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A lone man, in the throes of carnal desire, finds solace in the soft, plump embrace of his pristine white pillows. He grinds and thrusts against them, lost in his own world, the friction building his arousal. His hands roam, squeezing and stroking, as he imagines the pillows are something, someone, else. The room fills with the rhythmic sound of his body moving against the pillows, and his breath comes in ragged gasps.