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He looks at himself in the mirror one last time, heart steady, body oiled, locked and loaded in his favorite black rubber briefs and tight studded harness.
The outfit is simple—minimal, but devastating. Black latex rides high over his hips, gripping every angle, every swell of muscle, the material catching soft golden light from the bedroom lamp behind him. The harness crosses his chest like a frame for the art of his torso—tight, defined, impossibly smooth. Silver studs glint like little weapons of lust, catching eyes before his movement even begins.
He already knows what tonight holds. He won’t be alone. He never is. But it’s not just the outfit that makes him irresistible. It’s the way he moves. The way he practices each roll of his hips, slow and rhythmic, testing how the latex reacts—how it tugs, stretches, bounces back. He watches himself like a predator studying his own reflection, refining the performance before it hits the club floor.
He shifts his weight, bends his knees slightly, throws in a twist. The rubber responds with a soft creak, tight as ever. His thighs flex, his abs ripple, and the harness lifts with each breath he takes. This is more than a warm-up. This is foreplay for the night to come.
Because when he finally walks into that room—eyes hungry, lights pulsing, beats pounding—he’ll be unstoppable. He’s not searching. He’s selecting. Someone is going home with him tonight, and they’ll know they were chosen.
The only question is... will they keep up?
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