Drew Dixon fists Sherman Maus

Drew Dixon’s fist slams into Sherman Maus’s tight hole while the blond leans forward, gripping the candle for balance, no softening, just pressure as the dark-haired one sucks hard on his throat. Sherman’s muscles clench around the thick intrusion, fingers digging into Drew’s shoulders as the harness straps cut into his waist, holding him steady for the deep thrusts. The air hums with the wet sound of lips and the sharp inhale of pain, the candlelight flickering over sweat-slicked skin.