Ennio Guardi stretches across the table, his back arched under the firm grip of another man’s hands, while fingers trace the tight ring of his asshole with deliberate precision. The blond’s beard brushes his skin as he kneads the muscles of his shoulders, oil slicking over taut flesh, before shifting to lick the puckered hole with slow, deliberate strokes. A yellow towel lies beneath them, catching the sheen of sweat and oil as one man’s fingers work deeper, stretching and probing. The air hums with the weight of their bodies and the wet, intimate sounds of preparation.
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