Fistpack 7 - Twist My Arm

Matthieu Paris lies spread and waiting, hole already hungry. Five men circle like predators. François Sagat moves in first, his muscled bulk gleaming, forearm vanishing deep as Matthieu’s rosebud swells into view. The stretch turns violent fast. Taurus steps up next, his punching technique clean and brutal, driving past the second knuckle until the wrist disappears and Matthieu groans. Chris Neal, usually the bottom, shows he knows how to top; he works in knuckle-deep twists that make the bottom’s belly quiver. Cristiano leans close, thick Puerto Rican hair rasping Matthieu’s cheeks while his forearm follows, pushing past the wrist with steady, deliberate force. Javier de Cerdo keeps the pace alive, his fist pumping in short, controlled bursts that bring Matthieu right to the edge, cock twitching untouched. Boots scrape the floor. Metal piercings flash. Sweat drips. Then the finale hits: all five arms crowd in together, fists packed tight inside one stretched, glistening hole. The group push feels like a single relentless piston. Matthieu’s body rocks. His rosebud flares wide again. Release is nowhere near. The fists keep working, each thrust punctuated by the wet slap of leather and skin, while the only sounds left are heavy breathing and Matthieu’s raw, steady moans.