Milking the Morning Wood

A man, eyes still heavy with sleep, wraps his hand around his morning stiffness. Slowly, he strokes, feeling the blood pulse through his length. His grip tightens, his pace quickens, and as the pleasure peaks, he feels the familiar surge. Hot, sticky, it coats his fingers, his belly, a testament to his self-pleasure, the room now filled with the intimate scent of his release.

• paja
• leche

• Unknown