Fistpack 30 - 3 Fists in Paris

Matthieu Paris knows how to get what he wants. One look, a few soft kisses, and Matthew Soul drops to his knees. He sucks greedily, taking every inch until his jaw aches. Matthieu watches, then pulls him up, spins him around, and presses him facedown. Those round cheeks spread under his hands. A teasing finger at first, then the condom snaps on and Matthieu drives in deep, hard, doggie-style before flipping the boy onto his back and pounding him missionary. Matthew breathes through it, eyes wide, hungry for more. Matthieu peels on the rubber gloves, slicks them shiny, and starts working that hole open. One fist sinks in, then two, pumping and twisting while the younger man moans and pushes back. Matthieu pushes farther, elbow deep, but Matthew takes it, ass swallowing every inch. The Frenchman’s load splashes hot across Matthew’s chest. He never slows. Matthew climbs on top, straddles him, and both men bury their fists in each other, groaning, hips grinding, lost in the filthy rhythm until neither can tell who’s giving and who’s taking.