Fleet Week 2

Six months at sea had left Naval officer Landon Conrad ravenous for solid ground and warmer company. When his ship finally anchored in San Francisco, he grinned like a fool, eager to unwind. He slipped into a dimly lit gay bar, the kind where sailors find solace, and locked eyes with Parker Perry, the hunky bartender who knew just how to welcome a man in uniform. Parker wasted no time. He made straight for Landon's crotch, unzipping with practiced ease. His tongue traced the length of Landon's already stiff cock, lips sliding up and down, teasing every rigid inch until Landon groaned. Then Parker dropped lower, parting those cheeks to rim his asshole, tongue circling and probing with wicked precision. They switched, Landon taking charge. He serviced the lucky landlubber from fore to aft, stern to stern—gobbling Parker's thick cock deep into his throat, then feasting on his ass, lapping hungrily at the tight ring. Desire surged between them, raw and unyielding. Landon couldn't hold back. He sank his dick into Parker's asshole, thrusting hard and deep. Parker screamed for more, his body arching under the relentless pounding. They twisted into new positions—doggy, then face-to-face—lost in a haze of escalating pleasure, each move fueling their hunger. Finally, they pulled apart, hands flying over their slick shafts. The thrill built to a fever pitch, uncontrollable. One after the other, they shot their loads, ropes of cum spilling in hot, shuddering release.