Bottoms Up

Taz Action sits in a dark corner of the club, bucket of Crisco, toys lined up, and a mirror angled so he can watch his own fist vanish up his hole. Beau Saxon and Kirk Rogers spot him and take charge. They shove him face-down, slick their cocks with the same greasy white, and trade places, one drilling his throat while the other sinks in balls-deep. The leather strains around their thighs. Bondage cuffs bite Taz’s wrists. One of the tops presses a thick plug beside his cock, stretching Taz wider than the fist had managed. They keep at him, relentless, switching ends every time Taz gasps for air. The mirror catches every thrust, every grunt, every slick drip running down his taint.