The bearded, muscular man in the yellow vest pins the slim one against the reflective tarp, his grip tight as he lifts him off the ground, then slams him down hard onto the foil, fingers digging into his shoulders while the third watches, holding a small object close to his face. The woods blur behind them, but the way the slim one arches into the first thrust, his asshole stretched open, is all that matters. No words, just the wet sound of flesh meeting flesh and the way the bearded one’s breath comes in ragged gasps between each drive.
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