"Go fuck yourself," they told him.
He thought it was actually a good idea.
After arriving home, he stripped himself naked. He never really liked the concept of clothing, as it hid the strapping body that he has. The hunk sat down, and examined his thick manhood. Clean, veined and symmetrical, a little red on the glans, it is one of the things he is proud of.
He did not own a dildo. It isn't really necessary, as one was already available. Holding his manhood in hand, he gave a gentle tug, and it was unattached from the crotch the next second. He gave it a little squeeze, just to make sure he felt everything. Dildos do not usually give you sensations, but his does.
He stepped one leg on a stool, and passed his forearm below the thigh for better access. With the other hand he grabbed and raised the base of his scrotum, the only thing now left in his crotch. The thought of what he was going to do alone made him hard.
Aiming was not difficult at all. He rimmed himself with the glans, gently relaxing the orifice, and inserted the body part slowly. As the free piece of flesh sunk into the opening, he sighed in delight. He felt exactly how much was inside, as he had two points of reference. The lining of his rectum and the skin of his member gave him a synchronised sensory rush.
He tried to let go and see if it fell out. It didn't. "Good," he mumbled to himself, looking thoughtful. As someone equipped with such a peculiar ability, stimulation by touch is inadequate. He liked to observe the beauty of the human form, moving and relishing its natural gifts in a provocative manner; he wanted to direct such movements as well, if possible. For a wonder like him, it had become almost effortless.
He placed one palm under his chin, and the other on the short hair of his scalp. Closing his eyes, the hands tugged the head upward, and a transverse cleft appeared across the upper third of the neck, peeling apart to show the two newly-formed pieces of skin.
His eyes reopened and scanned the surroundings to calibrate his position, as he willed the now separate piece of hunk body to place him on the low table just in front of it. The discrepancy between the position sense of his two parts initially made him quite disoriented in movement, but he had gradually gotten used to that. Once he felt the base of himself land on the wooden surface, the hands proceeded to meticulously turn their fragile commander around, adjusting slightly until the best view was achieved, even waving themselves in front to test the sight, which was rather unnecessary.
Expecting the hands to just fall back relaxed, he saw his own body lean slightly backwards but arms still reached out. "Oh right," he quickly realised that he had to now actively will every movement. Senses were still completely intact, but motor commands were for some reason partly filtered by an increased threshold.
This was an intriguing phenomenon that opened a whole new territory, as it meant that he could hold the body in certain positions, and maintaining it when he otherwise could not. He was now a sculptor, and the already statuesque body before him provided him with the best material he could work on. It was, of course, not without side effects; he still remembered the time he held the stud in a single-leg stance when he accidentally fell asleep, only later to wake up feeling horribly sore in the supported hip and leg. The body collapsed as soon as he reattached himself, and he could not walk until the next day.
But today he was not here to shape the Greek god into yoga poses. He was here to pleasure himself. One leg stepped onto the chair again, introducing the lower part of the long, erect penis into his view, its head of course still stuck in the body's butthole; he was sure of it as he could feel both all along.
He willed the hand to grab it, and shuttle it in and out. The resulting motion was completely uniform and regular, producing a strange sensation; it was exactly like being fucked by a robot, only that it was somehow doing it with his own penis, which he could feel. The other hand, as he commanded silently, started to rub the torso in perfect circles, slowly shifting in a boustrophedonic manner across his chest. The body was now preoccupied with executing his nonverbal orders, and he watched and felt every of its movements, the movements of this extraordinary body of his, now no more than a muscular automaton under his conscious command.
He felt a stream of euphoria and strange tingles up the body, and, shortly after, his head, then the involuntary contraction of the pelvic muscles, followed by a gush in the urethra and a spurt of liquid in his bowels. He panted heavily, but the corresponding heave in the chest was only slightly more amplified. The movement of the cock against the rectum did not cease, and become slightly more lubricated with the newly introduced fluid. The hand was at the bottom of the right flank, still rubbing in circular motion; it soon lifted itself up to the top of the left chest, starting a new iteration of systematic massage.
He came. It was so surreal that he took a few seconds to pull himself out of pure sensory overload and realise that. Meanwhile he also felt an overwhelming urge to fall asleep. He had a strong intuition that that would be a bad idea for some reason, but his mind was faltering, only weakly struggling against paralysis from the constant sensory input. Not even a minute had passed when he finally gave in, and slowly closed his eyes…