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In a dimly lit room, a mysterious figure, known only as the Wood Worm, takes center stage. With a body carved from years of solitude and a cock that rivals the mightiest of trees, he begins his nightly ritual. His calloused hands stroke his length, veins pulsing with pent-up desire. The room fills with the sound of his heavy breathing and the rhythmic slapping of flesh against flesh. His body tenses, and with a guttural groan, he releases his essence, painting the walls with his seed.