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The clock strikes five, signaling the start of his private hour. Locking the door, he sheds his clothes, his body a canvas of tight muscles and ink. He sits on the edge of the bed, his cock already hard, aching for his touch. He wraps his hand around it, the sensation electric. He pumps, his grip tight, his movements steady. His eyes flutter closed, lost in the rhythm, the sensation, the control. His body tenses, his cock pulsing as he releases, his cum dripping onto the floor, a testament to his solo pleasure.