Brett Bradley fucks Doug Acre

Brett Bradley drives deep into Doug Acre’s tight hole, his muscular frame anchored by the desk as Doug grips the chair’s edge, breath ragged. The pink-shirted one moans around Brett’s fingers, his short dark hair damp with sweat, while Brett’s light blue shirt rides up, exposing the corded strength of his back. The office chair creaks under Doug’s weight as Brett’s thrusts grow harder, the desk’s edge biting into his thighs.