Fisting Playground 1

Rick Van Sant drops to his knees, ass up, hole open. Diablo Fox slides in, slow at first, then deeper until his elbow vanishes and Rick grunts through clenched teeth. Sweat beads on Rick’s back, every muscle tight. They switch. Diablo lies flat, both fists raised like weapons. Rick stands above him, lowers onto the left fist, sinks until his balls rest on Diablo’s wrist. He rides hard—up, down, breathing ragged—then pulls off and drops onto the right. Elbow-deep again. He switches back, faster each time, hole stretched wide, the sound wet and obscene. Rick can’t hold it. He stands, grabs his cock, jerks while Diablo keeps punching up into him. Short, brutal thrusts. Rick’s breath stutters, his load hits the floor in thick ropes. Diablo doesn’t stop until the last drop falls.