Dallas Steele, the tattooed one with the broad shoulders, grips Jonathan F Maze’s hips as he kneels behind him, his fingers already working the tight hole before the thick cock even enters. The blond, seated in the chair with his glasses resting on his chest, lets Steele measure his length with a tape before pulling him down for a deep, open-mouthed suck that leaves his throat wet. When Steele finally drives into him, slow, deliberate, Jonathan arches against the chair, his fingers digging into the armrests as the older man’s weight presses him down. The tape measure lies forgotten beside them, the only trace of what came before.
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