Sex Pad

Colt Rivers drags the skater-hunk Tom Faulk into the Sex Pad, primed for a scorching fuck. Tom's scruffy beard frames his jaw, while his shaggy blond mane tumbles to his shoulders, echoing the wild pubes crowning his groin. He lounges back, utterly at ease, as Colt dives in like a man starved, devouring that juicy cock. Smooth and sculpted, Colt takes the fat shaft whole, lips sealing tight around its girth with practiced ease. He surfaces for a breath, then stretches full along Tom's body, hips locked in a slow, teasing grind. Their mouths meet; Tom laps the cock-slick flavor from Colt's tongue, savoring every trace. Colt shifts, flipping Tom belly-down, and unleashes that same fierce hunger on his hole. Tom's hairy crack stands out against the sleek smoothness of his chest and back—a rugged divide that begs to be breached. Colt calls the shots, yet Tom's the one who tops, and Colt yields just enough to take the pounding he craves. They rut through doggie twists, bodies slick and straining, until Colt crumples face-first onto the sheets, spent but not done. He rallies for the finish, rolling onto his back, soles planted firm against Tom's waist. Cum erupts in thick ropes across his abs. Tom growls, 'I feel your ass grip my cock,' as he withdraws and unleashes his creamy load over Colt's face. He thrusts back in, feeding the last hot drops straight into Colt's eager mouth.