The Gangbangers

Franz Karloff and Hans Koloman slip into the cellar's shadows, craving a private tangle. Franz drops to his knees, eyes locked on Hans's throbbing cock. He lunges like a wolf starved for the kill, lips parting to swallow that rigid length whole. His tongue swirls, greedy and fierce, sucking deep while the raw musk of their sweat-soaked bodies fills the air—a heady fog that thickens every breath. Hans groans, hips bucking, as Franz devours him with relentless hunger. The scent pushes them over the edge, waves of pleasure crashing until they erupt in a sticky, drenching flood, bodies shuddering in shared release.