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In the sanctuary of his bedroom, he indulges in a private worship, his body the object of devotion. He runs his fingers through his thick, glossy hair, down the nape of his neck, and across his muscular chest. Each touch ignites a spark, setting his senses alight. He traces the lines of his tattoos, each one a story etched into his skin, before descending to the prize at the juncture of his thighs. His hand wraps around his length, pumping slowly, building a rhythm that matches his racing heart. He leans in closer to the mirror, his breath fogging the glass, and watches, rapt, as his body responds to his touch.