Solo Boy Worships His Monster Cock
The room is filled with the scent of sandalwood and the sound of soft incantations. A young man, his body lean and muscled, stands before a makeshift altar, his eyes closed in concentration. He is not praying to a deity carved from stone or wood, but to the flesh and blood god that rests heavily in his lap. His hands, slick with oil, move with practiced reverence, sliding up and down the veined shaft, coaxing it to life. He feels the pulse of power, the throb of desire, and he knows he is on the precipice of enlightenment. He quickens his pace, his breath coming in short gasps, his body tensing as he nears his goal. And then, with a cry that echoes through the room, he finds his release, his body shuddering as he offers his sacrifice to the altar.