Joe Zen grips the soccer ball between his thighs while Santiago Masur kneels, his fingers probing Joe’s tight asshole with deliberate pressure. The yellow towels lie discarded as Santiago takes Joe’s cock deep into his throat, his dark hair framing the motion. Both men move with controlled urgency, one gripping his own shaft, the other tracing wet circles around Joe’s hole before switching to rim. The locker room stays silent except for the wet sounds of hands and mouths working.
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