Fisting Big Leagues

Claude De Martini steps into the locker room, already hard, looking to wreck Paul Turner. He yanks the shorts down and stares at the hole he wants open. No patience for slow work, so he grabs a thick foot-long toy and rams it in. The rubber disappears, then Claude drops it and pulls on the gloves. Lube snaps between his fingers. First fist slides in to the wrist. Turner grunts and pushes back. Second fist follows. The hole stretches wide, shiny with grease, taking everything. Turner’s ass swallows the knuckles until he’s done and the rosebud pushes out, fat and flushed. Claude climbs onto the table, spreads, and lets Turner return the favor, getting his own hole drilled until it blooms the same way.