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Lost in his own world, an anonymous man takes a seat, his hand already working his stiff cock. The room is dim, the only sound the rhythmic slapping of his palm against his flesh. He's a master of his craft, knowing just how to stroke, how much pressure to apply. Precum leaks from his slit, glistening in the low light, a preview of the impending storm. His breath hitches as he nears the edge, his body tensing. With a final, desperate stroke, he tips over, ropes of cum shooting from his cock, painting his stomach and hand in a sticky, white mess.