In the quiet of his room, a man loses himself in the rhythm of his own touch. His hand, firm and steady, works his hardening length. Veins pulse beneath his fingers as he grips, lubricated by his growing arousal. He leans back, eyes closed, imagining forbidden pleasures. His breath hitches, body tense, as he nears the edge. With a final, rough stroke, he spills over, a guttural moan escaping his lips.