Spread Eagle

Jackson Lawless drops on all fours. His hole twitches, an open invitation. Tom Colt towers over him—thick black hair, sleeves of ink, eyes sharp. Colt grabs a fistful of grease, jams two fingers straight in, then a third. Jackson pushes back. Colt keeps going, works his hand past the knuckles, slides the whole fist inside. Slow at first, then deeper, knuckles dragging over the tight ring until they slip through. Jackson grunts, sweat sliding down his back, hole stretched wide. Colt twists his wrist, opens and closes his fingers, pushing further each time. The bar clock ticks toward closing. Jackson’s cock throbs under him, untouched, until Colt’s fist grinds against his prostate one last time. Jackson shoots hard across the green felt, thick ropes hitting the rail just as the bartender yells last call.