Mason Lear dominates with a thick cock buried deep in Michael Boston’s tight hole, his beard scraping against the other man’s neck as he grips his hips and slams forward. The sun bleeds through the trees while Boston’s fingers dig into Mason’s shoulders, his breath ragged as each thrust pushes him harder against the rough bark. No words, just the wet sound of flesh slapping, the way Mason’s knuckles turn white from holding on.
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