Fourinches presents a solo spectacle as a young man, dissatisfied with his small endowment, takes matters into his own hands. In a dimly lit room, he strokes his tiny dick, the only sound the rhythmic slapping of skin against skin. His eyes are closed, lost in fantasies of what he wishes he could offer. The tension builds, his grip tightens, and with a final gasp, he releases, a measly dribble of cum coating his fingers.