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It was over, but Joseph's prong was still evacuating the last of the mess he'd stored from the night before when he'd stubbornly insisted he wouldn't stroke himself. Perhaps if he had indulged in that release he wouldn't now be awkwardly reversing back to his room, his bare buttocks catching the breeze from the stairs leading down to the bakery, his cock still swollen and pumping the last of his load into the newly drenched wash cloth.
BradSmithson updates every week with new stories/chapters.
The slow burn is starting to kill me.