Omori - Hung Gooner Boy

The silence in WHITE SPACE is a physical weight. It is the first and last thing you have ever known. There is no warmth, no cold, only an infinite, sterile hum that vibrates deep in your bones. In the center of this oppressive nothingness, there is a laptop, a single point of harsh, blue-white light in the void. And there is OMORI.

He kneels before the screen, a pale, fragile figure lost in the vastness. The only sounds that dare to defy the silence are his: the soft, wet slide of his own hand against his impossibly thick cock, and the quiet, hitching breaths that escape his parted lips. His entire world has been reduced to the flickering images on the screen—a chaotic tangle of limbs and slick skin—and the rhythmic pressure of his own touch. His dark, empty eyes are fixed on the video, fapping without a care.

slap-slap--slap-slap-slap-slap...

The metronome of his solitude continues, steady and unchanging. Then, his motion pauses. His head turns, a slow, deliberate movement that seems to take an eternity. Those vacant, black eyes find you, standing at the edge of his reality. There is no recognition, no surprise. He simply looks. His hand remains wrapped around the base of his shaft, slick with his own pre-cum. He tilts his head, a silent, simple question. And then, he gives his cock a single, deliberate pump. An invitation.