In the dimly lit room, a towering figure stands, his ebony skin a stark contrast to the white walls. His cock, a monolith of black flesh, stands rigid, veined and ready. He grasps it firmly, his hand barely able to encircle its girth. With a slow, deliberate motion, he begins to stroke, his grip tight, his pace steady. The room fills with the sound of his hand working his cock, the wet, sloppy sounds of his palm meeting his flesh.