A man, alone and hard, grips his thick, rigid cock, his fingers barely able to meet around its girth. His strokes are long and steady, his hips bucking slightly with each pull. His body is a canvas of tense muscles, coated in a thin sheen of sweat. The room is filled with the rhythmic sound of his hand working his meat, the wet, slapping noise of his palm meeting his balls. His breathing is ragged, his eyes squeezed shut, lost in the intense, private pleasure of his own touch.