Trent Locke’s bearded grip tightens on Dirk Caber’s hips as he drives into his asshole from behind, the clean-shaven man’s breath ragged against the damp towel spread beneath them. Dirk’s fingers dig into the pine needles while Trent’s tongue swipes his own hole, then traces the thick ridge of his cock before pulling back to lick the head. The woods swallow their moans, but the only sound that matters is the wet slap of skin against skin.
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