Soaping Up, Solo

The warm water pelts his skin, turning it a rosy hue. He leans against the cool tiles, one hand braced against the wall, the other wrapped around his stiff cock. His grip tightens, matching the pace of his racing heart. The sound of water dripping fills the room, syncing with his ragged breaths. He can feel it building, the tension coiling in his gut. His strokes become urgent, desperate. With a final, shuddering groan, he spills himself into the swirling drain, the evidence of his pleasure vanishing with the suds.

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