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In the quiet of his room, he strips, his body a canvas of muscle and desire. His hand, a tool of pleasure, starts its work, caressing, teasing, until it reaches his throbbing cock. He strokes it, long and slow, his grip firm, his movements steady. His body responds, his breath hitching, his heart pounding. He pictures her, his secret fantasy, her body writhing beneath his touch. His strokes become faster, more urgent, his grip tighter. He feels the pressure build, his balls draw up, and with a final, powerful stroke, he comes, his cum shooting out, painting his hand and belly, a silent, private celebration of his solo indulgence.