In the dimly lit room, Glotov, a man of few words, begins his private ritual. His hands, calloused from years of labor, trace the outline of his hardening cock through his worn jeans. He unzips, allowing his thick, veined member to spring free, already glistening with anticipation. His grip is firm, strokes confident, as he works himself into a frenzy. The room fills with the scent of musk and the sound of slick skin slapping against skin. His breath hitches, eyes roll back as he nears the edge, only to pull back, drawing out his pleasure.