John-Mccorry, alone in his sanctuary, allows his desires to take over. He slowly undresses, his cock already stiff and ready for attention. He sits back, legs spread, and begins to touch himself, his fingers tracing the veins of his shaft, his thumb rubbing over the sensitive head. His strokes are slow and deliberate, building a steady rhythm, his body responding with little shudders of pleasure. His other hand wanders, cupping his balls, teasing his taint, before moving to his ass, a forbidden touch that makes him gasp. His strokes become faster, more frenzied, his body arching as he comes, his cum painting his stomach in thick, white stripes.