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The lights are dim, shades of blue, purple, and pink adorning his face, highlighting his features in the best way. His skin glistens with a pink hue, sweat beads reflecting the light, showing that he is already worked up.
The air is hot and thick, filled with his cologne and that of his crew. The fog from the machines makes it hard to see. He's filled with anticipation as he grabs the pole.
His makeup is simple, black eyeliner adorning his eyes and making them pop. His hair forms a V on his forehead, slightly messy and longer than usual, with his blonde undercut more prominent.
His black tank top sits tight on his body, while his black pants are more loose. The belt, decorated with a silver bow, is tight around his hips.
His shoes, expensive, purple and black, match the lights and his outfit, with pointy tips as he drags them over the floor.
With only one earring adorning his right ear, he invites interpretation, encouraging onlookers to gaze, ponder, and admire.
His chain, golden, hangs around his neck loosely. He resists the urge to fidget with it as nervousness bubbles into his chest.
It's not that this is something he hasn't done before, but it feels more real. All eyes are on him as he puts on a show for his followers and for himself.
He exhales, and the music starts.
The beat is slow, slower than his usual songs, but it's hot, gripping, and keeps you.
He starts to move, slow, spinning around the pole. They'll cut the scenes together in the end, but he still wants to do his best, to show off because he can.
He spins, maintaining eye contact with the camera. His eyes sparkle under the light, and everyone knows he is enjoying this.
The beat picks up, and he lets go of the pole, reaching his arms out and starting to shake his upper body in rhythm to the music. He knows how much they like it when he shakes his chest, head tilted to the side, mouth open.
Once the beat intensifies, he grabs the pole with both hands and faces the camera again, his legs giving in as he slides down on the pole onto his knees.
As he slides down, he moans quietly for himself, almost throwing his head back in enjoyment but deciding against it.
Keeping eye contact with the camera, mouth agape, he gets onto his knees, pole still in his hands, a tight grip.
He stays down for a second, catching his breath, trying to calm himself down. He feels hot, aroused, and adored.
They're all staring—his crew, and soon his followers will too. They'll go insane over him.
He can see the comments already.
"I want him."
"He's gorgeous."
"I AM ON MY KNEES!!! HOT AS HELL."
"I want a private show, Käärijä!"
"I WANT MORE. OH MY GOD. STRIPPER JERE?!"
He gets up again, slides around the pole, gets down in front of it. He feels hot, desired, and he puts everything into it.
The song is coming to an end, and he grabs the pole with both hands for the last time. He's on his knees, about to go up on it.
He sticks his tongue out, almost making contact with the cold pole as he goes up. His eyes are closed, humming in content. He keeps them closed, enjoying the sensation.
It only makes contact with it for a split second before he reaches his hand and drags his tongue against it.
It's wet, sticky, and hot. He wants and needs more, aching to touch himself, to feel himself.
He reaches out with his fingers and drags his tongue up on them while opening his eyes and making eye contact with the camera.
A moan escapes his lips, and he looks gone, dizzy, his brain fuzzy and cloudy. He is on display for them, to watch and desire over.
His shirt feels tight, his pants even tighter, and he feels beads of sweat on his forehead.
The song ends, and he smiles. His crew applauds, and he feels good as he stands up.
He's done good. He's a good boy.
Jaakko smiles from behind the camera and gives Jere a thumbs-up, telling him he should go shower, his hair soaked with sweat.
He exits the room and makes his way to the dressing room. It's empty, his stylists having left a few minutes ago to join the rest of the crew.
He closes the door behind him and locks it as he falls against it, exhaling, his hand cupping himself through his pants.
A moan passes his lips as he closes his eyes.
He stays like that for a minute, gathering himself, before he opens his eyes and lets go of himself. He looks around.
There is a mirror beside the door. He smiles and stands in front of it.
His makeup is smudged, his tank top wet from sweat, his bowl cut messy—typical sex hair, except he didn't have sex but instead stripped.
He smiles contently at himself, feeling hot and good, attractive. His hands start to work on his belt as he falls to his knees in front of the mirror, smirking as he opens his pants and rubs himself through his black Nike boxers.
The front is wet, his dick leaking pre-cum, hot and needy underneath his boxers.
He smirks and pulls off his tank top, throwing it to the floor, his hands finding his chest and stomach.
His fingertips go down, from his collar, down his scalp, to his belly, right above his waistband.
One of his hands stays there, teasing himself, while the other one goes to his chest, pulling and twisting his hardening nipples as he groans and starts to breathe more heavily. His eyes are closed, head thrown back in pleasure.
One of his hands goes up to his mouth. He sticks out his tongue and sucks on his fingers, getting his hand nice and wet.
Once he is satisfied, his hand goes down again, soon pulling down his boxers and wrapping around his hard dick. The friction is delicious, and he whines slightly, finally letting himself touch.
The tip is an angry red, glistening with pre-cum, and he lets out a deep moan as he starts to stroke himself, slowly.
His other hand goes to his hair, pulling at it slightly, and he looks at himself in the mirror.
He's breathtaking. He's a god in his eyes, and in a lot of people's eyes, and he loves it.
He bites his lip and sinks his teeth into it, almost making it bleed as he pulls his hair while doing so. He loves the pain, a deep moan spilling from his lips as he looks at himself in the mirror.
His eyes are closed again as his thumb circles around the tip, collecting pre-cum and spreading it along his dick. He goes back to stroking, faster now.
He won't last long, he knows it. He's been worked up, hot, and bothered all day long. The idea alone of stripping and people adoring him like they did on OnlyFans is enough to make him hard and needy.
His hand lets go of his hair and goes back to touching and tracing his chest.
His hand lets go of his hair and goes back to touching and tracing his chest. Nipples hard, chest heaving heavily as he breathes and moans.
He wants more, needs more.
So he squeezes the base of his dick and picks up the pace, stroking fast as his other hand goes to his mouth, sucking two fingers in.
He throws his head back in ecstasy and pleasure.
His tongue traces them, feeling the cold metal of his rings, and he hums, feeling his nails and fingertips, how soft they are against his tongue.
His eyes are still closed, and he feels close, so close.
He sucks in a breath, and a few tears slide down his cheeks. He wants to cum so bad, he needs to cum.
He opens his eyes and looks at himself.
He's a mess. He's on his knees, hand wrapped around his hard dick, his other hand in his mouth, sucking at two fingers. His makeup is smudged, streaks of teary eyeliner adorning his cheeks.
He's hot, gorgeous. He's a good boy, he deserves to cum.
As he realizes it, how good he is, he cums with a deep moan around his fingers, which turns into a whimper as he strokes himself through it.
As he reaches climax, more tears slide down his cheeks, mixing with his smudged makeup, his reflection mirroring his ecstasy.
Pulling his fingers out of his mouth, he replaces them with his cum-covered hand.
His tongue makes quick work to clean himself, and once done, he closes his eyes, letting his hands fall beside him. He breathes, more slowly with each passing second, letting the waves of pleasure take over his mind and body.
He's satisfied and happy.
Once he feels ready, once he has calmed down, he tries to get up, his legs wobbly. He grins at himself in the mirror, proud of his work as he pulls up his boxers and pants.
Time to shower.