Joel Drake and Trent Stone

Joel Drake’s lean frame pins Trent Stone against the bench, his fingers tracing the tight ring of his asshole while Trent’s tongue swipes the rim of his hole. The strap bites into Drake’s wrist as he pulls Stone’s cheeks apart, his breath hot against the puckered flesh before he takes a slow, deliberate lick. Stone grips the edge of the bench, his dark hair damp with sweat, as Drake’s mouth seals around his hole, fingers still working inside.