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In the heart of Italy, a muscular, clean-shaven man takes center stage. His hands, rough from years of work, wrap around his engorged cock, pumping with a rhythm as old as time itself. His eyes are closed, lost in the sensation of his own touch, his body tensing with each stroke. The air is thick with the scent of his sweat and the salty tang of his pre-cum, a heady mix that promises a climax that's as explosive as a Roman firework display.