Dustin Randal leans back on the couch, his lean frame stretched out as he grips his cock with a slow, deliberate grip, the light brown hair framing his face while his clean-shaven jaw tightens. The couch frames every angle, his legs dangling, his back arched, his fist working the shaft as he squats on the floor, then returns to the couch, each position isolating the thick, heavy length in his hand. The only focus is the cock, the way it fills his palm, the way he holds it, the way it stands out against the couch’s worn fabric.
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