In a dark, narrow stairwell, the atmosphere is already electric. He's the active one, a manly fellow, bursting with energy. He strides down the stairs, balls full, ready to start his day by getting properly drained. "Get a move on, I haven't got all morning," he lets out in a husky, authoritative voice, his eyes burning with desire. He loves to dominate, you can feel it in every word he utters, every look he gives. Downstairs, cocksucker awaits him, docile but hungry. A real good sucker, an expert at what he does. On his knees, he looks up at his master of the moment, ready to obey. His moist lips approach, and he sets to work with a devotion that borders on art. He takes in the orders, the "go deeper" and the grunts of the asset who guides him with a firm hand on the nape of his neck. It slams, it oozes, it vibrates in this confined space where every sound resonates. The active imposes his rhythm, very verbal, dropping "You like that, eh?" between two heavy breaths. Cocksucker, for his part, applies himself, drools, savors, a pleasure machine that builds up the tension until the final explosion. A day that begins with sweat and domination...
