Bobbi Eden
40th Anniversary The Ultimate Anthology Set 1965 2005 part2
Watch the big bastard — going under the name Bobby Eden like it's real. He’s on his knees at the foot of the bed, naked except for the worn leather collar, thick cock hanging heavy, already half-hard. Chains attach at his elbows and knees, pulling him open, forcing that wide chest lower so his thick, shaved hole is right there, pink and shaved smooth, twitching every time he breathes. Sweat beads on his broad back and rolls down the cleft of his ass, disappearing between his cheeks like it’s trying to get in first. His shoulders flex as the four guys at the corners reel the chains tighter, the sound of steel snapping taut echoes through the room, and his hole strains wider, more exposed. His breath catches when one of the doms walks past, boots clomping on the wood floor, tapping a crop against his thigh — every tap makes that fat cock jump and spit, clear pre-cum leaking in a thin line onto the sheets below. He grunts like it’s something to show off, the corner of his mouth twitching when the guy with the crop leans down, cold breath ghosting over his crack, saying just loud enough for the room: ‘He’s dripping already. Think he’s ready to eat dirt and beg.’ Bobby’s hole flexes again at that, hard enough the edges flutter open and shut, and his balls swing heavy and tight as another guy, all leather and sneering, brings a wide wooden dildo up, slick with spit and lube, resting the blunt head between those cheeks. Bobby’s fists clench in the chains, veins standing on his arms, and he stares straight ahead, chest heaving like he’s starving for it. The air’s thick with musk and sweat, and you can smell every inch of what’s coming.
Watch the big bastard — going under the name Bobby Eden like it's real. He’s on his knees at the foot of the bed, naked except for the worn leather collar, thick cock hanging heavy, already half-hard. Chains attach at his elbows and knees, pulling him open, forcing that wide chest lower so his thick, shaved hole is right there, pink and shaved smooth, twitching every time he breathes. Sweat beads on his broad back and rolls down the cleft of his ass, disappearing between his cheeks like it’s trying to get in first. His shoulders flex as the four guys at the corners reel the chains tighter, the sound of steel snapping taut echoes through the room, and his hole strains wider, more exposed. His breath catches when one of the doms walks past, boots clomping on the wood floor, tapping a crop against his thigh — every tap makes that fat cock jump and spit, clear pre-cum leaking in a thin line onto the sheets below. He grunts like it’s something to show off, the corner of his mouth twitching when the guy with the crop leans down, cold breath ghosting over his crack, saying just loud enough for the room: ‘He’s dripping already. Think he’s ready to eat dirt and beg.’ Bobby’s hole flexes again at that, hard enough the edges flutter open and shut, and his balls swing heavy and tight as another guy, all leather and sneering, brings a wide wooden dildo up, slick with spit and lube, resting the blunt head between those cheeks. Bobby’s fists clench in the chains, veins standing on his arms, and he stares straight ahead, chest heaving like he’s starving for it. The air’s thick with musk and sweat, and you can smell every inch of what’s coming.