Vladimir, his body bathed in the soft, ethereal light of the full moon, sits on the edge of his bed, his cock already straining against the thin fabric of his pajama pants. He lets out a low chuckle, his hand wrapping around his shaft, a bead of pre-cum forming at the tip. He begins to stroke, his grip firm and steady, his breath hitching as he loses himself in the sensation. The room is filled with the sound of his pleasure, the rhythmic slapping of his hand against his flesh, the wet, sucking sound of his palm against his cock as he picks up the pace, his body tensing as he nears his release.