Ion Davidov grips Andrej Volek’s hips hard while he slams into him from behind, the rough bark of the trees framing their sweat-slicked bodies on the blanket. The bearded man’s fingers dig into Volek’s thighs as he takes every deep thrust, his own dark hair tangled with the lighter strands of the one bent over the towel, licking and sucking with deliberate focus. The acoustic guitar leans against a tree, silent witness to the way Volek’s ass clenches around him, his hole stretched wide by the slow, relentless fucking.
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