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In the grand palace, the king takes his seat on the throne, ready to indulge in a private, lewd performance. His royal scepter, a thick, veiny monster, stands at attention, demanding worship. He strokes it slowly, his large hands barely fitting around its girth. The king's moans fill the empty halls as he picks up the pace, his heavy balls slapping against the throne. The scent of his precum fills the air, a sweet, musky aroma that only serves to drive him wilder. He's the king, and today, he rules over his own pleasure, bringing himself to a climax that leaves him breathless and spent.