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In the quiet of the early morning, a lone figure emerges, his body a canvas of ink, his cock a beast of its own. He grips his BBC, feeling its weight, its power. His strokes are slow, deliberate, each one bringing him closer to the edge. His mind races with images of tight, wet pussies, of the pleasure he could bring them. His grip tightens, his strokes quicken. His body tenses, and with a final, forceful motion, he finds his release, his cum shooting forth, a testament to his morning lust.