Warehouse Fists

Heavy breath fogs the air. A pale shin slides into view, followed by a dark calf. Byron Saint lies back, knee pinned to his chest while Race Cooper drills his gloved fist deep into Byron's ass. The fist drives halfway up Race's forearm before he pulls it free, slaps more lube over Byron's fat balls, and makes them shine. Byron is six-five of lean, toned muscle, lightly dusted except for thick hair on his calves. He spreads wider, easing open. Race circles Byron's rim with a fingertip, slow and steady, until the pink hole flares red. The fist slides back in, and Race's free hand works his own cock, thick and stiff, jerking in time with every thrust. Byron plants one foot on Race's shoulder and begs for it, and Race answers with a hot, thick load across Byron's abs.