Jens Hammer dominates the bench, his muscular frame bent over as Leroy Lellek grips his thighs, tongue deep in his asshole while the third man, clean-shaven, tattoos glinting under the locker room lights, watches, fingers already slick with pre-cum. The military uniform hangs discarded, straps and buckles discarded as hands roam over sweat-slick skin, one man’s cock already thick in another’s mouth, the air thick with the sound of slapping flesh and the wet, desperate sounds of a hole being stretched. Lockers stand as silent witnesses, their metal surfaces catching glistening drops as the blond’s fingers probe deeper, his own cock throbbing between the other’s spread legs.
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