The room is bathed in the soft, warm glow of a sunset, casting long shadows that dance with the pendulum's steady swing. Our lonely masturbator sits on the floor, his back against the wall, his hand slowly working his swollen member. His breath hitches as he picks up the pace, his grip tightening as he nears climax. The clock's hands spin faster, its ticking echoing like a heartbeat in his ears. With a final, desperate stroke, he spills his load onto the hardwood floor, panting and spent, as the clock's hands finally come to a rest at the top of the hour.