Stroke of Midnight: Unseen Pleasures

As the clock strikes twelve, he retreats to his room, the rest of the house silent. The weight of the day melts away as he undresses, his body aching for release. He sits back on his bed, the headboard creaking softly as he leans against it. His hand wraps around his hardening length, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through him. He imagines unseen hands, soft lips, the sensation intensifying. His grip tightens, his strokes quicker, Until finally, with a low groan, he finds his release, his body tensing, then relaxing as he drifts off to sleep, sated and content.

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