Cory Eliott stands with his muscular frame pressed against the door frame, his clean-shaven jaw tight as he grips the frame with one hand while his other strokes himself with deliberate force. The tension in his biceps and the way his fingers work over his cock make it clear he’s not just touching himself, he’s driving into his own fist with controlled, relentless thrusts. His breath comes sharp and uneven, the veins in his neck standing out as he leans forward, the door frame the only thing holding him steady.
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