Reece Scott Drills Raw Boy For Sale Zac Steele

Reece Scott’s grip on Zac Steele’s throat tightened as he shoved the boy’s face against the VIP suite window, bidding paddle still in hand. “Watch them watch you,” he breathed, biting Zac’s ear. Moans spilled out as Scott tore his clothes off, spat on his twitching hole, and slid two fingers into him—rough, twisting. Zac arched, slapping the glass. “Filthy…” he gasped. “Filthy’s your brand now.” Scott slammed into him, laughter low as Zac’s protests crumbled into shudders. Overstimulated and weeping, Zac chanted “Master” by the third orgasm Scott milked from him, semen pooling on the rug beneath them.