Billy Da Kidd and another man kneel between his legs, the violin’s bow dragging slow, deliberate strokes over his cock while his fingers trace the tight ring of his ass. The toothbrush presses between his cheeks, the bristles slick with spit, as the other man takes him deep, his throat working around the thick shaft. The glass clinks against the table, no one drinks, just watches the way his breath hitches when the bow scrapes the underside, the way his hole flutters at the first press of the toothbrush’s blunt edge.
