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Marc Williams lands the ultimate barb on Dominik Rider: he fights like a girl. Fighting words spark the fire. They settle it in the ring, sweat gleaming under the lights. The bell rings sharp. They circle, fists flying in sharp jabs and hooks that sting like summer lightning. Punches rain down. Dominik crumples, out cold on the canvas, his chest heaving in defeat. Victory tastes sweet for Marc, the brown bomber. He peels away Dominik's gear, stripping him bare save for that tight jockstrap hugging his hips. Marc dives in, tongue claiming the prize—feasting on Dominik's asshole with slow, deliberate laps that tease and probe deep. Dominik stirs, eyelids fluttering open to the exquisite torment. He submits with a groan, arching into the wet heat. That tongue sends him soaring, a rocket to the stars, every flick igniting fresh waves of need. He's still dazed, slumped against the ropes, when Marc rises and thrusts his thick cock into that slick, welcoming hole. Marc pounds him relentlessly, hips slamming with raw power. Dominik's vision blurs with stars, pleasure twisting through him like a storm. He wraps a hand around his own pulsing shaft, stroking furiously until hot cum spills into his palm, sticky and warm. Gasping, he drops to his knees and takes Marc's licorice stick between his lips—sucking hard, hungry—until a thick blast of jism erupts across his face, marking the surrender complete.