Lonely Lad Strokes His Meat

The room is dimly lit, the air heavy with anticipation as the solitary figure begins his private dance. His hand, steady and sure, wraps around his rigid length, moving with a practiced ease. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, a symphony of solo pleasure. His body tenses, muscles clenching as he nears the edge, his grip tightening, strokes becoming more urgent. With a final, shuddering gasp, he finds his release, his body convulsing as he paints his chest with his hot, sticky seed.

• para
• soloboy

• Unknown