Chema's apartment is a shrine to his solitude, the walls adorned with abstract art that mirrors the chaos of his desires. He strips naked, his body a roadmap of hidden pleasures. He sits on the edge of his bed, legs spread wide, and begins to touch himself. His fingers dance over his balls, teasing the sensitive skin, before delving lower. He pushes one, then two fingers into his ass, his body clenching around the invasion. He moans, a primal sound that echoes through the empty room, as he picks up the pace, fucking himself with his hand while his other hand works his cock, bringing himself closer and closer to the edge.