On The Lookout

Johnny Rahm knelt before Bob Decker, eyes watering as he pushed his lips down Bob's massive cock, throat bulging with the effort. He gagged once, twice, but pressed on, saliva trailing in slick strings. Bob groaned, fingers threading through Johnny's hair, guiding the rhythm deeper. The door creaked open then, and Bill Carson stepped in, his gaze locking on the scene with a hungry spark. He shed his clothes in swift pulls—shirt off, pants kicked aside—his own erection springing free, thick and ready. Bill dropped to his knees beside them, hands roaming Johnny's back while his mouth found Bob's balls, tongue lapping with eager swirls. Laughter mixed with moans as they shifted, bodies tangling in a heated knot. Johnny rimmed Bill's tight hole, tongue probing deep, while Bob's shaft slid back into his mouth. Bill's fingers teased Johnny's entrance, slicking it with spit before he positioned himself. With a firm thrust, Bill buried his cock to the hilt in Johnny's ass, the stretch drawing a muffled cry from Johnny's stuffed lips. They moved as one now, a frenzy of flesh and sweat. Johnny bobbed on Bob's tool, cheeks hollowing, while Bill pounded his ass in relentless drives, hips slapping skin. Bob's breaths came ragged, his control fraying like old rope. Bill tensed first, pulling out to stroke himself furiously over Johnny's heaving chest. Hot ropes of cum splashed across Johnny's skin, followed by Bob's own release, pulsing thick streams that mingled in sticky trails. Johnny's hand flew to his own cock then, pumping hard until he erupted, his load joining the mess in a final, shuddering burst.