Laid-Off

Matthew Ford's fury boils over, a storm no longer leashed. The hired hand charges his smug CEO, Andre Barclay, flipping the script with raw, unyielding force. He barks commands, spits venomous insults, fearless in his assault. The weasel drops to his knees, mouth wrapping around Matthew's throbbing cock, sucking deep while his tongue laps at heavy balls. Abuse rains down; the mighty crumble. Matthew spins, shoving his ass into Andre's face. Eat it, he growls. The boss complies, tongue delving into forbidden heat. Satisfied, Matthew pins Andre to a chair, demonstrating true dominance. He swallows Andre's rigid length whole, throat constricting in rhythmic pulls, tongue swirling along the veined shaft. Then he nips at those taut balls, saliva dripping in messy trails. His mouth attacks Andre's ass next—sharp, insistent jabs of tongue prying open the tight ring. Fingers plunge inside, stretching, probing. Matthew mounts him then, pounding every angle: slow grinds that tease, brutal thrusts that claim. He yanks out at the peak, ropes of cum splattering Andre's chest and face. Finally, mercy: Matthew lets the broken man stroke himself to release. They collapse, spent shells, the air thick with sweat and surrender.