Sherman Maus grips Cazden Hunter’s hips while Jim Fit kneels behind, his fist already buried deep as Cazden moans into Sherman’s mouth. The sauna’s steam clings to their sweat-slicked skin, the wooden benches groaning under their weight as Sherman’s fingers probe Hunter’s tight hole. Jim’s beard brushes Cazden’s shoulder as he works, his fist sliding in and out with a wet, deliberate rhythm.
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