Coach My Hole

Dale Savage just spent an hour pushing Tony Orlando through brutal sets, and now the coach gets his reward. Tony bends him over the weight bench and drags his tongue over the sweat-salted hair around Dale’s hole. One thick pass, then he pushes two fingers in without warning. Dale grunts, spreads wider. Tony pulls his fingers out, drags them down, licks the length of Dale’s crack again, tongue slipping over heavy balls before he comes back to the hole and dives in deeper. Coach Dale’s voice turns raw, begging for more than a tongue. Tony snaps on a glove, coats it with lube, and starts feeding his fist. One knuckle, two, until the whole hand sinks past the tight ring. He works it in steady strokes while Dale’s legs shake. They switch. Dale straddles Tony’s forearm and sinks down until his rim kisses the elbow, then rises and drops again, taking the arm to the limit. The stretch has him gasping. Tony pulls out, lays him on his back on the rubber mats, and drives back in at a new angle, fingers rubbing the swollen prostate until Dale’s cock jerks and spits a thick rope across his own thigh. Tony leans in, laps up the warm load, holds it, then presses his mouth to Dale’s. Their tongues trade the salty mess until the last drop is gone and the kiss is nothing but cum and spit. Practice is done.