Trapped, Part 1

Down in the dim electrical basement, Kent Larson and Mike Grant huddle over greasy sandwiches during lunch. Their voices drop low, laced with heat. 'Fuck, I'd bend you over that panel right now,' Kent growls, his eyes locked on Mike's. Mike smirks, shifting in his seat, bulge straining against his jeans. They paint filthy pictures—tongues tracing sweat-slick skin, hands gripping hard, cocks sliding deep into willing heat. Breath quickens. Lunch forgotten, they feed on each other's words, bodies aching for the break to end so the real fun can start.