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Lost in his carnal ritual, he grips his monstrous BBC, veins pulsing with life. His strokes are slow, deliberate, each one coaxing a groan from his lips. His hand, a tight fist, works his length, from root to bulbous tip, spreading pre-cum like lubricant. The room fills with the sound of flesh on flesh, a symphony of lust. His pace quickens, breath hitches, and with a final, forceful stroke, he erupts, cum shooting in arcs, painting his abs and hand in sticky, white ropes.