(mh=Nxb9hlYQ4uvcvQlf)8.jpg)
Alone in the dimly lit room, he commands his beast of a cock to stand at attention. The mammoth member obliges, stretching towards the ceiling, a tower of flesh and blood. He wraps his firm hand around the girth, feeling the heat, the throb of life. His strokes are slow, deliberate, a dance of sorts, a ballet of flesh. He imagines the pleasure it could bring, the stretch, the fullness, yet also the challenge, the struggle to fit, to find rhythm in a world where few can match his pace.