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Markus, a man of refined taste, finds himself in a summer idyll, his day filled with the soft hum of music and the gentle touch of his own hands. In his sprawling, sun-drenched apartment, he begins his ritual, the first notes of a Bach sonata setting the pace for his languid strokes. His hands, strong and sure, massage his rigid length, the sensation a symphony of pleasure. He leans back, his body a landscape of taut muscles and smooth skin, his eyes closed in ecstasy as he loses himself in the rhythm of his own body and the melody of his favorite piece.