Mission Accomplished

Steve Hammond pulled Karl Thomas aside, his voice low and urgent. 'Use the code name Mustang,' he said. 'That's the guy with the dick so big it'll make your eyes water.' Karl nodded, pulse quickening as he headed to Greg Conrad's apartment. The door swung open to steam and slick skin. Conrad, all muscle and confidence, drew Karl into the shower. Water cascaded over them, hot and insistent. Karl dropped to his knees, lips parting to nibble the tip of Conrad's massive 12-and-a-half-inch rod. He teased it slowly, tongue flicking along the veined length, savoring the salty promise as it thickened under his touch. They stumbled to the bedroom, sparse as a monk's cell—just a bed and shadows. Close-up, Karl's mouth worked Conrad's heavy balls, licking with hungry laps that drew deep groans. They flipped into a fevered 69, cocks thrusting into willing throats, bodies locked in slick, grinding rhythm. Conrad's tongue circled Karl's hole then, rimming with bold, probing strokes that made Karl arch and beg. Climax hit like a storm. They came in hot spurts, painting each other's chests and faces, breaths ragged in the dim light. Conrad wasn't done. He grabbed a dildo, thick and unyielding, mirroring his own erect penis of the gods. He slicked it up and eased it into Karl's ass, inch by relentless inch. Karl bucked, the stretch burning sweet, until ecstasy ripped through him—he came hard, ropes of seed splattering his own heaving belly.