Robinson, a man of simple pleasures, finds himself in the throes of self-gratification once again. His calloused hands, a result of years of hard work, grip his stiff cock with a familiarity that borders on intimacy. He's alone, but the room is filled with the sounds of his pleasure - the rhythmic slapping of flesh, the wet noises of his stroking, and his ragged breaths. His other hand cups his balls, rolling them gently, adding another layer of sensation to the experience. He's in no rush, enjoying the build-up, the slow burn towards his inevitable climax. The room is filled with the scent of his arousal, a pheromone-laden aroma that only serves to heighten his senses.