Sounding #9

Kyle Wood stares out with the cold stare of someone who has seen too much and wants more. Ink crawls up his arms and chest. His PA glints under the lights. The buzz of clippers rips through his hair, carving a Mohawk into what was already a dare to the room. Hair drifts to the floor. Tony says two words. Kyle wraps a gloved hand around his cock, thumbing the thick head where the piercing splits the skin. He slides the sound in, tilts the tip so it pops out the piercing, then feeds it back into the slit and straight down the shaft. The rod sinks deep. He pumps the flesh around it, jaw tight, breath sharp. Every thrust of his wrist drags the steel along raw nerves until heat coils low in his belly. He times it perfect. The sound whips out the second cum fires up in one long white ribbon, boots planted, the whole body locked tight.