Under the cloak of darkness, a lonely figure retreats to the privacy of his room, eager to satisfy his urges. He strips down to his boxers, his piroca already tenting the fabric. With a hungry look, he pulls it out, wrapping his hand around the throbbing length. His movements are slow at first, savoring the feel of his skin against his sensitive flesh. But as his desire builds, his strokes become more urgent, his grip tighter. He throws his head back, a low groan escaping his lips as he finds his release, his gozanda pulsing out onto his waiting hand.