Not that he'd come over to Harry's for the purpose of dropping to his knees like a cheap whore, but hey, life was full of little surprises. Far as Karl could remember (and he was having problems remembering much beyond the thick glidepress of Harry's cock down his throat), there had been an invitation to dinner -- steak and potatoes on the grill. Followed by beer. Karl had suggested the rugby game (currently on mute, to better hear Harry's harsh moans). A pretty damn near perfect evening. Which had led to half-drunken musings on how to make the evening even better. The blowjob had been Harry's idea. Karl was, if nothing else, an accommodating guest. Currently accommodating the entire length of Harry's cock in a slow, slithering push, head tickling the back of his throat. Harry tasted of sweat and salt and something that might have been lemon. Much better than the beer.
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