Adam Herst grips Jp Dubois’s hips hard enough to bruise, his knuckles white as he slams into him from behind, the metal bar biting into their backs like a reminder of who’s in charge. Jp’s mouth opens around Adam’s cock with a wet, desperate sound, his fingers already working the tight hole that’s already leaking, while Adam’s beard scratches his shoulder in rough possession. The air smells like sweat and iron, the restraints digging in as one forces the other into every angle, fingers probing, tongue licking, then the slow, brutal stretch of a cock that doesn’t care about mercy.
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