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In the throes of self-pleasure, he's a master of his domain, his room a sanctuary of sin. His hand, slick with desire, glides up and down his thick shaft, his grip tightening as he imagines the feel of another's mouth, another's touch. His other hand cups his balls, rolling them gently, sending shivers of pleasure through his body. He's a symphony of sensation, a soloist in the ballet of desire, dancing on the edge of ecstasy.