Rob Yaeger fucks Seamus O'Reilly

Rob Yaeger’s gloved fist stretches Seamus O’Reilly’s hole open as the strap bites into his hips, the blond’s breath ragged with the weight of it. Seamus grips the leather tight, his chest hair dark against the leather, while Yaeger’s clean-shaven jaw works over his throat, fingers already probing deep. The air hums with the wet sound of sucking, his tongue tracing the seam of Yaeger’s lips before the fist slides home, slow and deliberate.