The Ecstasy of Solitude

The man, a picture of nonchalance, leans back in his chair, his fingers dancing over the fly of his jeans. With a casual flick, he opens it, revealing the prize within. His hand dives in, wrapping around his throbbing cock, the skin slick with his arousal. He pumps, his grip firm, his wrist twisting in a practiced motion. His eyes close, lost in the fantasy of his own making, his body tensing as he approaches the precipice. With a final, powerful stroke, he topples over, his cock pulsing, his body convulsing with the force of his solitary pleasure.

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