Brett Foxx and the bearded, tattooed man with the cap grip each other’s hips as the strap bites into Foxx’s waist, pulling him into the first deep thrust. The dark-haired, muscular man’s fingers work his hole while Foxx’s mouth takes him to the back of the throat, bareback, no barrier between them. The cap stays on as the belt tightens, marking the rhythm of their movements.
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