Papi Kocic grips Pol Prince’s hips hard while he rides his cock bareback in the truck cab, the yellow safety vest riding low over his chest as he slams down. Pol’s tattooed arms brace against the dashboard, his mouth locked on Papi’s shaft as he chokes off thick ropes onto his own fingers. The cab smells of grease and stale food, plates of half-eaten sandwiches forgotten between thrusts.
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