He was a big one, at least six-foot-one or -two, and completely nude except for the hood over his head that exposed only his mouth—Ian’s destination for the evening, and where he now rubbed the tip of his vermilion cock head gently against the pair of anonymous lips.
Every time Ethan lowered his head, Daniel was treated to an unobstructed sight line down his spine, which arched in at the taper of his waist, before gently giving rise again to his buttocks—two compact, unblemished mounds of flesh that Daniel could not wait to be balls-deep between.
It was not the spoor of a young man, but rather one that developed with biological maturity. I knew where exactly I could get a real hit, and so I spread his furry glutes as widely as possible and immediately caught a concentrated, undiluted whiff of the stuff before I even glimpsed the tuft that was the source—his personal musk pod.