Al Carter’s tattooed, shaved head leans into Hunter Vance’s grip as he strokes himself with deliberate force, his fingers tracing the thick ridge through the tight white pants. The bearded man watches, gripping his own cock with slow, deliberate pressure, his black strap cutting into his wrist as he follows the rhythm. Their hands move in sync, the air thick with the sound of skin against skin and the wet, rhythmic slap of flesh.
By Suite703
