Louis Ricaute grips the ball between his thick thighs, his bald head gleaming under the sun as he leans into the weight, muscles straining against the leather. Dato Foland stands behind him, bearded and broad-shouldered, fingers digging into the flesh of Ricaute’s ass as he guides the ball deeper. The sand shifts beneath them, but neither moves, just the slow, deliberate press of a man holding another in place.
+18+17+16+15+14+13
