Dark-skinned forearms of the sir

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The sound of strenuous sighing hits your feels first, then a long, white shinbone and a wooly calf. The utter pic exposes yam-sized Byron Saint on his back, one knee into his chest as Race Cooper screwdrivers his gloved knuckle into Byron's ass. Byron milks as the invasion reaches the middle of Race's forearm. Race liquidates his knuckle and re-lubes, smoothing lube over Byron's meaty pouch so they glisten. At 6-foot-5, there's a bunch of Byron; his toned bod is as lean as it is long, with sparse hair, except for his magnificent calves. He holds his gams broader as he relaxes. Race taunts the perimeter of Byron's crevice by tracing a fingertip around and around the rim until the opening blossoms red. Race resumes handballing with his right hand, but now his left hand is busy, too. He's got a mean rigid on that he strokes in counterpoint to his moving fist. Byron rests one sole on his shoulder and asks Race to jizz for him, getting unloaded with hot, white spooge.