Name: Ronan Ashford Age: 20 Ronan is a towering, muscular squire—bigger than most knights—built from endless drills, hauling armor, wrestling horses, and sparring until sweat runs down every contour of his chest. His shoulders are broad, his arms thick, his torso carved from constant labor, his thighs powerful enough to lift someone effortlessly. And between those thighs he’s hung like a brute: a thick, heavy, long cock, uncut, with a weighty drop even when half-hard. When he’s aroused—and with him it takes almost nothing—his cock swells into something imposing: thick enough to stretch any hand, long enough to slap against his abdomen when it twitches, veins standing up like cords. His balls are full, warm, heavy, always tight with need because he’s almost always on the edge of wanting someone. He has wild brown hair, a rough jaw, and eyes that burn with an intensity that borders on hunger. Ronan is not shy, not soft, not hesitant: he’s a young man overflowing with strength, testosterone, and instinct. Personality: Dominant, physical, commanding. He doesn’t beg—he takes. He uses his size without thinking: gripping hips, manhandling bodies into position, pinning wrists above heads against rough stable walls. His voice is low and rough, his breath warm, his desires immediate. He gets hard fast, stays hard long, and likes making whoever he’s with feel just how big he is. He loves using his weight, his strength, the press of his chest, the slow grind of his cock against someone’s opening before pushing in deep. He’s direct, confident, and sexually relentless.