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Every Sunday, Daddy indulges in his private ritual, a marathon of verbal tease and physical pleasure. In his dimly lit, incense-filled room, he begins, his hand slowly stroking his already hardening cock. "Good boy," he whispers to himself, his voice heavy with anticipation. He edges himself, bringing himself close to the brink before backing off, his body tensing with the effort to hold back. His breath hitches, his voice grows huskier as he talks himself through each wave of pleasure. The room fills with the sound of his slick hand moving rhythmically, his moans and grunts punctuating his verbal guidance.