My Cousin Danny

Matt Gunther and his cousin Danny—known around these parts as Randy Mixer—rushed out the door, bound for the airport. Just as their tires hit the street, Brett Ford and Tad Bronson pulled up, sliding into the sudden quiet of the empty house. But Matt and Danny? They left the tickets sprawled on the sofa like forgotten lovers. Tad grinned, wasting no time. He yanked Brett close, his hands rough and sure on that firm ass. Brett dropped to his knees, mouth watering. He took Tad's cock deep, sucking with a hunger that pulled groans from Tad's throat. Tad's fingers, slick and insistent, worked Brett's hole open, teasing the tight ring until Brett bucked against them. The front door burst open. Danny and Matt froze in the doorway, eyes wide at the sight—Brett's lips stretched around Tad's shaft, Tad's hand buried between Brett's cheeks. Interruption hung in the air like smoke, but it ignited something feral. No words needed. Danny stripped fast, his own cock springing free, and joined the fray. Matt followed, shedding clothes in a blur. They tangled in a heated quartet, mouths swapping cocks with greedy precision. Tad thrust into Brett's ass now, deep and relentless, while Danny fed his length to Matt's eager tongue. Sucks turned to fucks, bodies slick and slamming. They blew together in a shuddering rush, cum spilling hot across skin, the room thick with their raw release.