Tomas Decastro massage

Tomas Decastro kneels between the two, his hands slick with oil as they stretch out on the bed, one with a thick tattoo snaking up his arm, the other gripping the sheets with a grip that speaks of tension. The bearded man arches his back, his muscles rippling under the slow, deliberate pressure of fingers digging into his shoulders, while the other braces himself on his elbows, watching as oil glides over his chest. They don’t speak, just breathe in sync, the oil turning their skin shiny as Decastro shifts between kneading and stretching, his thumbs pressing deep into the tightest spots.