Joe Parker and Nick Milani kneel on the exam table as the third man, tattoos snaking up his arms, measures their spread with a cold, precise grip. One presses his lips to Parker’s neck while fingers probe his tight hole, the other licks Milani’s ribs before sliding two inside, stretching him open. The anatomy poster behind them watches as the third man, bearded, muscular, clean-shaven, lines up and drives into Parker first, then Milani, each thrust measured, each breath held.
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