Drew Foxx stands shirtless, his smooth, slim frame flexing as he poses with a yellow cloth pressed against his groin, tattooed arm resting casually beside him. He lies on his side, then rolls onto his stomach, the fabric slipping lower as he adjusts his grip, his own hand working the yellow object into a slow, deliberate stroke. The bed stays still while his fingers trace the lines of his own body, the only sound the quiet rasp of skin against the towel.
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