The Rhythm of His Fist

Lost in the throes of self-love, the Wanker's fist becomes his lover, his tool of pleasure. He grips his throbbing cock, his fingers tracing the pulsing vein along its length. His rhythm is steady, relentless, a primal beat that echoes in his chest. His breath comes in ragged gasps, each exhale carrying a low moan. His body tenses, his stomach clenching as he nears the edge. With a final, powerful stroke, he topples over, his cock pulsing, his cum coating his hand, a testament to his solo symphony of sin.

• wanker

• Unknown