Jessie Colter fucks Drake Masters

Drake Masters grips Jessie Colter’s hips as he slams into him, his beard scraping against the dark hair between his legs while the green benches and gym racks blur behind them. The bald, tattooed man above pins him down with rough fingers, his olive skin glistening with sweat as he works his way deeper, the stuffed animal forgotten on the bench beside them. Their bodies move in sharp, hungry thrusts, the mask on the floor a silent witness to the way Drake’s hands clutch the sheets, his breath ragged.