Matt Blows Jake

Jake's first time came that summer before senior year. After three years of pursuit, all that pent-up tension finally broke. He caught her, and damn if he didn't make it count—she arched and gasped like she'd never felt anything better. He still savors the memory, a secret thrill that hardens him now. The guys lean back, hands working their cocks to stiffen them up. Pants hit the floor. Jake's legs command attention—thick, powerful thighs, a plush expanse begging to be lost in. Shirts peel away next. They stroke harder, building the heat. Jake glances at Matt, those full lips glistening, parted in quiet invitation. He's primed, pulsing with need. Matt drifts in his haze, eyes distant, mind adrift. Then he bends forward, mouth opening wide, and takes Jake's length inside. Soft lips seal around the girth, sliding down inch by deliberate inch, claiming every ridge. Jake eases back, arms folded behind his head, lids fluttering shut—lost in echoes of that high school conquest, her tight warmth clenching around him. This promises to eclipse it. Matt descends like a shadow in the night—silent, deliberate, unseen. Pleasure masks itself on his face; he's all precision, a machine of suction and glide, though his own erection strains rigid, betraying the spark beneath. Then he pulls up sharp, dodging the flood he senses building—mission complete, no encores. Casual as ever, they pump to the finish, ropes of cum spilling hot across skin and sheets.