Lance B and Tom Littlewolf

Lance B pins Tom Littlewolf’s wrist to the bed while the stocky man’s graying hair brushes the sheets, his fingers probing the tight asshole. The smooth-faced one kneels between his legs, tongue tracing the rim before taking the hole deep in slow, deliberate pulls. A strap secures his wrist, no escape, while the other man’s lips seal over his own, swallowing his moans as the fucking starts, rough and unhurried.