Francesco, Wilfried, Damien and Angelo

Francesco D’macho grips the strap around Wilfried Knight’s wrist as he drives into him, his bald head glistening with sweat, while Damien Crosse kneels behind Angelo Marconi, tongue deep in his asshole. Angelo’s muscular frame arches under the pressure, his tattoos standing out against the couch as Wilfried moans into Francesco’s mouth, fingers already buried inside him. The air thickens with the sounds of slapping skin and wet suction, each man’s hairy chest rising and falling in rhythm.