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In the steamy confines of the stall, the bear finds his pleasure. He's alone, but his mind races with fantasies fueled by the slippery lather coating his frame. He imagines strong hands, echoing his own, kneading his flesh, pulling him closer. The soap provides friction, a tease, as he slides it up and down his length, his breath hitching with each stroke. The shower's roar drowns out his guttural moans, a symphony of pleasure in the wet, enclosed space.