Michael Boston grips the edge of the exam table as Drew Valentino kneels between his spread legs, tongue tracing the tight ring of his asshole with deliberate precision. The bearded, tattooed man’s fingers dig into the cold metal while Valentino’s slim, lightly marked body leans forward, lips sealing around the puckered hole in slow, wet pulls. A gloved hand slides between them, fingers probing deep as Boston arches off the table, his breath ragged with the stretch. The only sounds are the wet smack of lips and the distant clink of medical tools left unused.
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