Soft, Slow Saturday Surrender

Disappointed by the lack of company, he retreats to his room, his hand already moving to his crotch. He frees his soft cock, letting it rest in his palm. The Triffids' melancholic tunes fill the room as he begins to stroke, his cock slowly plumping in his grip. He teases the foreskin over the head, feeling the ridges, the familiar yet comforting sensation. His strokes become firmer, his breath hitching as he nears the edge, his cum pulsing out, coating his hand and cock in warm, sticky streams.

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