Teddy Bryce’s thick fingers stretch Archer Croft’s hole open with brutal precision, the strap holding him steady as the bearded man works his way deeper. Archer grips the edge of the bed, his knuckles white, while Teddy’s tattooed arms flex with controlled force, his clean-shaven jaw tight with focus. The air fills with wet sounds as fingers slide in and out, then the first slow, deliberate thrust of the strap pushes farther than any hand could.
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