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Tucked away in a secluded corner, he finds solace in the throes of self-pleasure. His massive, uncut BBC throbs, demanding attention. He grips it firmly, feeling the pulse of life beneath his calloused fingers. He strokes, long and slow, his mind's eye filled with illicit images. His breathing ragged, he picks up the pace, his fist a blur on his thick shaft. The tension builds, coiling in his core, then with a guttural groan, he erupts, painting his muscular chest and abs with thick, pearly ropes of cum.