HT-115 Air Squad Stud
Air Squad Stud
Hard Throbs
HT-115
$3.95
Air Squad Stud
Hard Throbs
HT-115
$3.95
Kit’s throat went dry as Dalton lay back beside him. He brought his hand down Dalton’s side. Saw the stiffness stick up with a wiggle.
He edged his fingers over both Dalton’s hips. The dick flipped out from his fly.
“And, of course,” Kit continued, “thinking about something can tense you up from head to toe.” His wrist hit something as if by accident. It twinged and the look flared in Dalton’s eyes. Uncertain, yet very certain.
“Depends, Dalton. Like everything else, with where your head is.”
Kit’s fingers felt again the live meat.
The morning hardon screaming out loud from between his bunkmate’s thighs. Hungry and sizzling to the touch.
“Jeez,” Dalton said.
“Know what you mean.”
“I don’t know why I got that.”
“Hey, it happens,” Kit said. “I got a hardon now that’s crawling in my haunch like a thirsty hombre through the desert.”
The groans of a single-engine plane tottering down the runway blared. Shouts of men in the distance. Smells of burnt fuel.
“We’d better get out there,” Dalton tried.
“You’re too tense. It’ll be a fuckup if you try rehearsing any new stunts now.”
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