FIN-195 Engine Boys
Engine Boys
Finland Books
FIN-195
Jeff Kincaid
$3.95
Excerpt
Never, the look Kao received in return said, defiant. Tickle me with them fuckin’ feathers all you fuckin’ want, you sick slope cocksucker: this’s one big fuckin’ all-American jock stud who isn’t gonna give in ‘n laugh f you, no fuckin’ way! And yet—and yet——Even as the big brawny buck challenged his lithe young Amerasian captors with the flash of his eyes and a gag-muffled curse the flickering feathers were driving the nerve-endings just under the surface of his super-sensitive epidermis into paroxysms, his whole body heaving and jerking and twisting despite all the resolve. The damn things were crazing him, and worse, they were filling his till-now limp pecker with blood, snapping the cartileges within the arching sex-tube into uncompromising hardness, extending the length and the breath of the humongous meat.
“MMNGHHHH…”
“I think he’s sayin’ ‘no no no’,” Ky was snickering, the triplet standing between the muscleman’s outstretched thighs, the business end of his feather dusting the jangling flesh at the base of the cum-swollen balls in Hank’s pimple-skinned scrotum. The insidious weapon moved upward, flickering maddeningly around the thickly matted triangle of dark pubic hair, tracing the quivering skin stretched hairlessly over the bony horn of Hank’s broad pelvis before turning its ultimate attention to the underside of the coathooked boner now upstanding in total wet-headed erection. “Judging from the way that prick is stretchin’ up t’ fill that belly-button with precum,” Nguyen commented, the tip of his own feather fluttering against the impossibly delicate man-flesh on the underside of the shuddering captive’s bulging bicep, “I’d say the white dude lies.”
“Me, too,” Kao had to agree, doing the same to the other side of Pounder’s bucking body and then shifting the point of the feather to the nearest of the gagged stud’s voluptuously vulnerable tits, roiling the pretty pink pap and making it pucker.
“MMWWWAAOOHHH…!” Despite the rawhide ropes there was room for Hank to wince (if not recoil), to spasm outward in his suspension. The sight gave his captors a set of gigantic hard-ons of their own as they continued to stroke him into dementia, making him splutter around the half-swallowed dildo-gag.
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