Roberto A. leans forward over a cold metal table, his lean frame flexing as he spreads his legs wide, the tight fabric of his pants pulling against his ass. The cap’s camouflage pattern sits low on his forehead, shadowing his dark hair as he kneels, fingers pressing into his chest in a pose that makes his hole stretch taut. Every shift of his weight ripples through the surface, the angle of his back arching just enough to expose the curve of his asshole.
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