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The creaking floorboards and distant hum of the refrigerator are the only witnesses to this late-night ritual. The air is thick with the scent of his own musk, the sound of his hand meeting flesh the only soundtrack to his private performance. He pictures the taboo, the forbidden, as his cock pulses in his hand, his body tensing as he reaches the precipice of pleasure. With a low, guttural groan, he comes undone, his seed spilling onto his fist as he rides out the waves of his solitary ecstasy.