Mr. Hand, a lanky, smooth-skinned twink, finds solace in the familiar rhythm of his hand around his throbbing cock. He's alone in his room, the door locked, the world outside forgotten. His eyes flutter closed as he imagines the touch of another, the friction of his palm replaced by the warmth of a mouth or the tightness of an ass. He strokes faster, his breath hitching as he nears the edge, his body tensing before releasing in a flood of pent-up desire.