Biker's Liberty

Sailor Mac Turner strolled the weathered docks, salt air clinging to his skin like a lover's whisper. Then biker Tim Kramer rumbled up, his machine growling low and hungry. A flash of a grin, a nod—Mac swung onto the back without a second thought, Tim's leather-clad body heat pressing against him as they tore off. At the garage, shadows danced over oil-slicked floors. Tim wasted no time schooling Mac in the ways of dry land indulgence. He pinned him against the workbench, rough hands stripping away salt-crusted clothes, exposing Mac's taut frame. Tim's mouth claimed him first, lips hot and demanding on Mac's neck, trailing down to suck hard at his nipples until they peaked like storm-tossed buoys. Mac gasped, gripping the edge as Tim dropped to his knees, taking Mac's hardening cock deep into his throat, tongue swirling with expert greed. But Tim wasn't done teaching. He rose, shedding his own gear to reveal his thick, veined length, then bent Mac over the bike's sleek frame. With a slicked finger, Tim probed Mac's tight entrance, stretching him slow, deliberate, until Mac begged for more. Tim thrust in deep, hips slamming forward in a rhythm that shook the tools from their racks. He shared his toys then—a thick plug, a vibrating wand—buzzing against Mac's balls while Tim fucked him relentlessly, their sweat mingling with motor oil. Mac came first, spilling over the chrome with a guttural cry, and Tim followed, flooding him hot and full, marking his new shore-side pupil.