Solo Gaze and Strokes

In the throes of solitude, a man's gaze falls upon his reflection, igniting a spark of desire. His hands, once idle, now roam, exploring the landscape of his body. He pauses at his nipples, pinching them to hard peaks, before descending to grip his growing erection. His strokes are steady, purposeful, each one drawing a gasp from his lips. The room fills with the sound of flesh against flesh, the scent of his arousal. His climax is intense, a volcanic explosion that leaves him panting, his chest glistening with the fruits of his labor.

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