Shane Jackson grips a strap-on, his dark hair slick with sweat as he straddles Avery Troy, who sits rigid on the couch, fingers wrapped tight around a vibrating toy. The muscles in Troy’s arms ripple as he works the toy against himself, his smooth skin glistening under the light. Jackson’s grip never wavers, his thrusts steady and deliberate, each one driving Troy deeper into the pleasure of the toy. The only sound is the wet slap of flesh and the hum of the toy, both men lost in the rhythm.
