Ian's secret vice is a lonely one. In the quiet of his room, he gives in to the temptation of his pulsating verga. He strokes it slowly, lovingly, his fingers tracing the veins and ridges. His other hand wanders, pinching his nipples, teasing his balls, as he imagines faceless lovers. His pace quickens, his breath hitches, and with a final, desperate stroke, he comes undone, his cum painting his belly in wet streaks. He's left panting, guilty, but already craving his next secret session.