Fucking Maestro Claudio

Finally ditched everyone else for this silver-fox hunk. Claudio B. shoots me that hungry grin the second we’re alone and we’re on each other like horny wolves—mouths locked, hands everywhere. He palms my jaw and moans deep when I drop to my knees, eager to slide his thick cock over my tongue, already shiny and heavy at the head. The slick head hits the back of my throat and his hips give a slow, greedy push, half growl, half laugh. I come up for air, string of spit connecting us, then suck him back down again, cheeks hollowing while he fists my hair and rocks forward like he can’t wait one more second. Next thing I know he’s spinning me around, bending me over the arm of the couch, spreading my cheeks open wide with both hands. He leans in and drags his tongue in one long, dirty stripe, circling my hole until I’m pushing back for more. Two slick fingers slide in, scissoring, teasing, opening me up quick and greedy. He lines up, rubs that blunt head over my slick ring once—twice—then pushes, and the stretch punches a ragged groan out of me as his cock sinks home, balls deep and throbbing, hips snapping tight, filthy and perfect.