Choose Me

Joshua Klein sinks into the worn leather armchair, the room dimmed to a hush, shadows playing across his bare skin. His hand finds the Kris Lord Supercock, that gleaming marvel of silicone and fantasy, heavy and insistent in his grip. He traces its ridges first, slow, savoring the cool promise against his palm. Then, with a sharp inhale, he guides it lower, pressing the tip to his hardening length, a spark igniting deep in his core. Short breaths quicken as he strokes himself alongside it, the dual rhythm building like a stolen symphony. He imagines her—faceless, fierce—whispering commands that make him arch. The Supercock's girth fills his fist now, slick with lube that warms and slides just right. He pumps harder, veins throbbing, chasing that edge where control fractures. A groan escapes, raw and unfiltered, as release crashes over him in hot, shuddering waves, leaving him spent, sated, the toy still clutched like a secret kept.