Solitude's Sweet Torture

In the dim light, the soloboy's hand moves in a steady rhythm, his grip firm, his touch expert. His body tenses, his breath comes in short gasps, yet he remains silent, his moans unheard, his release unseen. The room bears witness to his private dance of desire, the air thick with the scent of his arousal, the only sound the soft rustle of fabric against skin.

• soloboy
• masturbat

• Unknown