Fist Club

Mat Wolff runs the Fist Club. He doesn’t wait for orders; he pushes his thick wrists straight into whoever needs filling. Tonight he’s inside an empty warehouse, Apollo Fates on his back and Max Depth close by. The three of them move like a single, sweating engine. Mat’s knuckles open Apollo wider, then he slips his fist into Max, keeping both holes stuffed while he rocks forward on his knees. Sweat rolls off his shoulders. Max slides in beside him and takes Apollo’s other side, fingers pushing in deep until the wet, red rosebud blooms right against Mat’s knuckles. Apollo’s cock bounces, rock-hard, jerking every time the two men work deeper. Mat keeps his own dick out, thick and dripping, and when the rhythm peaks he pulls free, grips the shaft, and shoots a heavy load across Apollo’s open mouth and flushed cheeks. The load drips down his chin while Mat’s fist stays buried to the wrist, still flexing inside the stretched hole.