Krist Cummings stretches in the bathtub, his dark hair slick with water, while a mechanical device hums against his tattooed, muscular ass, its probe already buried deep. He grips the handle, adjusting the rhythm as the contraption pulses inside him, water sloshing around his hips. The fixture’s attachment to the plumbing means no hands are needed, just the steady, relentless thrusts of the machine working his hole.
