Jockstrapped

On a lazy night, Dave Russell sprawls across the bed, his hand gliding slowly along his hardening cock. He chews Kyle Hunter's jockstrap, inhaling the deep, musky scent that clings to the fabric like a secret shared in sweat. The door creaks open. Kyle strides in, catching Dave in his private reverie. 'Eat my hole,' Kyle commands, his voice low and insistent. Dave obeys without hesitation, his tongue diving into the sweet, puckered warmth, lapping eagerly as Kyle groans above him. Tongues swirl over heavy balls, teasing and tasting. Cocks thrust deep into willing throats, stretching lips and gagging with raw need. Fingers probe tight asses, circling and pressing, loosening the resistance with slick, deliberate strokes. Dave rises then, positioning himself, and plunges into Kyle's primed hole. He screws him hard, hips snapping with fierce rhythm. Kyle arches, crying out, 'Fuck it, boy!'—a plea that echoes like thunder in the dim room. Kyle flips onto his back, legs spread wide. Dave drives in deeper, his engorged dick pounding relentlessly, claiming every inch. Kyle's hand flies over his own shaft, stroking fast until he erupts, ropes of cum splattering his rippled abs in hot, sticky bursts. Dave follows suit, his release ferocious, flooding Kyle with pulse after pulse. Exhausted and sated, they collapse together, bodies entwined, lips meeting in a slow, lingering kiss.