The blond, smooth, slim Edward Terrant stands naked before the blue door, his body taut with the effort of holding his weight as Jordan Lake, Leo Louis, and Theo Brady pound him from behind. Their fists drive into his asshole, splitting his hole open with brutal precision, while Terrant’s hands grip the doorframe, his breath ragged but silent. The men’s bodies move in unison, each strike measured, each thrust deeper than the last.
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