Toolbox 3 - Screwed

Chris Ward wanted one thing: the rawest, filthiest fist scene he had ever shot. He set up the lights and let Simon Cox and Paris stud Taurus tear into each other for forty-five relentless minutes. The pair kept switching positions, never letting the heat drop. Simon on his back, knees pulled wide; Simon on all fours, ass pushed high; Simon riding Taurus’s arm while the thicker man ground his knuckles deeper. Every thrust came with a squelch, every pull dragged out the wet shine of stretched flesh. Taurus worked his fingers in a steady beat, then slid past the wrist, then past the forearm, elbow bumping Simon’s rim. Simon took it without pause, hole blooming open around the meat, gripping, then spitting it back out only to swallow it again. Taurus swapped in a thick black dildo when his fist needed a break, ramming it home while Simon stroked his own cock, sweat running down his chest. The dildo came out dripping and Taurus’s fist went right back in, two fingers from the other hand prying the rim wider so he could get both fists side by side. Simon’s hole stayed open between punches, a pink tunnel pulsing under the lights. Boots planted on the floor, Taurus braced and drove, the leather creaking every time he slammed forward. Simon jerked faster, breath short, until his load shot across his own abs. Taurus kept working the slack, slow and deep, until Simon’s hole stayed wide on its own, quivering and empty only for a second before Taurus filled it again.