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In the quiet of his room, Daddy takes center stage. His calloused hands, weathered by years of work, now grip his throbbing tool with practiced ease. He strokes slowly, methodically, as if coaxing a melody from his flesh. His breath hitches, his eyes flutter closed, and the room fills with the symphony of his pleasure: the wet sounds of his hand working his cock, the rhythmic creaking of the bed, and his ragged moans. He's a master of his craft, and today, his body is the instrument. His cum, a crescendo, paints his chest as he rides out his release.