Tyler Blue sits on the edge of a bed, his light hair falling over his shoulders as he grips himself with deliberate precision, fingers tracing slow circles before switching to a small, smooth object that glides against his skin. The blue sheets and striped pillows frame him as he shifts, naked now, the motion deliberate and unhurried, each stroke measured and visible. His body is lean, his movements controlled, the act and unfiltered in its simplicity.
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