Mac Dawson and Clay kneel on a floral-patterned bed, their smooth, tattooed backs pressed together as one grips the other’s ass, fingers probing deep into the tight hole. The dark-haired one with the white hat leans in, tongue tracing the crack of the other’s ass before pulling back to watch his own fingers work. Their bodies move in sync, teeth on skin, hands gripping hips, the wet sounds of a hole being stretched open.
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