Dylan Maguire and Peter Annaud kneel over Jeroen Mondrian’s spread legs, their dark hair slick with sweat as they grip his thighs and pull him forward. One licks the tight ring of his hole while the other presses a thick finger inside, their muscular arms flexing with every slow thrust. The bed creaks under their weight as they take turns, tongues and fingers working in unison to stretch him open.
