Full Fist Interrogation

Colin Bryant drops to his knees. He waits. Hugh Hunter storms in naked, voice already sharp. 'Eat my ass!' he snaps, slamming his palms on the table as he bends. He knows what he wants, and tolerance is zero. Colin licks fast, but Hugh barks again—'More tongue!' 'Deeper, pig!'—his hole twitching against every push. The tatted muscle stud wants deeper reach than a tongue can give. He orders lube, drops to hands and knees, and Colin greases both fists. The first slides in past the knuckles, wrist-deep, then the second follows in quick, brutal pumps. Hugh's hole gapes around the knuckles, sucking and snapping shut each time a fist pulls free. Grunts turn to growls; he takes every inch like punishment. Colin’s cock throbs from the sight. He yanks his fists out, lies beside Hugh, strokes hard, and shoots thick ropes across his own stomach. Before the last drop lands, Hugh’s tone turns cold: 'You’re going in the brig anyway.'