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As the clock ticks towards midnight, a man retreats to his room, the weight of the day lifting with each button he pops open. His boxers tented, he sits, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his crotch. His hand, steady and sure, slips inside, wrapping around his throbbing cock. He leans back, eyes closed, as he begins to stroke, each pull bringing him closer to the edge. The room fills with the sound of his pleasure, the wet slap of his hand against his flesh, the quiet moans he can't suppress. His body tenses, his breath hitches, and with a final stroke, he finds his release, his cock pulsing as he paints his chest with his hot, sticky seed.