Greg McKeon’s unshaven face scraped against my dick as he took me deep into his mouth. The barn behind us was a hazy blur, its wooden slats creaking with an ancient rhythm that seemed to match the frantic beat of my heart. His lips wrapped tight around my cock, and I felt like I’d stumbled into one of those porn videos we used to jerk off to in our teenage bedrooms.
The warm sun beat down on us, but I barely registered it as Greg’s tongue danced across my dickhead, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through every vein. He was a master of the blowjob, his lips and tongue working in tandem like a well-oiled machine designed specifically for my cock’s gratification.
I thrust forward, losing myself in the sensation of being devoured by this rugged, bearded man. The world narrowed to the point where all that existed was Greg’s mouth, my dick, and the primal urge to fuck his face until I came.
Greg’s eyes met mine, flashing with a hungry intensity as he sucked harder, taking me to the back of his throat. My vision blurred, and I felt myself on the precipice of release. The barn, the sun, Greg’s face – all receded into the background as my orgasm built, a tidal wave of pleasure crashing over me.
I came with a roar, shooting my load down Greg’s eager throat. He swallowed every last drop, his eyes never leaving mine, and I felt like I’d been initiated into some primal rite, where the only sacrament was cock and the only priest was Greg McKeon.
