In the hush of the early morning, a man seeks solace in self-pleasure, his rigid cock tenting the sheets. Tiptoeing to his workbench, he leans against it, the cool wood a stark contrast to his heated flesh. The faint ticking of a clock echoes in the silent room as he strokes his length, his grip firm and steady. His breaths come in ragged gasps, the sound of his hand working his cock filling the void. As his orgasm approaches, he arches his back, a low groan escaping his lips as he paints the workbench with his creamy release, the scent of sex mingling with the usual workshop aroma.