Sex Pigs : Alex Wegert, Mike French

Mike French grabs Alex Wegert the second they hit the factory floor. Boots scrape concrete. Mike shoves Alex down on a stack of old tires, spreads his legs and buries his tongue in that hole. Alex moans into the rubber and pushes back, begging for more. Mike stands, spits on his thick cock and drives it straight in. No warm-up, no mercy. Alex grunts but takes every inch, eyes half-closed, boots planted wide for leverage. Mike fucks like he wants to break something, hips snapping hard, balls slapping skin. Sweat drips on the filthy concrete. Alex flips onto his back, legs up, and Mike climbs on top, boots planted on either side, slamming down deeper. The tires squeak under their weight. Alex reaches for Mike’s cock every time it slides out, greedy for the next thrust. They roll off the tires, hit the ground, and Mike keeps pounding, one hand wrapped around Alex’s throat. Alex’s hole stays open and slick, taking it raw. Mike’s breathing turns ragged. He pulls out, shoots thick across Alex’s abs, then shoves two fingers back inside to feel the damage he’s done. Alex lies there spent, chest heaving, boots still on, hole twitching. Both men are wrecked, covered in sweat and dirt, gasping in the empty hall.