He could feel the warmth of the sand beneath him as his body burned with lust, his shirtless form caressed by the wind. He looked upon the horizon, lost in a haze of longing as the frantic rhythm of the ocean pounded in his veins, calling for him and his beloved companion to surrender to the tide of pleasure.
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He had me bent over, ready to take my pleasure. His long, thick cock slid in with ease; I gasped as each inch found its way further and further in. I bucked as I adjusted to his size, feeling my skin flush with desire and raw pleasure. It was an ecstasy I’d never imagined possible. He was my everything.
I saw him in the photograph, shirtless and beautiful, his muscles flexing, his hand cupped around his hardening cock. He was the one, and I needed him desperately. I imagined myself being with him, feeling his skin against mine, and I pleasured myself as I longed for him. That was when I realized: I wasn’t just wanking to win someone else’s love, but to my own.
The pleasure was insane as I felt my way around his tight space, his tight ring of muscle pulsing around my ecstatic fingers. I moved slowly, savoring every sensation, the gentle pressure that built up heat and pleasure all around me. His asshole opened up like a little pocket of pleasure, and I felt like I was in heaven, savoring this intimacy.
He moaned and quivered as his muscles tensed and contracted with waves of pleasure. His hole spasmed uncontrollably around me as cum started to drizzle out of the crevice of his tight ass. He shuddered and whimpered, gyrating his booty against my pelvis as I filled him with my hot white cream.
My ass becoming a volcano of pleasure, his tongue teasing me into submission, I felt like I was experiencing a lasting cum inevitability. I felt my orgasm arriving hard and fast, and my body, filled with warmth and delight, was both overcome with tenderness and primed to receive whatever form of magical cum might be on its way. I trembled, ready for an ass-load of pure pleasure.
He stroked my skin with tenderness, his fingertips caressing every inch of me as if to memorize my body. His lips were intertwined with mine, and his tongue traced uninhibited circles around my own as we kissed. His palms massaged my chest in familiar circles as his body pressed against mine. The coach’s game was full of tantalizing pleasure.
He strolled into the club, a sleek Adonis, reeking of raw sex appeal. His body was tight, pumped like a prize fighter’s, and his swagger was an erotic promise of pleasure. His gaze panned across the room, stirring desire in even the most tattered and cynical of hearts. He had come to slake his primal urge and, as always, his call would be answered.
The night heat was palpable, inciting his own heat to rise, the sweat of his anticipation of her body against his own. He could feel her breath now, as it grew increasingly hot, her skin flushed and electric with desire. He knew in an instant — this was a night for gay passion to bloom and to burn.
Three naked bodies tangled in a sweaty embrace under the electric neon of the city night. Inspecting each other, exploring the unknown, teasing and tasting, a frenzied aftermath of loads spilled in passionate release. All night ecstasy, all night longing, all night pleasure.