Construction Zone 3 - Working Class Ass

Sean Harris stands over Joshua Adams, fist already slick, sinking in knuckle-deep while the sling creaks under the strain. Joshua breathes out slow, letting Sean drive past the second ring with one thick, steady push. Boots scrape the concrete floor. Sean works his wrist in tight circles until Joshua’s hole opens wide, pink and swollen. He pulls back, slams in again, and Joshua’s eyes flutter, then roll white. The stretch burns sweet. Every thrust drags a low growl from Joshua’s throat. Sean leans close, tongue flashing across the stretched rim before he shoves back inside, deeper. Joshua’s cock slaps against his abs, rigid, heavy, the head dark and wet. Each pump of Sean’s arm makes it twitch harder. Sweat beads on Joshua’s chest. The rhythm builds—short jabs, long drives, a slick fist disappearing past the wrist. Joshua arches, lost in it, until the room spins and the only things left are the pressure, the pulse, and the raw sound of skin meeting skin.