Fist for Hire 1

Horny Harrison Quaid cruises Polk Street, eyes sharp, looking for a fist he can pay for. He locks onto Chris Ward and drags him home to his leather-bound birthday present, Kelly Smith. Kelly hangs in the sling, harness cinched tight. Ward cracks open the Southern Comfort, takes a pull, then slams his fist past Kelly’s greased rim. Every thrust hits deeper, knuckles flexing under stretched skin. Ward growls filthy orders—push, open, take it—while the birthday boy stays rock-hard, cock twitching. Ward slides the varnished bowling pin in next, “Happy Birthday” letters gleaming with lube. Hair mats against leather, sweat runs in rivulets. Ward’s red beard gets the load when Kelly finally shoots, Ward’s forearm buried past the elbow, cum streaking whiskers and lips.