Benjamin Blue grips the paddle’s red-diamonded handle, its weight pressing into his palm as he leans forward, muscles straining under the dark hair and beard framing his jaw. Tony D’angelo kneels behind him, the tattoos on his back rippling with each shift of his hips, the paddle’s edge already leaving faint, hot marks on his ass. The first strike lands hard, the paddle’s bite sharp and deliberate, the air thick with the sound of flesh meeting wood.
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