Steal The Night

Matt Skyler, the houseboy everyone pegged as a wide-eyed voyeur, proves he's got bolder schemes. He slips into Doug Jeffries' room, heart pounding, fingers prying open a drawer to snatch whatever gleams inside. Doug catches him mid-reach, red-handed and frozen. Matt drops to his knees, voice cracking in desperation. 'Please, I'll do anything—just don't call the cops.' Doug's lips curl into a predatory smile. He seizes the chance, unbuckling his belt with deliberate slowness. Matt's mouth envelops Doug's thickening cock, lips stretching wide as he sucks with urgent, sloppy devotion, tongue swirling over the pulsing veins. Doug groans, gripping Matt's hair to guide the rhythm—deep, relentless thrusts that make Matt gag and gasp. Satisfied for the moment, Doug hauls Matt up and bends him over the bed, ass exposed and quivering. He starts with rough fingers, probing and stretching the tight ring of muscle, slick with lube that drips down Matt's thighs. One finger becomes two, then three, twisting and scissoring until Matt whimpers, body arching. Doug doesn't stop there; his fist presses in, slow and unyielding, knuckles breaching the heat as Matt cries out, muscles clenching around the invasion—a raw, exquisite burn that blurs pain into pleasure. Finally, Doug withdraws, lines up his rigid cock, and drives in hard, pounding Matt's stretched hole with fierce, piston-like strokes. Skin slaps against skin, the room filling with Matt's moans and Doug's guttural commands, until release crashes over them both in a shuddering torrent.