7 Minutes In Heaven

In the haze of '7 Minutes in Heaven,' sexually open bottom Michael Boston pulls top Pierce Paris's name from the hat. Pierce, jittery about the game—his husband no longer shares his bed—guides Michael to the bedroom. Michael peels off his clothes down to his underwear and drops to his knees, eager to worship Pierce's monster cock. It's a tight squeeze, but Michael swallows every inch of that thick shaft like a pro, throat bulging with the effort. Pierce craves a sample of Michael's ass. He bends the hunk over, spreads those cheeks, and dives in with his tongue, lapping at the tight hole. He works it open, slick and ready, priming that giant ass for what's next. Satisfied, Pierce presses forward, sliding his massive raw dick into Michael's grip, inch by deliberate inch. He goes slow at first, testing the eager stud's limits, making sure he can take it all. Convinced Michael's built for this, Pierce ramps up, pounding harder, loosening that hole with each thrust. He can't bury himself deep enough in the young buck. With a swift roll, he flips Michael onto his back and drives in bareback, relentless now, chasing that perfect depth. The rhythm holds steady, fierce and unyielding, until it wrings the cum right out of Michael—he erupts, ropes of it splattering his heaving stomach. Pierce isn't done his way. He flips Michael onto his stomach again and hammers home, pounding that ass until he pulls out and unloads, painting those cheeks white. Exhausted but insatiable, Pierce slides back in, fucking his seed deep inside. Their secret rendezvous seals with a lingering kiss and a warm tangle of limbs.