Buttbusters

The Falcon Buttbusters slip through the shadows of Steve Fox's house, hearts pounding with anticipation. They wait in the dim hush, hooded figures of raw power, muscles coiled like springs under taut skin. Steve steps through the door, unsuspecting, until they pounce—strong hands seize him, forcing him down to his knees on the cool hardwood. 'Service us,' one growls, voice thick with command, as they unzip and reveal their thick, throbbing cocks, demanding his mouth. He obeys, lips stretching around the first, then the next, tongues and hands guiding him from one to another in a relentless rhythm. Sweat beads on their chiseled torsos, the air heavy with musk and urgency. They take turns now, bending him over, pounding into him with fierce precision—bodies slapping, moans echoing off the walls. It's a brutal symphony, each thrust claiming more until they pull out, erupting in hot spurts across his heaving chest. Job done, they leave him sprawled on the floor, spent and marked, a glistening testament to their dominance.