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In the privacy of his room, he dons the kimono and obi, tying the belt with a flourish. He admires his reflection, running a hand over the smooth fabric, feeling the contrast of the silk against his skin. His cock hardens at the sight, tenting the front of his gown. He sits on the futon, his legs tucked beneath him, and begins to stroke himself through the fabric. The sensation is exquisite, the silk soft and smooth, the friction just enough to drive him wild. He imagines being watched, being desired, and his hand moves faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He comes undone, his body convulsing as he spills into the silk, leaving a damp patch that he knows he'll have to hide.