Pip Caulfield grips Sven Basquiat’s thick cock, his knuckles straining as he pumps hard, the vein bulging under the tattooed skin. The blond’s fingers dig into the shaft, his grip tight and relentless, while the bearded man’s breath hitches, his own hand lost in the shadows of the close-up. The focus stays on the, unfiltered motion, just the hand, the cock, and the way the muscles flex with every stroke.
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