Uprising

In a dusty clearing far from the main road, the comrades halted their stagecoach for a weary break. They dismounted, stretching limbs taut from the endless ride, oblivious to the shadows slipping in. Thieves struck swift and silent, vanishing with the horses into the fading light. The handlers froze, hearts pounding, as their commander loomed over them, eyes sharp with fury. 'You fools,' he snarled, voice low and commanding. 'You'll pay for this lapse.' He ordered them stripped bare, their bodies exposed to the cooling air. One handler, broad-shouldered and flushed, dropped to his knees before the other—a lithe figure with trembling hands. The commander's words wove the scene: mouths met cocks in urgent rhythm, tongues tracing veins, lips sucking deep until gasps broke the silence. Fingers gripped hips, pulling closer, while the commander watched, his own arousal stirring. He stepped in then, shedding his coat with deliberate grace. The threesome unfolded under the sun's dying glow, painting their skin in amber hues. The commander claimed the kneeling man's ass first, thrusting slow and deep, each plunge drawing moans that echoed like a lover's secret. The other handler straddled his face, grinding against eager lips, hips bucking in sync. They switched, bodies slick with sweat, cocks sliding into willing heat—fucking with abandon, the commander's hands roaming, pinching nipples, slapping flesh until pleasure crested. Cum spilled hot and thick, marking the earth as the sun slipped away, leaving them spent and entangled in the twilight's embrace.