Deception, Part 2

Shane Rockford couldn't tear himself away from the farm. He chose to stay, and as his reward, the farmhands took him in hand for a night of raw pleasure. They tumbled into the barn, cocks springing free, lips locking around throbbing shafts in a frenzy of mutual hunger. Outside, in the shadows, Josh Weston—Rockford's secret flame—watched every heated moment, breath caught in his throat. Rockford dove first, devouring Chad Hunt's staggering eleven-inch beast, savoring every veined inch as it stretched his mouth wide. Nearby, Daniel Sinclair groaned under Brian McClaine's skilled tongue, that thick rod pulsing with need. But sharing came naturally here; Rockford and Sinclair traded turns, slobbering over Hunt's horsecock like men possessed, tongues lapping in slick unison. McClaine joined the fray, and soon all three knelt in worship, mouths and lips slathering that monumental manhood until it gleamed with their spit. The barn air thickened with moans as the suck fest exploded into chaos—cocks swapped freely, every man tasting the next, a whirlwind of wet heat and urgent pulls. Then came the real claiming: Sinclair gripped Rockford's hips and drove his rigid cock into that tight, welcoming hole, pounding deep and relentless, each thrust shaking the hay-strewn floor. He withdrew just long enough for McClaine to surge in, no pause for breath, slamming home into the eager bottom who arched and begged for more. Rockford's turn to ride the pinnacle—he lowered himself onto Hunt's throbbing monster, inch by impossible inch, until it filled him utterly. Ecstasy ripped through him as Hunt bucked upward, fucking him senseless, while Rockford's mouth found Sinclair and McClaine's hard dicks in turn, sucking them with a fervor that matched the fire in his gut.