Fistpack 14 - Mancaves

Marc Lasalle and Michael Johns came together in 2007 with zero manners. Marc drops onto his heels above the laid-out jock, feeding his open hole straight down to Michael’s waiting glove. The fingers sink in without fight and Marc keeps going until his cheeks kiss knuckles and the arm keeps sliding farther in. He settles, rocks, sinks deeper, takes everything offered. When he shifts to hands and knees the hole stays loose, already pulsing, already greedy. Michael works it harder, pushing in past the wrist, pulling out to watch the rosebud flare and bloom each time. Boots planted wide, jock straps still on, the two stay locked in the rhythm. Each stroke widens the gape; each punch makes the meat roll out farther. Marc keeps taking it, breathing rough through clenched teeth, until nothing is held back and nothing is left to guess.