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A lone man, unseen, his voice the sole instrument in this symphony of sin. He spins a web of words, each one a tendril reaching out, caressing your imagination. His breath quickens, syncopated with the beat of your heart. He describes his cock, thick and heavy, throbbing in his hand. The wet sounds of masturbation fill the void, a rhythm that builds, crescendos, then explodes in a cacophony of cums, his voice echoing like a gunshot, a testament to his forbidden pleasure.