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The house is quiet, the rest of the world muffled by the closed door. Our lone masturbator stands in the kitchen, the fluorescent lights casting stark shadows on the sleek, modern appliances. He's stripped down to nothing, his body a canvas of taut muscle and smooth skin. His cock, long and thick, stands at attention, ready for his skilled hand. He strokes with purpose, his grip tight, his pace steady. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room, his balls bouncing with each thrust. His breath comes in short gasps, his eyes locked on the mirror above the sink, watching his cock disappear into his fist.