“Suck it like you mean it, trash,” Brogan snarls, fingers tangling in Buck Richards’ ink-sleeved arms. Buck’s throat gulps, spit-slick and eager, blond pubes matted to Brogan’s base as park breeze carries the sound of gagging.
Hay bales crunch under Buck’s knees, jeans around his ankles, ass high and hole twitching—begging for that raw stretch. Brogan doesn’t tease. One spit-shined shove, and he’s ballsmash deep, Buck’s roar echoing off trailer walls. “Cry louder,” Brogan grinds, jackhammering Buck’s prostate into submission, sweat dripping onto trampled hay.
Buck’s fist yanks Brogan’s hair, face smashed into his own musky briefs. “Choke on that, cowboy,” he rasps, Brogan’s nostrils flaring as he inhales filth, hips never slowing. Skin slaps, hay prickling Buck’s raw-red ass, Brogan’s nuts slamming rhythm like a diesel piston.
Brogan floods Buck’s guts, cum geysering deep as Buck’s own load splatters the hay. “Still hungry?” Brogan smirks, wiping his dick on Buck’s thigh. Buck’s answer? A lazy grin and a lit cig. “Trailer’s always open.”
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