𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐎𝐍

you seem like an expert on how fags goon. the vibrating buttplug in my cunt isn’t even a dildo, dude.

just rubbing myself through my suit.. it’s totally not gooning. totally not at all.

i dunno, last week? unless you count my dildo… then it was like five minutes ago.

clearly too much of a pussy to do anything else, pfffft.

you’re one to talk! i mean it, quit staring. i’m getting self conscious.

shut up — my butt is not 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 big.

whatever i say, huh? then i say you’re my girlfriend. he has one of steve’s cheeks in his grip, using the thick globe to guide the man up & down on his cock. his hand disappears into steve’s hair, forcing him to look at the cute, sweet face of the boy breeding him.

both hands clapping down across his ass victoriously, guiding steve’s ass to slam down on every last inch. you’re such a fucking slut, dude! you’re a total plow cow! rubbing his face between steve’s tits, effectively motorboating them with a boyish laugh.

hmph, some king you are. if he could spend every waking second breeding steve, he would… hopelessly addicted to the older boy’s fat ass, face squished against a pec. who’s the real king, steve?

they can make even more of a mess, but steve has a job to do, no? he should probably clean all that cum off of the floor before he makes mike bust another.

leaving something for steve to clean up on his lunch break. he knew his favorite ‘babysitter’ must have missed him.