Fistpack 32 - Stuff That Ass

Boyhous drops his boots on the bed, spreads his legs, and gives Caedon Chase the green light. Caedon’s fist, dripping lube, slams straight inside. Boyhous grunts, low and dirty, while that gloved hand works deeper, knuckles stretching him open. Each thrust makes his hole puff out, red and wet, like it wants more punishment. They push harder. Caedon keeps punching, twisting, stirring Boyhous’s guts until sweat runs down his spine. The switch flips. Boyhous climbs over and Caedon offers his own ass, jockstrap shoved to the side. Boyhous sinks four fingers in, then the thumb, wrist following. Caedon’s mouth drops open; every shove makes his voice crack. Boyhous pounds him with short, brutal strokes until Caedon shoots across the leather sheets. Boyhous pulls free, jerks once, twice, and sprays thick ropes over the same spot. He leans down and licks the mess clean, tongue dragging over warm spunk and cool hide.