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The milkman's uniform, crisp and white in the morning, is now a rumpled, sweat-stained mess by the time he reaches the quiet, tree-lined street of his last stop. His cock, trapped in the tight confines of his shorts, aches for release. He parks his truck, the engine idling as he steps out, his eyes scanning the empty street. With a quick look around, he unzips his shorts, his hand wrapping around his throbbing cock. He strokes slowly, his eyes closed, imagining the soft hands of the housewives he's delivered to. His pace quickens, his breath hitching as he nears his peak. With a final, shuddering stroke, he comes, his load splattering onto the pavement, a secret, lewd message for any curious onlookers.