Pedro Andreas grips the bench as Daniel Marvin’s tongue burns his asshole, slick with lube, while Ross Hurston kneels behind him, fingers probing deep before taking his cock into his mouth. The tattooed, muscular men move with rough precision, one’s beard scrapes against skin, another’s grip tightens on hips as he drives into the hole from behind, the bench creaking under their weight. The locker room’s hard surfaces press against their bodies, the air thick with the sounds of wet suction and the slap of flesh.
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