The guy that just spilled his load into the open ass of the guy hanging out of the wall-slot of the fuck-holes in the fetish club steps aside gracefully, making a half-bow toward the line that had formed while he peels off the condom with practiced ease. “Gentlemen,” he rumbles, voice still husky from orgasm. “He’s warm, lubed, and hungry for more.”
Almost immediately, another patron—a tall ginger in a red jockstrap—steps up, slicking himself with a fresh packet of lube. Seamus cuts the line with that perpetual smirk, clearly assuming there will be no negative consequences for simply walking up, cutting the line, and taking his pleasure with the anonymous guy in the fuck hole slot just down from the gloryholes.
