Mark Woods, AKA Mark Woods, sprawls back in the chair like he owns the room and his cock. He’s inked, stubbled, built. One hand’s around his thick shaft, the other resting behind his head while he works himself slow and steady. Eyes half-lidded, mouth open just enough to let out a low grunt when he squeezes at the head. Veins pop, balls hang heavy, and every stroke makes the muscle in his forearm jump. He doesn’t rush. He knows the camera’s watching and he likes it. A slick bead slides down the crown and he smears it over the slit with his thumb, then keeps pumping, hips shifting like he’s already inside something tight. When he finally shoots, it’s a heavy spurt that ropes across his stomach, and he just grins, breathing hard, still half-hard in his fist.
Mark Woods, AKA Mark Woods, sprawls back in the chair like he owns the room and his cock. He’s inked, stubbled, built. One hand’s around his thick shaft, the other resting behind his head while he works himself slow and steady. Eyes half-lidded, mouth open just enough to let out a low grunt when he squeezes at the head. Veins pop, balls hang heavy, and every stroke makes the muscle in his forearm jump. He doesn’t rush. He knows the camera’s watching and he likes it. A slick bead slides down the crown and he smears it over the slit with his thumb, then keeps pumping, hips shifting like he’s already inside something tight. When he finally shoots, it’s a heavy spurt that ropes across his stomach, and he just grins, breathing hard, still half-hard in his fist.