Johnathan Strake & Johny Cherry

Johnathan Strake grips the rifle tight while Johny Cherry kneels, his mouth swallowing Strake’s cock, then the woods fade as Strake flips him over, fingers probing his tight hole before slamming in with no warning. Cherry’s lean body arches into the thrusts, his dark hair tangled with pine needles as Strake’s grip on the rifle shifts to a bruising hold on his hip. The camouflage peels away with the clothes, leaving only sweat and the wet slap of skin against skin.