Tristan Hunter dominates Isaiah Taye with a raw, unprotected grip, his bare cock slamming into the bent-over asshole while the mirror captures every thrust. Isaiah’s fingers dig into the carpet as Tristan’s tongue swipes up his tight hole, then his teeth grip the nape of his neck. The air hums with the wet slap of skin, the groan of a cock buried deep, and the way Tristan’s beard scrapes Isaiah’s shoulder when he pulls back. No barrier, just the heat of two bodies locked together, one forcing, the other taking every inch.
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