Paul Wagner’s beard scrapes Mike Martinhot’s throat as he grips his jaw, fingers already working the slick hole while his mouth takes the other’s cock deep. Mike lies sprawled on the couch, his smooth chest rising as Wagner’s tongue drags up his ribs before his teeth close around the head. The couch creaks under them, the only sound between the wet slap of lips and the slow, deliberate thrust of a finger inside.
