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"On your marks," the unseen director commands, and the muscle-bound men obey, their hands wrapping around their massive cocks, ready to race to the finish. "Get set," they tense, their bodies glistening with sweat, their breaths held in anticipation. "Go!" they stroke, their speeds increasing, their grunts echoing in the studio. They're oblivious to everything but the sensation of their hands on their cocks, the desperation to win, to explode first, to be crowned the Jerk King. The room is a symphony of flesh slapping against flesh, of heavy breathing and groans, a testament to their raw, unbridled lust.