Muscle God Strokes His Monster

In the dimly lit room, he stands, a sculpture come to life, every muscle defined, every line perfect. His cock, a masterpiece in its own right, juts out, a testament to his arousal. He starts slow, a gentle caress, his large hand barely containing his girth. His breathing deepens, chest heaving as he quickens his pace, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. His other hand roams, pinching a nipple, tracing the valleys between his abs, before finally cupping his heavy balls, drawing out a low, guttural groan.

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