Derec

Derec cuts straight to the chase, no frills, no fuss. He's here for his daily ritual: jacking off. This routine hits him once or twice a day, like clockwork. His personal best? Four or five times in twenty-four hours—must've been a slow day, boredom gnawing at him like an itch. He shrugs off his on-again, off-again girlfriend with the same easy indifference; she thinks he's out modeling today, strutting for some camera. He peels off his jeans. There's his cock, already hard as steel, straining to break free. He reaches in, wraps his hand around it, and strokes. It's a monster, thick and veined, the kind that makes mouths water on sight. He drops into a chair and gets to work. Slow pulls at first, building heat. A sigh escapes him. He licks his lips, tasting anticipation. That cool facade cracks fast—each tug ramps him up, desire flooding in. His breaths come heavier now, ragged. He sighs deeper, voice low. He pounds his meat harder, faster, murmuring how damn good it feels, until the rush hits. He erupts, ropes of cum blasting across his chest, splattering up to his throat in hot, sticky triumph.