Jay Davis grips Sherman Maus’s hips, his beard rough against the dark hair of his ass as he drives in deep without a condom. Sherman’s hole clenches around him, his muscular frame braced on pillows while Davis’s chain necklace glints as he pulls back and slams forward. His tongue traces the tight ring, then slips inside, while fingers stretch him open, no hesitation, just the raw, hairy thrust of one man taking the other. The sheets twist beneath them as Davis’s grip tightens, his beard brushing Sherman’s sweat-slick neck.
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