The Sensual Soliloquy

A whisper of a touch ignites a storm of sensation. He starts slow, his palm gliding along his erection, feeling every vein, every ridge. The room is his confessional, the shadows his counsel. His breath hitches, his grip tightens, as he picks up the pace, chasing the high only he can give himself. The tension builds, his body a bowstring ready to snap, until with a final, guttural groan, he finds his release, his essence spilling forth like a secret told.

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