Trent Marx lies back on the bed, his blond hair spread across the turquoise headboard as his tattooed fingers trace slow circles over his own cock. Sitting up with a smirk, he grips himself harder, his slim body relaxed yet focused, hands never straying far from where he pleasures himself. The only movement is his, no one else in the room, just the steady rhythm of his touch and the way his head tilts back as he watches his own hand work.
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