Justin Conway and Rudy Bodlak pin Tristan Balboa to the bench, his ass spread wide as one grips his hips and the other drives in hard, the tattoos on their arms flexing with each thrust. The blond on top works his mouth over Tristan’s throat while the bearded one fingers him open, then presses in deep, his knuckles slick with spit. A rimmed hole glistens under the bench’s rough wood, the air thick with the sounds of wet slaps and rough breathing.
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