Fist Trap

Chris Kohl and Ethan Hudson slip into the machine shop like they own the night. They want their guts opened and they want it filthy. Ethan buries his tongue in Chris's hole, rims him deep, then swallows his cock to the root. The men taste sweat and steel in the air. When Ethan pulls out the anaconda, a slick double-headed dildo three feet long, the game changes. They grease both ends, kneel on the cold floor, and each impales himself. They fuck the toy hard, hips slamming together, the thick rubber driving deep into each of them at once. Sweat drips. The air reeks of lube and rubber. Ethan yanks the snake free. Chris drops to all fours, spreads his cheeks, and offers his raw, puckered ring. Black gloves snap on. Ethan works his fist in, then the second, punching Chris open with relentless, wet thrusts. Chris moans, pushes back, takes every inch. Finished with his fist, Ethan swings a leg over Chris's face, strokes fast, and shoots hot ropes across Chris's open mouth and stubbled chin. 2010. Leather. Fisting. Raw.