A man and his appendage, in a dance as old as time. He sits, legs spread, his cock a rigid pole, waiting for the touch of his hand. He wraps his fingers around the base, a firm grip, and begins to stroke. His hand moves with practiced ease, up and down, twisting at the top, milking the pre-cum from the tip. He leans back, eyes closed, lost in the sensation, his body responsive to every touch. His hand moves faster, his breathing heavier, until with a final, brutal stroke, he comes, his seed spilling forth, a testament to his self-love.