Jake Cruise’s stocky frame kneads Jeremy Spreadums’ taut, tattooed sides with slick fingers, the oil glistening as he presses deep into the muscle. Spreadums lies still beneath him, lips parted for the slow drag of Cruise’s tongue against his tight hole, fingers already working the puckered ring open. Their hands grip each other’s wrists, knuckles white, as Cruise’s weight pins him down, no gentleness, just the relentless pull of oil and pressure.
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