Dylan Tides Gets Used By Tyler Saint

Master Saint’s hands slip over Apprentice Tides’ chiseled abs, warm oil slick and teasing. “Every initiation needs surrender, and a little pain too,” he whispers, his thumb drawing circles around Tides’ nipple until it hardens. The oil drips lower, glistening over Tides’ hipbones and making his thighs quiver.

Tides’ breath catches as Saint’s palm presses against his crotch, rubbing with a slick, torturous friction. “Breathe, darling,” Saint’s voice is a low growl, commanding and seductive. His fingernails skim up Tides’ inner thighs, leaving trails of fire in their wake. When Saint takes Tides’ cock into his mouth, the apprentice’s head snaps back in a sharp gasp. Saint swallows him whole, his throat working with skill and precision.

“On the stool. Bend over.” Tides complies, leaning forward, his ass bright with a sheen of oil. Saint spits, spreads him wide, and plunges in with one deep thrust. Tides grips the stool’s edge, his knuckles white as Saint lets the rhythm build, the slap of skin against skin echoing off stone.

Position change—missionary, Tides’ leg draped over Saint’s shoulder. The master leaves no inch unexplored, driving deeper and deeper. Tides grabs his own cock, stroking desperately, his legs trembling. “I’m… I’m close,” he gasps.

“Cum for me,” Saint commands, his voice sharp and demanding. Tides arches off the stool, ropes of cum landing across his chest. Saint snarls, his hips bucking wildly as he pursues his own release. When he comes, he holds Tides tight, sealing their bodies together. “Marked. Forever.”