Warehouse Kinks

Shane Frost lies strapped down to the table, red cords biting into his wrists and ankles, legs spread wide. Draven Torres leans in, black hair falling across his eyes, and works Shane’s cock like it’s his to break. Thumbs press Shane’s slit open; the tongue follows, wet and greedy. Both hands clamp around the shaft, twisting in opposite directions while pumping hard. Shane’s breathing changes. Draven spins, drops his ass onto Shane’s face, and rides the tongue until the hole feels slick and ready. He turns again, rolls the rubber down Shane’s length, then sinks onto it in one long drop. Muscle meets muscle. Draven plants his feet and works the cock at every angle, twisting, grinding, hips snapping. He ends up on his back, spine arched over Shane’s chest, fucking himself raw until the rhythm snaps and he shoots hard across his own stomach, leaving Shane still tied and throbbing beneath him.