Ass Pigs

Mason Garet and Evan Matthews hit 2009 with the lights low and the grease thick. Garet starts on top, gloveless, sliding his whole hand into Matthews like he’s hunting for something buried. The deeper he goes the more you see the fist move under the skin of Matthews’ gut, a clear lump pushing outward with every thrust. Matthews flips the script, swings behind Garet, and buries both fists in him until Garet’s rosebud swells and blooms. They shift to doggy, each reaching back to drill the other, arms pumping in time, skin slick and marked with ink. The camera stays tight on the stretch, the grip, the way a fist disappears past the wrist and still has room to move. Two pigs, zero mercy, every inch accounted for.