Danny Bianchi stands on the bed, his dark hair falling over his smooth, slim frame as he grips his cock and strokes it with slow, deliberate motions. The phone in his hand is forgotten as his focus shifts to the steady rhythm of his own hand, his fingers working over his length with practiced ease. The bedroom around him fades into the background, leaving only the sound of his breath and the wet, rhythmic slap of his palm against his skin.
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