Brawlers

The note from Tamas Eszterhazy reads simply: 'Fuck your boss.' A wicked spark ignites. How to turn those words into flesh? Fate hands him the perfect opening when his foreman, Mark Slade, gripes about his wife's dismal talent for fellatio. Tamas's eyes gleam with mischief. He offers to demonstrate, kneeling before Mark, lips parting to take that thick shaft deep into his throat with expert rhythm—slow, teasing licks building to urgent, slurping suction. Mark groans, hips bucking. Tamas doesn't stop there; he spins Mark around, spreads those firm cheeks, and dives in, tongue tracing the puckered rim, probing with wet, insistent strokes that make Mark's knees buckle. The air thickens with their ragged breaths. Finally, Tamas rises, slick and commanding, guiding his throbbing cock to Mark's entrance. He thrusts in—slow at first, then hard, pounding that tight ass until sweat slicks their bodies and pleasure rips through them both. They collapse, spent and grinning, the job exquisitely finished.