Fistpack 29 - When A Man Needs A Fist

Ryan Patrick lies spread on seed bags and barrels in the back of the stable, his pale skin catching every glint of light. He works his thick, uncut cock while his hole twitches, begging to be used. Race Cooper steps in, dark hands zeroing in on the white thighs. Ryan asks if he’s going to open his country hole. Race answers by spitting on his fingers and driving them straight into Ryan’s ass while his mouth swallows that fat dick. Spit turns to lube, and soon Race’s whole fist sinks past the stretched ring. The contrast is raw: pale skin stretched tight around dark muscle. Race’s shoulders roll with every thrust, pushing deeper while Ryan moans, lost in the stretch. Race’s body ripples, every inch of his forearm vanishing inside. He hauls Ryan off the barrels, drops him to the dirt, and shoots thick ropes across Ryan’s face. Ryan stays down, jacks out his own load, and paints his cheeks white with it.