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In the quiet of his room, a man finds solace in the grip of his own hand. His cock, a monster of flesh, strains against his jeans, begging for release. He obliges, freeing it from its confines and wrapping his fingers around its thickness. He strokes, his hand moving with practiced ease, his gaze locked onto the sight of his fist working his length. His body responds, his hips bucking slightly as pleasure courses through him. His breaths come in ragged gasps, his grip tightening as he nears the edge. With a final, powerful stroke, he comes, his cock pulsing as it spills his seed onto his skin.