Lance Mayer’s strong hands grip Cesar Rose’s hips as he drives deep into the scout’s tight ass, the blue cap of his uniform riding low over his dark hair. Cesar leans back against the rough wood of the bench, legs spread wide, his own uniform pulled tight around his waist while Lance’s breath comes fast, each thrust harder than the last. The woods swallow their sounds, the only movement the way his fingers dig into Cesar’s thighs, holding him steady as the angle changes.
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