Hungarian Graffiti

Officer Jonathan Collins fixed his stern gaze on Jacob Matthias and Adam Gosett. 'Foist those graffiti punks, or this whole op gets shut down,' he growled. 'Time to prove you're in it.' Jacob and Adam dropped to their knees without a word. They unzipped Collins's pants, freeing his thickening cock. Lips parted, they took turns sucking him deep, tongues swirling over the pulsing shaft. Collins gripped their hair, guiding the rhythm. Jacob pulled back first, flipping Collins around. He spread those firm cheeks and dove in, tongue lapping at the tight rim with hungry precision. Adam joined, fingers probing the slick entrance while he stroked himself hard. Collins groaned, pushing back. 'That's it, show me.' He bent forward, and Jacob rose to thrust in first—slow, then relentless, pounding that ass with raw need. Adam watched, jerking off, before sliding in to rim Collins deeper, tasting the mix of sweat and desire. They switched. Adam fucked Collins now, hips slamming forward in a frenzy of heat. Jacob knelt again, sucking Collins's cock from below, balls tight against his chin. Fingers everywhere—probing holes, teasing nipples—building the fire. Collins took control, bending Adam over and rimming him fierce, tongue fucking that quivering hole. Then he plunged in, balls-deep, while Jacob serviced Adam's dripping dick. The room echoed with grunts and skin on skin. They rotated again, a blur of mouths, asses, cocks. Jacob rimmed Adam as Collins fucked him from behind. Probing fingers stretched and teased, cocks throbbed and spurted. Cum slicked their bodies, marking their fierce loyalty to this scorching tangle of manflesh.