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The room is filled with the rhythmic sound of flesh meeting flesh, a symphony of solitary pleasure. He's laid back, his hand wrapped tightly around his throbbing erection, his wrist twisting in practiced motion. His other hand roams freely, pinching, rolling, teasing his nipples, tracing the lines of his abs. His eyes are closed, lost in the sensation, his hips bucking involuntarily as he nears the edge. With a final, desperate pump, he spills over, his body convulsing with the intensity of his orgasm, his hand coated in his essence.