The room is filled with the soft sounds of his own breath, the rustle of fabric, and the wet, rhythmic slapping of flesh against flesh. His cock, hard and aching, is the centerpiece of his self-love, but it's the pressure on his prostate that sends waves of pleasure coursing through him. His body responds instinctively, his hips bucking, his grip tightening. He's lost in the sensation, his mind a blank slate, save for the primal need to chase his release. His balls tighten, his cock swells, and with a guttural groan, he milks himself, his cum spilling out, a sign of his body's release, as he rides out the waves of his solitary ecstasy.