Solo indulgence leads to pent-up explosion

He locks the door, the world outside fading away as he stands before the mirror. His reflection shows a man on the edge, hunger in his eyes. He unbuckles his pants, letting them pool around his ankles before grasping his rigid length. Each stroke is a dance of need, his grip tight, his pace increasing. He's a man possessed, his body betraying his mind's attempts at control. With a final, jerky movement, he comes undone, his hot seed spilling over his hand and onto the tiled floor, a silent, shameful confession of his secret, solitary vice.

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