The room is filled with the soft, rhythmic sound of flesh meeting flesh as the teen loses himself in his private ritual. His hand moves in a steady rhythm, his grip firm yet gentle. The scent of his own arousal fills the air, a heady mix of musk and sweat that only serves to heighten his pleasure. His body is a symphony of sensations, his muscles tensing and releasing in time with his strokes. As he nears the edge, his breath comes in ragged gasps, his hips bucking slightly as he chases his release. With a final, shuddering groan, he comes, his body convulsing as he paints his stomach with his seed.