John Magnum grips Byron Saint’s stretched hole with a thick black glove, fingers buried deep as the shaved head leans forward, muscles taut against the white surface. The leather harness tightens around his waist, anchoring him while Saint kneels, asshole gaping under the strain of Magnum’s relentless stretch. His tattooed arms flex as he works the glove in and out, the dark skin glistening with sweat. No words, no hesitation, just the wet, deliberate sound of flesh giving way.
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