Karl Stevens grips a bright yellow ball between his spread legs, his dark hair framing a body built for strength as he leans back on his elbows, fingers already tracing the lines of his own skin. The checkered shorts ride low, exposing the first glimpses of what follows, his hands moving closer to his groin, then to his ass, then to his mouth, until the fabric falls away entirely. Every pose is deliberate, every touch precise, as he works himself open in slow, unhurried strokes.
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