Dakota Lovell kneels between Daniel Dean’s spread thighs, his tongue tracing the tight rim of his asshole while Dean grips Rowan Hunter’s hips from behind, fingers already working the same hole. Hunter’s lean frame bends forward, his short light brown hair brushing the ground as Dean’s muscular body presses into him, the blue shorts the only thing left between them. The woods blur behind them as Lovell’s fingers join the rimming, each thrust precise, the uniforms in the distance a silent reminder of who they serve.
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