Serg Shepard Gets Fucked By Legrand Wolf

Legrand Wolf’s thick fingers press into Serg Shepard’s smooth, stocky chest, tracing the ribs with deliberate pressure while the younger man lies still on the massage table. A medical chart lies open beside them, marking each spot as Wolf checks for tension in the shoulders, then slides his palms down the spine with slow, probing force. The exam moves to the abdomen, his grip firm as he traces the muscles, then down to the legs, where his touch lingers longer on the feet. No barrier between them, just the cold precision of a thorough, unprotected check.