Forty-something neighbor with dark stubble leans against the hallway wall, cock in hand, eyes squeezed shut. What does he imagine as he strokes himself raw in the dim light? Thick fingers wrap around his shaft, working faster with each passing second. The framed pictures on the wall blur into nothing as his breath turns ragged. No wife in sight, just the memory of her lie and the ache in his balls. He cannot stop now, not when the hallway feels like the only place left where he can be himself. His hips jerk forward one last time before he groans, thick ropes of cum dripping down his fingers.
