J Knight’s bearded, tattooed frame pins Cole Connor down on a bench, his hands gripping the yellow tape-wrapped edge as he drives into him with brutal, unrelenting strokes. Devin Franco kneels between Tristan Hunter’s spread legs, his tongue working the tight hole while Roman Todd stands behind, gripping his own cock and watching. The locker room air thickens with the sound of wet slaps and choked gasps, the benches groaning under the weight of bodies locked in relentless, unfiltered motion.
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