Midnight Run

Justin Bailey finally corners Matthew Brannon, the sex club attendant whose sculpted muscles gleam under the dim lights. With a hungry grin, Justin tugs Matthew's thick cock free from the tight confines of his jockstrap. He sinks to his knees, enveloping it lovingly, sucking deep until the shaft pulses against his throat. Warmth builds. Justin's tongue swirls, drawing out Matthew's low moans. He eases Matthew around, parting those firm cheeks to rim his ass with slow, deliberate laps. Justin's mouth works magic—warming the tight ring, softening it with slick insistence. Matthew shudders, then turns the tables. His tongue dives into Justin's hole, rimming with fierce devotion, fingers slipping in to probe and stretch. He rubs circles over the sensitive skin, prepping Justin's ass for the raw pounding ahead—each touch a promise of ecstasy. Musclestud Matthew rises, gripping Justin's hips. He slams his cock deep, burying it to the hilt in one powerful thrust. Again and again, he drives in, building a frenzied rhythm that shakes them both. Sweat slicks their bodies. The frenzy peaks—Matthew explodes first, hot streams of cum flooding Justin's depths. Justin follows, his own release erupting in thick, pulsing jets, marking the climax of their heated union.