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A man finds solace in the simple act of stroking his cock. His large, veiny shaft fills his hand, warm and alive. He takes his time, exploring every inch, from the sensitive tip to the base. His strokes are steady, rhythmic, a dance of desire and control. He's not rushing this. He's in no hurry to find release. This is about the journey, the build-up, the exquisite torture of denying himself the climax he so craves. It's just him, his hand, and the pulsating flesh that aches for more.