Guy Spencer Barebacks Grant Ducati

Midnight vigil becomes obedience training. Spencer’s fingers pry Grant’s jaw open, shoving his cock down the acolyte’s throat. “God made this hunger—serve it.” Grant gags, slobbering on the reverend’s shaft until Spencer flips him, tongue carving into his tight hole. Fuck? Brutal—wooden pew creaks under Grant’s trembling knees, Spencer’s thrusts cracking his hips into the kneeler. Grant’s dick drips untouched as Spencer reclaims him, seed spilling into the chalice. Sunrise finds Grant sore, sticky, enlightened.