Jesse Santana and Heath Jordan

Jesse Santana gets hotter with every film. The torn sleeves of his plaid shirt expose the ropymuscles of his arms, and his abs rock as he pummels Heath Jordan’s face. Spit rains down,helping to lubricate that fat shaft so that Heath can swallow every millimeter. Jesse’s ballsare heavy with jizz as he lowers his jeans, kneeling to trade positions. Heath’s thighs towerlike twin tree trunks. Intent on deepthroating Heath’s shaft, Jesse looks up for approvalthrough a forest of fur. The assault advances, with Heath’s meaty haunches now being thetarget. A canvas-covered work table provides ballast for Jesse to drill and thrill Heath’s bearhole in rhythmic thrusts captured from above and below so that the widening of every crackand crevice is recorded. The throbbing of the veins on Jesse’s head and the sudden flush ofred that overtakes Heath’s face and chest signals that this encounter is about to conclude —leaving each of them drenched in the other’s crossfire of cum. Like the leader of the tribeasserting his dominance, Jesse thumps with his fists on Heath’s chest.