Mr. Punchguts’ fist glistens with lube as he buries it to the hilt in Scoty’s smooth nullo hole, “C’mon, gape for Versasspunk’s turn,” he taunts, yanking his knuckles free before slamming his cock into the sloppy void. Scoty’s breath hitches, thighs trembling as Versasspunk straddles his face, shoving his own fist into Scoty’s throat. “Suck my wrist, bitch—you’re just a warm-up,” Versasspunk snarls, spit dripping onto Scoty’s flushed cheeks.
Punchguts switches targets, fisting Versasspunk’s rosebud raw while Scoty tongue-fucks the gaping pit. “Double the wreckage,” Punchguts grins, fucking Versasspunk’s fist-stretched ass as Scoty’s throat bulges around his thrusting fingers. Preppy? Twink? Not anymore—both nullos’ holes drip crimson, spread wide by relentless knuckles and cock.
“Say ‘rosebud’ again,” Punchguts demands, yanking Versasspunk’s head back by the hair as Scoty’s fist plunges into his buddy’s colon. They obey, chanting it hoarsely between choked gags until Punchguts unloads in Versasspunk’s depths, Scoty swallowing the overflow.
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