Robert Drtina kneels behind Paul Belonek in the woods, his tattooed arm gripping the dark-haired man’s hips as he tongues his asshole. Belonek spreads his hole wide on the blue towel, fingers already probing deep while Drtina’s mouth seals around the tight ring. The air hums with the wet slap of flesh, the rough thrust of a cock driving into him, and the slow, deliberate pull of a hand wrapped around thick, veined length.
