Fistpack 17: Grunts Fisting - Arm Of One

Mason Garet hunches over the jeep engine while Ricky Sinz and Trey Casteel close in. Mason’s hands fumble. Ricky’s breath is hot and filthy in his ear. The order is simple: open that hole. Mason drops to his knees, lips stretched wide around Trey’s thick cock, spit running down his chin. Ricky keeps barking, voice low, rough. Mason crawls onto the hood, boots hanging off the edge. Ricky’s gloved fist slides in first, knuckles popping, then Trey takes over, arm disappearing past the wrist. Grease smears Mason’s thighs, the three of them locked in a filthy rhythm. Mason grunts, hole pulsing, every thrust pushing him closer to the edge. Ricky doesn’t let up till Mason’s hole gapes open and wet, cheeks slick with sweat and lube. The air reeks of motor oil, latex, and raw sex. By the time Ricky and Trey finish, Mason is wrecked, ass still twitching around their fists, every inch of him marked.