Dungeon Pig

Wrex Wylde towers over Tony Orlando, boots planted wide, thick uncut meat pushed down Tony’s throat. He hooks a heel on a bench and gives the signal. Tony’s right fist disappears to the wrist, then elbow, vanishing into Wrex’s greedy hole. Spit and lube run down his forearm while his mouth stays full. Wrex drops to his back, boots in the air, and Tony brings the second fist, pounding both forearms like pistons. Each time the rosy bud blooms, Tony leans in, tongues it, then slams it home again. He pulls his fists free, lines up his own raw cock and fucks straight into the open prolapse, pushing the soft flesh back inside with every thrust. When the hole gapes again, he keeps his dick buried and works his fist alongside it, jerking himself off inside Wrex’s stretched guts. Boots, fists, cock—one after another—take turns wrecking the ruined ring. Wrex jerks and splatters thick ropes over his own leather chest while Tony’s fist and bare foot are still buried inside him.