Toolbox 2

Andy Dill moves like a man who knows exactly what a hole wants. His hairy chest gleams under the lights, lean and tight, the perfect mix of muscle and fur. Simon Cox bends for him, jock-strap framing his spread cheeks, boots planted wide on the floor. Andy wastes no time. He drives his cock in hard, a brutal power fuck that makes Simon’s ass shudder and gasp. The ring opens wider with every thrust, pink and hungry. Andy grins, pulls free, and lets his fist slide home. His knuckles vanish, wrist follows, the stretch obscene and perfect. Simon groans through clenched teeth, boots squeaking, piercings catching the light. Andy works deeper, slow twists turning into steady pumps, each motion pulling another raw sound from Simon’s throat. The fist sinks past the wrist, then farther, until Andy’s forearm glistens. Simon pushes back, taking every inch, hole pulsing around the intrusion. Andy laughs low, filthy and satisfied, and keeps driving, the rhythm turning merciless. Simon’s back arches, sweat runs in rivulets, and the fist disappears again and again, each plunge deeper than the last. Only boots, jock, and the wet sound of flesh on flesh remain. Andy never slows. He just keeps pushing, Simon’s hole swallowing him whole.