Adam Champ’s beard scrapes against Jr Bronson’s hairy chest as he grips his stocky hips, fingers probing deep while his tongue traces the crack of his ass. Jr leans back into the wooden deck, his dark hair tangled with sweat, as Champ’s mouth seals over his hole with a wet, hungry sound. The lounge chair creaks under them, the only movement besides the slow, deliberate thrust of his tongue against his rim.
