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A black Casanova, denied the company of his usual conquests, turns to his own hand for solace. In the dim light, his dark form comes alive, his cock throbbing with need. He grips it firmly, working it with long, steady strokes. His mind races with illicit images, his body responding to every dirty thought. He quickens his pace, the sound of flesh on flesh filling the room. With a final, desperate thrust, he finds his release, painting the wall with his hot, sticky seed.