A Night At The Entourage

Brett Dylan prowls the dimly lit halls of the sex club, his pulse quickening with every shadowed corner. He rounds a bend and there stands Brent Corrigan, cock straining against his jeans, eyes locked in unmistakable invitation. Brett doesn't hesitate. He sinks to his knees, the cool tile biting into his skin, and frees Brent's rigid dick. It slides into his mouth, hot and salty, a flavor that ignites something feral inside him. Brett fights for control, his lips gliding up and down the thick shaft, tongue swirling over the pulsing head. He cups Brent's heavy balls, lavishing them with firm sucks and gentle rolls, drawing a low groan from above. Brent's hunger surges. He hauls Brett up and spins him around, eyes devouring that perfect bubble butt. Strong hands part the firm cheeks, exposing the tight pucker. Brent dives in, his tongue probing deep, lapping with insistent strokes that send shivers racing through Brett's core. Each flick builds the fire between them, breaths ragged, bodies electric. Brent pulls back, craving more. He drops low now, engulfing Brett's throbbing cock in one smooth motion, sucking hard while his fist pumps his own slick rod. Brett's world narrows to the exquisite pressure of Brent's mouth, lips sealed tight around his swollen length, pulling him toward the brink. But Brett won't settle for that alone. He craves the ultimate prize. Kneeling once more before the hung stud, he resumes his rhythm, bobbing with relentless fervor, cheeks hollowing as he works. Brent tenses, a guttural moan escaping, and unleashes his load—thick, warm spurts flooding Brett's eager mouth. The taste, the sticky remnants on his lips, shatters Brett's restraint. He strokes himself furiously, painting the floor with his own heavy ropes of cum, the release a thunderous wave.