Mitch Branson stands with his back to a wall of climbing vines, his dark hair damp against his neck as he grips his cock hard enough to make his abs ripple. The sunlight filters through the leaves, catching the sweat glistening on his smooth, muscular forearms as he strokes himself with slow, deliberate pressure. His jaw is set, fingers working fast over the thick shaft, the only sound the wet slap of skin against skin.
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