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The house echoes with an unusual silence, the wife's absence leaving a void that the man fills with the steady rhythm of his hand on his cock. He's no gym rat, his body a testament to age and indulgence, but there's a raw, primal appeal to his form. His uncut member, a thick, veined beast, responds to his touch, growing harder, longer. He leans back, his hand working in steady, practiced motions, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he nears the edge. With a final, guttural moan, he tips over, his cock pulsing as it paints his belly with ropes of cum, the scent of his seed filling the air.