After a long, hard day at the office, at which he rode dildos and jacked off under bright, fluorescent lights with a 30-minute break to enjoy his Lean Cuisine microwave lunch and small talk with his office mates, this guy finally has made his way home for a relaxing evening.
He just happens to spend his relaxing evenings riding dildos and jacking off under bright, non-fluorescent lights with dirty small talk and a 30-minute break to relube everything.
In his own professional words: "i got these super tight cut-offs that made me feel so fucking horny that i had to make a film of me riding dildos through my stripper thong. it was hot as fuck."
Poetry.
I do admire his ability to get swept up in his own massive horniness, like he's living alone for the first time and has free reign to turn his domicile into a sex club reality show with a cast of one. He's constantly winning the glory of sexual stimulation and exhibitionism to the maximum his body can endure, which is plenty.
Meanwhile, I'm on a waiting list to become his downstairs neighbor. I would like to be lulled to sleep by the sounds of his one-man oinkfest. And maybe one day, the sex I was having would be so loud and intense, he would bang on his floor to get me to shut up. A pig can dream.
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