Unseen Hands, Unbridled Passion

The solo boy's room is filled with the soft sounds of his own moans and the rhythmic rustling of sheets. He's a puppet master, his hands his puppets, dancing a lewd ballet on his rigid cock. He arches his back, pushing into his own grip, his other hand wandering, teasing his balls, his ass, his chest. His body is a canvas of pleasure, his mind a whirlwind of fantasies. He's a symphony of one, playing a solo of desire, his climax the crescendo, leaving him breathless and sated.

• soloboy

• Unknown