The Initiation Of Apprentice Dylan Tides With Tyler Saint
The chamber smells of musk and myrrh. Master Saintās fingers glide across Apprentice Tidesā bare torso, oil dripping warm between pecs, down the valley of his abs. āEvery initiation demands surrender,ā he murmurs, thumb circling the apprenticeās nipple until it peaks. The oil sinks lower nowāgloss coating hip bones, the juncture of trembling thighs. Tidesā breath hitches as Saintās palm grinds against his groin, slick friction coaxing his cock to twitch erect.
āBreathe, Apprentice.ā Saintās voice is velvet wrapped in steel. His fingertips skate up Tidesā inner thighs, nails grazing skin raw. When his mouth replaces his hands, swallowing Tidesā cock whole, the apprenticeās head snaps back with a gasp. Saint drinks him deep, throat working until drool slicks his chin and Tidesā knees buckle.
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āOn the stool. Now.ā Tides obeys, bending forward, ass presentedāoil gleaming. Saint spits, spreads him wider, then sheathes himself in one brutal thrust. Tides chokes, knuckles white on the stoolās edge as Saintās pace starts slow, deliberate. āFeel the sacred stretch,ā he growls. But rhythm unravels; hips piston faster, slapping flesh echoing off stone walls.
Repositionedāmissionary, Tidesā leg hooked over Saintās shoulderāthe master drives deeper. Tides fists his own cock, jerk-off strokes. āIāmā¦ close.ā
āCum.ā The command cracks like a whip. Tides arches, cum streaking his chest. Saint snarls, plunging harder, chasing his own peak. When he spills, hot and claiming, he locks Tidesā hips against him. āMarked. Now, and always.ā
