Hayride

Wally, that young stud carved like a brick shithouse, nods at his neighbor's offer to paint her spare bedroom. He grabs the brush, blue eyes sharp as he lays the first strokes along the walls. Paint drips. Tension builds. Soon enough, he sets the tool aside for a bolder grip—his own hand wrapping firm around his swelling cock. He strokes with purpose, slow at first, then urgent, veins pulsing under his fingers. She watches from the doorway, breath quickening, her gaze locked on the rhythm. He pumps harder, hips bucking, until release crashes through him—a hot gush of cum splattering across the fresh canvas, his whitewash marking the room in raw, sticky triumph.