In the realm of the unknown, a man stands, his hand wrapped around his rigid shaft. No adornments, no stimulants, just the primal act of punheta. His grip tightens, his strokes quicken, the sound of skin on skin echoes in the empty room. The air grows thick with the scent of his desire, his breath ragged, his body tensing as he nears the edge. This is the bare basics of pleasure.