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Bared to the cool air, his cock stands rigid, a testament to his desire. He takes it in his hand, feeling its weight, its heat. He knows the game, the rules of this solo ballet. Slow, steady strokes, building pressure, then retreating, denying the release his body craves. His balls tighten, his breath hitches, but he persists, prolonging the exquisite torture. The room fills with his ragged breaths, the wet sounds of his hand on his cock, the occasional whimper of frustration. Finally, with a cry, he surrenders, pumping his hips, fucking his fist until he comes undone, his cum splattering his chest, a testament to his delayed gratification.