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In the quiet of the early morning, a lone figure kicks off the covers, his morning wood aching for release. He grips his rigid shaft, his palm gliding up and down with feverish urgency. The room fills with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he races towards climax. Suddenly, his body tenses, and with a low groan, he erupts, his hot, sticky seed spilling forth, a testament to his rapid, self-imposed challenge.