Alavag, isolated from the world, turns inwards for satisfaction. His hand wraps around his stiff cock, the "polla" a source of both solace and frustration. His strokes are long and languid, each one pulling a groan from his lips. The room is filled with the sound of his pleasure, the scent of his musk heavy in the air. His body tenses, his breath hitches, and with a final, forceful stroke, he finds his release, his cock pulsing as he coats his hand with his sticky cum. Exhausted and satisfied, he collapses back, his chest heaving as he comes down from his solo high.