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In the hush of his room, he starts his intimate dance, his hand a willing partner. He strokes, he teases, he squeezes, his breath hitching as his cock swells in his grasp. His grip is firm, his rhythm steady, each movement calculated to draw out his pleasure. The air grows thick with his scent, the sound of his flesh slapping against his hand echoing in the silence. He's close, his body tense, his grip tightening. With a final, desperate stroke, he comes undone, his cum painting his hand and belly, a mess he'll relish cleaning up.