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A lone figure, his face obscured, sits on a simple chair, his focus solely on the massive, uncut BBC in his hand. He's been at it for a while now, his grip firm, his strokes steady. His moans are soft, almost whispered, but they're there, betraying his pleasure. The room is filled with the scent of his precum, the sound of his hand moving along his shaft. He's close, his breath hitching, his body tensing. A final stroke, a loud moan, and he's painting the floor with his load, his body slack with satisfaction.