Hans Berlin and Isaac Eliad

Hans Berlin kneels with his wrists bound, his tattooed arms flexing as Isaac Eliad looms over him, his cock thick and ready. Berlin’s hole is spread open, fingers probe, lips seal around it, while Eliad’s feet press into the couch, anchoring him as Berlin takes every inch. The air hums with the wet sounds of rimming, the stretch of fingers, and the slow, deliberate thrusts that fill him from behind.