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The porcelain throne becomes his makeshift altar, hands gripping the edge as he leans forward, his ass clenching with each tug. The rustle of his boxers around his ankles, the slap of his hand against his meat, the scent of pre-cum - these are his morning prayers, a private ritual to welcome the day. His grunts echo in the small room as he feels his balls tighten, his cock pulse, and his cum splatter onto the cool tile.