Miguel Armando stands with his broad, muscular frame pressed against the wall, his dark hair framing a face carved from strength, then collapses onto the bed in slow, deliberate stretches, each movement a display of power. His cock swells thick and heavy as he grips it, fingers tracing the vein-ridged length before he finally lets it go, the weight of it pulling his hips forward in a hungry, unhurried thrust. The sheets ripple beneath him as he drives into his own fist, the bed frame creaking under the force, his breath ragged but controlled, every stroke a deliberate claim.
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