Drenched In Piss County

Damien Cross leans against a thick oak, slicing into a peach. Juice runs down his wrist. Kennedy Carter steps in, drops to his knees, and licks the trail straight off Damien’s skin before he swallows the rest of the fruit. Damien tips a bottle of red wine to his lips. Kennedy takes a swig, then feeds the wine back mouth-to-mouth, the taste shared between tongues. Damien unbuttons his work pants and lets his thick, uncut cock stand. He aims it upward and lets a hot stream arc over his chest and soaked denim. Kennedy opens wide, catches the piss on his tongue, gulps what he can. When the flow stops, he slides his mouth down the wet shaft, sucking and spitting until Damien’s cock glistens. Kennedy licks the piss from Damien’s stomach, then climbs up for a deep, wet kiss. Damien spins Kennedy around, drops, and takes the other man’s cock down to the root. He sucks hard, tongue working every inch, then stands, bends over the same tree, and offers his ass. Kennedy steps up, sinks in, and pounds—fast, deep, no mercy. Damien’s moans mix with the slap of skin. Kennedy pulls out, pisses again, soaking Damien’s back and crack, then slams back inside. Every few thrusts he sprays more piss across Damien’s skin before driving home again. Kennedy’s pace breaks. He jerks his load across his own stomach and chest. Damien keeps hammering, then yanks free and adds his own thick ropes over the fresh cum already dripping down Kennedy’s abs. Both men drop to the dirt, breathing hard, covered in sweat, piss, and seed under the open sky.