Woody Fox grips Dario Beck’s tie while his lips drag down his throat, fingers already working the slick heat between his thighs. Beck kneels, tongue tracing the head of Woody’s cock as his own cock swells in his fist, the couch’s edge biting into his shoulders. Woody’s palm slides between Beck’s legs, his thumb pressing deep as he guides the cock he’s about to take. The chair creaks behind them, silent witness to the way Beck’s hole clenches around Woody’s first thrust.
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