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The room, dim and warm, echoes with the rhythmic slapping of flesh against flesh. His moans, low and guttural, punctuate the air as he works his stiff cock. Pre-cum beads at the tip, a testament to his arousal. His body glistens with sweat, the room thick with the scent of his musk. He's a man lost in his pleasure, a soloist in the symphony of sin.

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