Corporate Fist Pig
Sign Up & Watch Now!
It's after hours and the office is still busy, but the only business going on is the business three horny office boys are giving each other. The lights are blazing. Shirts still on. Ties still knotted. But the action taking place would be more at home in a sex club dark room than a spotless, proper office space.
Yoshi already has Shoma bent over a desk from the last “training session.” Shoma’s ass is pointed up, hole almost used up. Yoshi’s white shirt is open, ink showing on his muscular chest. Iori walks back in because he forgot something. He doesn’t freeze, because this is a part of a ritual only the members know. Yoshi just tells Iori to lock the door and get his hands wet. Iori rolls his sleeves back in preparation.
He starts on Yoshi first. Fingers, then the whole fist, pressing in with Yoshi face-down on the desk. Two holes, one pair of hands, just getting started. Shoma and Yoshi line up hip against hip on the desks. Iori fists both at once. One arm buried deep in Yoshi, the other inside Shoma. Wet slapping, lube splashing onto keyboards and papers. Yoshi’s face glares right into the camera, glasses fogging, mouth open, still trying to play the boss while his hole is getting wrecked.
Shoma just takes all the insane penetration, mask on, body shaking. Iori’s fist disappears into Yoshi’s tattooed ass, then into Shoma. The pierced ring catching the light. Iori grinning as he pumps both of them. Yoshi reaches back to spreads himself even more open. As Iori goes deeper, Yoshi squirts himself and soaks the desk below. They shift.
Shoma rolls onto his back on the desk. Yoshi climbs on top of him, still in his white shirt and tie, ass in the air. Iori fists Yoshi from behind while Yoshi presses his weight down on Shoma. Iori works both holes again, one fist inside Yoshi, one ramming into Shoma underneath. The new guy serves as a mattress while the boss gets his hole opened up on top of him. Iori keeps them both open wide.
Yoshi’s crying now, no longer able to pretend it’s still work. Shoma’s just taking it. Iori’s sleeves are soaked. The office looks wrecked, spent, the workers' shirts wrinkled, ties hanging, desks impromptu fuck benches. Iori fists both of them deep and hard. It’s just another late night at the office.
Yoshi already has Shoma bent over a desk from the last “training session.” Shoma’s ass is pointed up, hole almost used up. Yoshi’s white shirt is open, ink showing on his muscular chest. Iori walks back in because he forgot something. He doesn’t freeze, because this is a part of a ritual only the members know. Yoshi just tells Iori to lock the door and get his hands wet. Iori rolls his sleeves back in preparation.
He starts on Yoshi first. Fingers, then the whole fist, pressing in with Yoshi face-down on the desk. Two holes, one pair of hands, just getting started. Shoma and Yoshi line up hip against hip on the desks. Iori fists both at once. One arm buried deep in Yoshi, the other inside Shoma. Wet slapping, lube splashing onto keyboards and papers. Yoshi’s face glares right into the camera, glasses fogging, mouth open, still trying to play the boss while his hole is getting wrecked.
Shoma just takes all the insane penetration, mask on, body shaking. Iori’s fist disappears into Yoshi’s tattooed ass, then into Shoma. The pierced ring catching the light. Iori grinning as he pumps both of them. Yoshi reaches back to spreads himself even more open. As Iori goes deeper, Yoshi squirts himself and soaks the desk below. They shift.
Shoma rolls onto his back on the desk. Yoshi climbs on top of him, still in his white shirt and tie, ass in the air. Iori fists Yoshi from behind while Yoshi presses his weight down on Shoma. Iori works both holes again, one fist inside Yoshi, one ramming into Shoma underneath. The new guy serves as a mattress while the boss gets his hole opened up on top of him. Iori keeps them both open wide.
Yoshi’s crying now, no longer able to pretend it’s still work. Shoma’s just taking it. Iori’s sleeves are soaked. The office looks wrecked, spent, the workers' shirts wrinkled, ties hanging, desks impromptu fuck benches. Iori fists both of them deep and hard. It’s just another late night at the office.
