The bearded man grips the whip with a grip that speaks of years spent perfecting its bite, his muscles straining as he shifts his weight between poses, kneeling, leaning, standing, each movement calculated to show its length and weight. His clean-shaven jaw and dark hair frame a face that doesn’t just hold the whip; it commands it, the leather harness wrapped tight around his torso like a second skin. Every angle, from the whip raised above his head to it brushing near his ass, makes it clear this isn’t just a prop, it’s an extension of him.
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