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Muscle Domination Wrestling - Oil Hunks 9 - Matt Thrasher & Mark Muscle
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Matt Thrasher is one sexy muscle Dad. Thrasher’s hairy body is never more than a few reps shy off of that glistening with sweat look. Aging for Matt consists of increased hormonal levels, sharpened features, and increased mental acuity, formed from countless intimate encounters over the years. The wizened wild man is so brazenly provocative, with his calm, confident, calculated strength, that even a lumbering hunk like Mark Muscle can’t help but take notice and appreciate masculinity incarnate.



It is only fair to acknowledge that Mark keeps himself composed as Matt romps on in, streaking his bare feet across the wrestling mats; Mr. Muscle is pumping up one of his gigantic arms, totally into himself and his set. As the 6’4 Mark extends to his full height, Thrasher allows a husky, “Wow,” to exhale itself in admiration of such a beautiful being towering over him.



“How many reps did you do?” Matt questions, as the dumbbell slowly rises and falls in careful contractions.



“About a hundred,” Mark lies. The tall stud’s demeanor doesn’t betray the slightest hint of intimidation as Matt swags his junk around in anticipation for a titanic clash. It is almost believable that Mark is the fearless, indomitable force he is presenting himself to be, casually stretching out his long luscious legs, hands flirting with the bulge beneath his patriotic lounge attire.



Only the saturation of self-satisfaction permeating the air can withhold these two sexual creatures from locking horns, but no amount of manly aroma fog can prevent these macho men from wading through its dankness to reach an extremely physical embrace. Presumably, Daddy is just letting Mark grip him tight from behind in a reverse Bear Hug, to establish the limits of his opponent’s strength. This may be a feeling out process but damn what a view! Matt Thrasher is smoldering in Mark’s cyclopean grasp, the former’s hairy muscle body tinctured with the chromatic countenance of struggle and pain.



“Boy’s a beast!” Thrasher concedes, a transient shock giving form to a budding arousal. Lust creeps up shyly like a pleasant drizzle, but soon relinquishes all manner of prudishness in favor of open exhibitionism. Consumed by a throbbing pulse of manly desire, Matt casts aside any pretense of competition and simply whips out the baby oil! Matt trades advantageous positions with Mark enjoying the feel of power and of being held. But when two boned up bad boys generate this much chemistry, the will to win is buried somewhere in the foreplay of competition. Every hold, submission, strike and struggle, serves to amplify the impending climax of steamy, unrepentant muscle worship. Thrasher works his hands all over and under every conceivable angle of Mark. This is proper muscle worship and man to man eroticism, a must have for muscle fanatics as much as for fans of Mark and Matt.
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