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Bared feet twitch as a random yet authoritative text message arrives. "Do you have socks on? Shove one in, now. Bury." The recipient, a solo male, hesitates, then complies, pushing the soft cotton into his tight asshole. The game begins, his heart pounding as he awaits further instruction. The socks are replaced, one by one, each time stretching him wider, pushing him closer to the edge. He gasps, fingers dancing over his prostate, as the final sock disappears. His ass gapes, ready for more, but Sir's silence is deafening. He waits, desperate, until another message arrives: "Milk it. Now."