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In the quiet of his room, a man lies on the bed, his BBC a prominent tent in his boxers. He strips, his cock springing free, long and thick. He takes it in his hand, feeling its weight, its heat. He strokes, his grip firm, his rhythm steady. The bed creaks in time with his movements, the room filled with the sound of his pleasure. He changes his grip, twisting his wrist, feeling the ridge of his cock head. His breathing deepens, his strokes quicken. With a final, low moan, he comes, his cum painting his abs, a testament to his solo session on the bed.