment.