Stiff Competition

Neil Thomas flipped through the magazine, his pulse quickening with each glossy page. A spark of heat stirred low in his belly. From the corner of his eye, he caught the curve of Chris Stone's round, firm buttocks—taut and inviting. Desire surged hotter. He grinned, a wicked idea forming. 'Arm wrestling,' he said. 'Winner takes that ass.' Chris's eyes lit up, accepting the challenge with a smirk. The two studs locked hands across the table, forearms straining, biceps swelling like coiled ropes under their skin. Veins popped. Muscles quivered in the fierce tug-of-war. Sweat beaded on their brows. Finally, Chris's arm buckled, slamming down in defeat. Neil wasted no time. He guided Chris to bend over, then traced his tongue along the cleft—probing deep, caressing with slow, deliberate laps that made Chris shudder. Stone's hands fumbled with Neil's shorts, freeing the giant cock that sprang out, thick and throbbing. He engulfed it, lips sealing tight around the base, throat muscles clenching like a velvet vice against the swelling shaft. Neil groaned, hips bucking. 'I threw the match,' Chris confessed, voice husky, eyes gleaming with mischief. That admission ignited Neil further. He pressed his stiff prick against Stone's waiting hole, teasing the rim with shallow nudges—enough to make Chris writhe, but not yet granting entry. 'C'mon, man, I gotta have it now!' Chris begged, desperation cracking his tone. Neil rammed in, burying himself to the hilt. Chris moaned from the depths of his gut, a raw, guttural sound that echoed their hunger. 'More,' he gasped, pushing back. Neil obliged, pounding every which way—deep thrusts from behind, Chris's legs hooked over his shoulders, bodies slick and slapping in relentless rhythm. Finally, Chris straddled him, riding Neil's rod with wild abandon, muscles clenching as he came hard, spilling across Neil's chest. Neil followed, pulling out to shower Chris's ass and back with ropes of his hot load.