Samuel Smith grips his cock hard, his knuckles white as he strokes himself against the rough bark of a wooden bench, the grass beneath him damp with sweat. His muscles ripple under pale skin, short hair slicked back from the effort, while his fingers work him fast, no hesitation, just the wet slap of his palm against his shaft. Leaning against a wall, then collapsing onto a chair, he spreads his legs wide, the bench’s grain digging into his thighs as he drives himself deeper, his breath ragged. Every pose is deliberate, every shift of weight feeding the rhythm, his cock glistening with precome before he finally lets go.
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