Stubble-Stroking Solitude

Llamasr, in the throes of self-pleasure, reflects on his personal grooming habits, his hand caressing his bare head, remembering the days of long hair and the discomfort it brought. His baldness, now a badge of honor, allows him the freedom to indulge in his desires without restriction. He grips his erection, feeling the heat and wetness, his strokes matching the rhythm of his thoughts. His body tenses, his breath hitches, and with a final, forceful stroke, he finds his release, his seed spilling over his hand, a testament to his primal, unrestrained lust.

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