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Day 20 dawns, and our gainer is a powder keg of pent-up desire. Eggnog, a liquid sin, taunts him from its mug. He's alone, his Findom's voice a distant echo, her commands his only guide. His hand wraps around his cock, a slow, torturous dance. His body responds, muscles clenching, his breath ragged. He's a study in denial, his cum a prisoner of his self-control. The room is a symphony of his struggle, his grunts of pleasure-pain echoing off the walls. He's a slave to his kink, a master of his needs.