The Hand That Fists You

Black boots planted wide. Black gloves slick with lube. Brian Bonds lies on his back, red hair damp, legs lifted, that worn jock strap stretched across his hard cock. Ben Reyes leans over him, shoulders tight, biceps working as he drives his gloved hand forward. The room smells of leather, sweat, and the crusty pouch Brian has been wearing for days. Brian opens wider, urging Ben on. Ben pushes, pauses, adds more slick, then the fist slides past the ring to the wrist. Brian grunts, eyes wide, as Ben starts to pump—pulling out, spreading fingers, driving back in. The redhead’s hole stretches and clutches, taking the pressure and begging for more. When Ben’s knuckles press deep, Brian wraps a fist around his own cock and starts stroking, the filthy jock pushed aside. His ankles shake. Ben’s wrist twists and Brian shoots, thick ropes spilling over his abs. Ben scoops a streak onto his thumb and licks it clean, fist still lodged inside the trembling ginger.