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The showerhead's spray is a poor substitute for the warmth he craves, so he turns to his own body, his hand wrapping around his thick cock. He strokes slowly, savoring the sensation, his mind filled with images of filthy, taboo acts. As his pleasure builds, he lets go, his piss mixing with the shower water, the sound of it splashing against the tile楔 a symphony of his sin. He leans back, his body trembling as he continues to stroke, his orgasm ripping through him, his cock pulsing as he paints the wall with his seed.