Bruce Querelle dominates Christian Lundgren with rough, unprotected thrusts while the stocky blond grips the sheets, his fingers already deep inside Lundgren’s tight hole. Querelle’s dark hair falls forward as he pins Lundgren’s wrists, his own body coiled over him like a blade, while Lundgren’s mouth works bruisingly on Querelle’s cock. The air thickens with the wet slap of skin, the slick drag of fingers, and the low, guttural sounds of a man being stretched open, no pillow softens the weight, just the raw press of muscle and need.
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