Asylum

Erik grips his camera tight, heart pounding as he slips through the crumbling hallways, dodging those sly feline sentries. Whispers led him here, to the hidden treatment center. Inside, TJ Hawke tends to Dominic Pacifico. The patient sprawls on the bed, eyes glazed and distant, legs hoisted high in stirrups. Tubes snake into his anus, pumping a slick brew of fluids deep inside, filling him slow and steady. Dr. Hawke leans in for the revival, lips wrapping around Dominic's uncut cock. He sucks with purpose, drawing out a pulse of life. Dominic stirs, his body arching into the wet heat, responding like a man reborn. Satisfied, the medic eases out the anal lines. His fingers follow, probing that puckered entrance—one digit first, slick and insistent, then a second to stretch and claim. Dominic snaps awake, revived in a rush. He lunges forward, mouth hungry for TJ's meaty cock, sucking it like a fever dream. Willing now, Dominic offers himself up. TJ slides his thick pole into that welcoming hole, thrusting with expert rhythm. They switch it up—missionary, doggy, every angle that hits just right—until ecstasy crashes over them. Both men erupt, bodies shuddering as ropes of hot cum spray the air, a salty fog of release.