Slam Dunk

Three men hang chained in a dim garage. Hanson grabs Tony Bishop first, jerks him forward, rams a fat zero-gauge sound straight into that dripping piss slit. Hot wax hits skin. Bishop winces. Hanson snaps cuffs tight around Bishop’s wrist and pins it against his own throbbing cock and balls. Bishop stays right where he’s told. Stretch gets the bench. Hanson shoves him down hard until his legs split wide, hole open to the air. He orders Bishop in close; Bishop’s tongue works the stretched rim while Hanson moves to Chad West. Chad’s mouth is next—Hanson feeds him every inch, then flips him, drives in deep, hips slapping leather. Bishop’s fist is already half-buried in Stretch, knuckles gliding past the second ring. Hanson and Stretch swap places on the bench. Bishop and West lie side by side, holes offered. Foot-long rubber slams in—inch after inch—until both asses swallow to the base. The dildos stay buried while the three tops circle Bishop on the floor, stroke fast, and paint him white from chest to chin.