Connor Taylor Drills Greg Riley’s Muscle Butt

Connor Taylor is the kind of masseur who doesn’t just aim to soothe your aches but to stoke your deepest, naughtiest desires. And when the ruggedly handsome Greg Riley walks into his parlor, with a chest as hairy as a lumberjack’s and a body that screams “straight but curious,” Connor knows he’s in for a wild ride.

The moment Greg hits the table, Connor’s hands are all over him, slicking him up with oil until he’s glistening like a porn star in a summer music video. Connor’s not just about finding those sweet spots; he’s about turning guys inside out with pleasure. And Greg, oh, he’s playing right into Connor’s hands, moaning like a dude who’s just discovered the joys of a back alley blowjob.

Connor’s not one to keep his own excitement hidden. His shorts? Gone, baby, gone. His heart? Thumping like a bass drum at a rock concert. He grinds against Greg, making sure his hard-on sends a clear message: this session is about to get X-rated.

As Connor slips down to pay some special attention to Greg’s bubble butt, his dick does a little tease across Greg’s head, leaving a trail of heat. And Greg? He’s not shy about reaching up, grasping Connor’s stiffy, and showing off some mad jerking skills. Before Connor can catch his breath, Greg’s mouth is on him, sucking like a Hoover on overdrive, pulling moans from Connor that could wake the dead.

This straight boy is thirsty for more, and Connor’s not about to disappoint. He growls out the invitation for Greg to get on his hands and knees, because Connor’s got a date with that ass. Greg’s faster than a jackrabbit on a date, presenting that butt like it’s on a silver platter. Connor dives in face-first, rimming Greg like it’s an Olympic sport and he’s going for the gold.

But you can only play with fire for so long before you get burned. Connor’s need is a raging inferno, and he’s got to have Greg, and have him good. He plunges into Greg’s waiting hole, feeling that tight, velvet grip milking him with every thrust. Connor’s not just fucking; he’s claiming that ass, pounding away as Greg’s groans turn into a symphony of lust and need.

The pace is frantic, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex. Connor’s on the edge, fucking with an urgency that borders on desperation. He’s a man possessed, driving into Greg with an intensity that’s going to make them both see stars. And when he can’t hold back any longer, he lets go, exploding inside Greg with a force that rocks them both to the core. It’s a finale that leaves them both spent, gasping for air, and utterly, deliciously satisfied.