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Dom King grips Michael Vente’s hips as he slams into him from behind, the orange socks peeking from under the stool they’ve propped him against. His fingers dig into Vente’s ass while his mouth seals over his throat, the dark hair slick with spit and the weight of his cock. Vente turns, sucking Dom’s shaft deep before his own hand wraps around it, pumping as Dom’s bare load spills down his throat. The stool creaks under them, the only sound butting into the wet, rough breathing of two men who don’t slow down.