Deception, Part 1

Out in the sun-dappled countryside, the lovers pull over for a quick piss behind some bushes. They return to an empty spot—their car's vanished. Desperate, they wave down a rumbling truck and hitch a ride to a weathered farmhouse. There, they meet Rod Barry, broad-shouldered and commanding, surrounded by a pack of sweat-glistened farmhands, all muscle and grit. The phone's dead, so Barry clears a room for the stranded pair while the crew scatters to their tasks under the relentless sun. Later, heat thickens the air. Barry and Vince Ditonno circle Marco Paris, their hands rough as they slap his firm ass, then dive in with hungry tongues, fucking his hole deep and wet. It ignites Barry like dry tinder; he groans, shoving his throbbing, uncut cock into Paris's eager mouth. Warm lips seal around him, sucking with urgent rhythm. The farmhands drop to their knees, taking turns worshipping Barry's thick shaft—and each other's—saliva trailing, moans echoing off the barn walls. Barry climbs a sturdy branch, hanging low, ass presented like an offering. Paris buries his face there, rimming with lavish strokes, tongue probing every sensitive fold until Barry shudders. Not done, Barry bends Ditonno over a creaky wooden chair, gripping his hips and plunging in deep, fucking with steady, powerful thrusts while Paris watches, eyes dark with lust. Then roles flip: Paris claims Barry, pounding him hard as grunts rip from Barry's throat—until Ditonno silences him, feeding his cock into that open, gasping mouth. The three tangle in a frenzy, bodies slick and twisting through every angle—on their knees, backs arched, legs wrapped tight. Barry breaks first, roaring as he pumps ropes of cum onto the earth. Paris and Ditonno follow, spilling their loads in hot, shuddering release, the ground drinking it all under the fading light.