Wristrider

Michael Soldier and Rik Jammer wake up hungry for each other. They grab hold of each other’s morning wood and work it hard before they hit the trail. Naked, they hike to the highest ridge, where the open air only pushes them further. One drops to his knees, tongue busy, mouth wet, then they trade places. Ass ready, Rik bends over, and Michael slides inside. The strokes turn harder, deeper, until he pulls out and makes a fist. He works that hand in slow at first, then twists, pushes, and takes Rik past the knuckles. Rik pushes back, taking everything Michael gives. They stay on the edge of the cliff, wind on skin, breath rough. Michael fucks him again, slams in, then pulls back to fist once more. Sweat runs down their backs. Michael’s body locks up and he shoots—thick ropes that fly and keep coming until nothing’s left in him.