(mh=vumkxuDUFzssNL1_)15.jpg)
In the quiet of his room, a man, unnamed and untouched, finds solace in the simple act of stroking his cock. The room is dim, the air thick with anticipation. His hand, calloused from years of labor, wraps around his shaft, the skin taut, veins pulsing. He strokes, long and slow, the rhythm steady, a metronome of desire. His eyes are closed, lost in a fantasy only he knows. The room fills with the sound of his hand against flesh, the slick sound of pre-cum lubricating his path. His breath hitches, the strokes quicken, his grip tightens. The moment stretches, the pleasure builds, and with a final, shuddering stroke, he spills forth, his body wracked with release.