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"Sarap mag salsal," he whispers to himself, fully embracing hisjakol-ungol session. His thick, veiny shaft throbs in his hand, a clear bead of lust forming at the tip. He's been craving this release, and he's not about to stop now. His strokes are steady, his grip firm, and his resolve unwavering. The room fills with the smell of sex and the sound of his wet, slapping hand against his heavy balls. He's close, so close, and just as he's about to explode, a voice from the doorway breaks his concentration. "I've been watching you," it says, leaving him breathless and eager for more.