Austin Shadow and Ken Byker stand bound in the woods, their dark hair and muscular frames pressed against a tree while Eric Scott holds their penises, spraying streams of piss onto their backs. One kneels on a green bench, rope coiled around his wrists, while the other leans forward, his shaved head angled as the hot jets hit his skin. The yellow vine cuts into their skin, but neither moves, just the steady, unbroken flow of urine marking their bodies.
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