Renato Belaggio leans against the bench, his muscular frame taut as he grips his cock with practiced precision, the ink on his left arm dark against his skin. Every shift, leaning forward, sitting back, hands on hips, keeps the thick shaft in view, the tension in his grip making the flesh swell. The red wall behind him does nothing but hold the light; the only movement is his own, slow and deliberate, as he works himself open.
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