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In the gym's steamy sauna, a jock, sleek with sweat, sits, legs spread, his enormous BBC resting heavily on his thigh. He starts with a slow, lazy stroke, his calloused hand familiar with the routine. He knows his body, knows when to back off, to keep that edge, that sweet, torturous edge that'll make his eventual release all the more explosive. His breathing deepens, his muscles tense, but he never lets go, never lets himself tumble over that edge.