Alec Loob’s handprint burns across Baby Joel’s ass as he pins him to the chair, the red strap biting into his thighs while Joel gasps into his mouth. Loob’s fingers slide deep, slick with his own spit, before pulling back to tease the tight hole, Joel’s breath hitches, his body arching against the restraint. The dark hair on both of them is thick, the muscles in Loob’s arms flexing as he holds Joel still, his grip rough but deliberate.
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