Sean Duran Fists Brian Bonds

Brian Bonds spreads his hairy cheeks. Sean Duran buries his face between them, tonguing the warm crack, then works spit inside with his fingers. Brian moans deep in his throat. He climbs onto the table, spreads his legs, ready. Sean doesn’t warm him up—he slams his thick cock straight in, pounding from behind, each slap of hand on flesh loud and sharp. Brian’s hole takes the girth with every stroke. When Brian rolls to his back, Sean peels on a glove, slathers white lube across his knuckles, and starts feeding Brian his fingers. Four slide past the ring; the whole fist follows in a slow, deliberate push. Brian’s eyes lock on Sean’s arm as it disappears. The fist works deeper, twisting, knuckles grazing prostate. Sean leans over, lips wrapping around Brian’s cock while his fist stays buried. Brian’s breath hitches; he blows a thick load across his own thigh. Sean peels the glove, straddles Brian’s face, and jerks until rope after rope of cum lands on Brian’s tongue. Brian swallows every drop he can reach.