Sit On It

The camera pulls back. Rick West watches the screen—Eli Horst and Giovanni Bellini going at it hard, mouths full, cocks buried, thick dildos shoved deep, fists sliding in and out like they own the holes. West grips a fat toy, works it into his ass, then drops to all fours and drives his own fist inside. Knuckles disappear, wrist follows, his breathing sharp and ragged. Kroner and Edwards step in. Hands grab, tongues slide, cocks slam deep. Someone’s fist finds another hole, then another. The circle tightens. Edwards lies back, West climbs over, and the pair lock into a sixty-nine of fists—each arm working the other’s stretched, greedy hole while sweat drips and leather creaks. No one lets up. 2008 never looked this raw.