Backyard Boys

Preston Steel—call him Meatbag—drops into Logan Stevens’ lap at the end of the shift, boots still on, coveralls sagging low. A pink dime-sized nipple sits among dark swirls of chest hair that climb his neck and shoulders. Logan’s thumbs dig into the sole; every press shoots a signal straight to Meatbag’s cock. When Logan’s tongue starts working between the toes, the hard-on tents the fabric fast. Meatbag lets the coveralls fall and frees a thick, bush-framed cock that Logan wastes no time swallowing. Knees hitting the dirt, Logan spits on his own meat and strokes while he gulps Meatbag to the root. Throat muscles tighten, tongue strokes the underside, and the rush hits quick: Meatbag’s load erupts across Logan’s face in hot, heavy ropes. Logan keeps licking the shaft, lips slick, breathing hard, the taste still thick on his tongue.