Powerfist

Chris Ward clocks out and heads straight over. Mark Evrett is trimming the hedge, shirt off, fur slick with sweat. One look and they’re inside. Evrett hops onto the kitchen table. Ward rubs the thick silver ring at the end of his cock across the gardener’s tight ring, then drags his tongue after it. Teasing turns to driving need. Ward slams in raw, fucks him hard for a minute, then yanks out. He snaps a fat plug onto the drill, lubes it, and eases the buzzing toy straight into Evrett’s ass. The low growl of the motor fills the room. They switch. Evrett bends Ward over the oven and pounds him back for a hot minute. Drill time again. When Evrett’s back on the table, Ward gloves up, greases his fist, and sinks it past the second knuckle. Slow pumps turn fast. The gardener’s hole blooms, dark and open, meat pushing out. Ward leans in and licks the puffed, shiny rim like it’s the last meal he’ll ever get.