Construction Zone 1 - Blue Collar Butthole

Who the fuck is the guy on the cover, hole spread wide like he’s begging for it? That’s Sean Harris, fresh meat, and he blew the whole crew away the second he walked in. Chris Ward clocked him straight off—swore the kid could fist with the best of them, that hairy chest, those early-thirties good looks. He looked, moved, fucked like Mark Evrett reborn, same hungry grin and that same nasty talent elbow-deep in ass. The man’s a star already; the studio’s calling it right now. They brought in Taurus to break him in right—flew the French top over because they wanted Sean’s first time on tape to be nasty. Forty-five minutes, four different positions, no breathing room. Chris says it’s one of the best things he’s ever shot. Punching, wrist-deep, full-on double-fist, both of Taurus’s hands crammed inside while Sean’s hole just smiles around the knuckles like it was born for it. Jockstraps soaked, arms flexing, every thrust shoving deeper until the kid’s whimpering and taking it like he was built for exactly this.