Pavel Master and David Hollister dominate with raw, unfiltered power, one’s broad shoulders straining over a bench as he pins Hollister’s hips down, his knuckles digging into the cushioned mat while his tongue burns through the tightest rim. The blond’s ass clenches around Hollister’s fingers, slick with spit and need, as he braces himself on an exercise ball, hips bucking into the relentless thrusts that split his hole open. Hands grip, mouths seal, and the bench creaks under the weight of their urgency, every movement a brutal claim.
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