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In the quiet of his room, a devout man, Isaiah 41:10, turns to his faith for solace. His eyes closed, he recites scripture, his voice steady and sure. Yet, his hands tell a different story, tracing the outline of his rigid cock through his jeans. He unzips, his breath hitching as he wraps his fingers around his length, stroking slowly, reverently. His moans are soft, almost whispers, lost in the rustle of his clothes. The room fills with the scent of sweat and pre-cum, a heady mix of piety and primal desire.