In Deep: Miles To Go

Gregor Yelson strides into view, Karl Tenner and Kevin Pearce flanking him like shadows in the summer haze. Both men carry the ghost of a wild memory with another American, Nicholas Clay—a hike that turned primal under the open sky. They paused on the trail, sweat-slicked and breathing heavy. Nicholas grinned, voice low: 'Let's stroke ourselves, see who rises first.' No hesitation. Cocks stiffened in eager hands, pulses racing with raw hunger. Soon, boundaries blurred. Nicholas and Kevin dropped to their knees before Karl's thick, uncut shaft, lips parting to claim it. They worked him with fierce rhythm—mouths sliding wet along the veined length, tongues swirling over his heavy balls, tracing the musky crease of his crotch. Up they roamed, to the iron ridges of his pecs, latching onto those firm, salty nipples that peaked under their teeth. The air thickened with moans. All three men surrendered then, devouring one another's sculpted frames—taut abs flexing, thighs parting for probing fingers. They shifted, relentless: sucking deep into throats, hips thrusting into willing heat, cocks plunging with slick urgency. Tension coiled like a spring until it snapped. Karl erupted first, ropes of cum arcing hot across waiting skin. Kevin followed, shuddering as his load spilled in thick pulses. Nicholas bucked last, unleashing his own geyser in a final, triumphant roar.