The garage door rattles down, sealing the biker inside with his motorcycles and tools. He leans against the workbench, his rough hands going to his belt, undoing it with a practiced ease. His jeans slide down, pooling around his heavy boots, and he steps out of them, kicking them aside. His boxers follow, and he stands there, naked and unapologetic, his thick, curved cock bouncing slightly as he moves. He runs a hand over his balls, cupping them, before wrapping his fist around his shaft, starting a slow, steady rhythm. The scent of oil and gasoline mixes with the musk of his arousal, filling the air as he works himself towards release.