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After a long, tiring day, our hero finds himself alone at home, the silence broken only by the hum of the refrigerator. He looks at the clock, it's already late afternoon. The house feels empty, yet filled with the tension of unspent energy. He shrugs off his shirt, unbuckles his belt, and settles into his favorite armchair. His hand finds its way into his boxers, pulling out his already hardening cock. He strokes it, feeling the familiar rhythm, the warmth of his palm, the smoothness of his foreskin. His mind wanders, filling with fantasies of the day's encounters, the brief glances, the soft touches. His strokes become faster, his breath heavier. He can feel it building, the tension in his balls, the throbbing in his shaft. And then, with a final, deep groan, he comes, his hot, sticky load spilling over his hand, a testament to his afternoon delight.