Nailed

The garage lights hummed low as Ken Browning and Kyle Lewis wiped down the last workbench, grease streaking their forearms after a grueling week. Tools clattered into drawers, the air thick with oil and sweat. Ken, broad-shouldered and smirking, slammed his elbow onto the scarred wooden table. 'One match,' he said, voice rough as gravel. 'Loser bends over.' Kyle laughed, rolling up his sleeve to reveal corded muscle, and locked hands with him. Fingers gripped tight, veins bulging like twisted ropes. Ken's eyes locked on Kyle's, a predatory gleam flashing. Kyle pushed hard, biceps straining, but Ken's arm held steady, unyielding as forged steel. Sweat beaded on Kyle's brow. He grunted, pouring everything into it, but Ken twisted, forcing Kyle's wrist down inch by merciless inch. The table creaked under the pressure. Kyle's hand hit wood with a thud. Defeat. Ken stood, towering, his jeans tented with promise. He yanked Kyle up by the collar, spinning him toward the workbench. 'Pants down,' Ken growled, already freeing his thick cock, heavy and throbbing. Kyle's breath hitched, but he obeyed, shoving denim to his ankles, ass bare and vulnerable under the fluorescent glare. Ken spat into his palm, slicking himself rough and quick, then pressed the blunt head against Kyle's tight hole. No mercy. Ken thrust in deep, splitting Kyle open with a single, brutal stroke. Kyle gasped, fingers clawing the bench, body arching as that fat shaft stretched him wide, filling every clenching inch. Ken gripped Kyle's hips, nails digging in, and pounded hard—short, savage pumps that slapped skin on skin. Kyle's cock leaked against the wood, pleasure twisting with the burn. Ken leaned in, breath hot on Kyle's neck. 'Told you,' he rasped, driving deeper, reaming that conquered ass until Kyle shattered, spilling untouched, muscles milking Ken's release in hot, pulsing waves.