Indian Summer

by Stag Homme
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Damien Crosse grips Maykel Cash’s hips as he drives into him hard against jagged rocks, the wet sounds of flesh slapping stone mixing with Cash’s ragged breaths. His tattooed arms coil around the younger man’s waist, fingers digging in as he pounds deeper, while Cash’s slim frame bends forward, gripping the rough surface for leverage. Below, one of them kneels in the dirt, lips wrapped tight around the other’s thick cock, teeth scraping the shaft as they both work, fingers slick with spit, hands jerking in time with the rhythmic thrusts. The water nearby glints under the sun, but the only heat here is the way Damien’s grip tightens when Cash moans, his ass clenching around the cock buried inside him.






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