Reece Scott Slams Dex Devall

Dex and Master Scott burn with tension as chamber doors shut—ordination ritual derailed by Scott’s uncharacteristic tenderness. The silver fox’s white suit contrasts Dex’s shaky hands stripping bare, but Scott shatters protocol with a kiss that’s equal parts dominance and reverence. Dex’s submissive training evaporates under Scott’s tongue, his mind blown by the raw equality of their hunger.

Clothes gone, Dex kneels, nuzzling the outline of Scott’s cock through sheer briefs before freeing it, lapping up pre-cum with a smirk. Scott retaliates by pinning him facedown on the couch, tongue spearing his hole until Dex whimpers, “Please—” Scott sheathes himself slow, grip bruising Dex’s hips as he finds a rhythm that’s filthy yet intimate. “Perfect fucking boy,” Scott growls, slamming deeper, sweat dripping as Dex claws the cushions—overwhelmed by how good it feels to be claimed, not just fucked.

Scott’s climax hits brutal—pumping him full of cum while Dex spills across his own stomach, shuddering. Post-nut, Scott cradles him close, murmuring, “Welcome to the brotherhood,” and Dex realizes this—the sweat, the bruises, the seed dripping down his thigh—was the real initiation.