Fistpack 3 - Up For Grabs

They flew Marco Montana in straight from Portugal. A Portuguese firecracker with thick dark chest hair and fists that know how to open a man up. Jerek was already on the table, legs up, hole twitching like it had a mind of its own. No one in the room pretended they were just working. Chris Ward stood close, watching every inch slide in. The whole crew had crammed in to watch. They knew it would be raw. Marco didn’t wear gloves and Jerek didn’t want him to. Marco went knuckle-deep fast, twisting his wrist until Jerek’s hole bloomed wide, slick and red. Jerek’s big dick stayed hard the whole time, bobbing with every thrust of Marco’s arm. He moaned loud when the fist went in and stayed loud when it came out, shiny with lube and stretched to its limit. Marco kept working him, forearm flexing, sweat shining on his hairy chest. Jerek egged him on, pushing back, begging for more without saying a word. When Marco finally pulled his fist free and shoved his thick cock inside the same wrecked hole, the room went quiet. Jerek arched, took it all, and came hard across his own stomach while Marco pumped load after load up that chute. They fed off every set of eyes on them.