Ethan Tate and Johnny Ford – Encounter 3
Some things we will never get tired of, and one of them is the intense eroticism that Ethan Tate and Johnny Ford deliver. Johnny Ford, the walking thundercloud of testosterone, doesn’t ask for permission. He takes Ethan’s mouth, throat-deep on that cock like it’s his last meal. Ethan’s gag reflex? Well-worn. His lips? Stretched. His hole? Next in line.
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Johnny’s tongue goes to work, unbuttoning Ethan’s ass like a zipper before slamming in bareback, cockhead first, no lube, no apologies. Ethan’s tight backdoor? Joke’s on him. Johnny’s pecs flex like shock absorbers as he restructures Ethan’s anatomy—every thrust a wrecking ball, every slap of flesh a symphony of sin. Ethan’s moans? A distress signal. Johnny’s grip on his hips? A permanent tattoo in the making.
The finale? Johnny breeds Ethan like a prize mare, veins bulging, sweat flying, cum flooding that hole like a tsunami of testosterone. Ethan’s ass? Glowing. Johnny’s cock? Still hungry. They’re not done until Ethan’s dripping and Johnny’s marked him for life.
