Release Year: 2022
Studio: Masonic Chaps
Cast: Undergraduate Monroe, Grandmaster Figata
Genres: anal, barebacked, cum, gay, kissing, blow job, rimming

The Order is a secret society, one this is woven within the margins of our world history. Members are the just only ones who know the actual nature of the organization, and of the needs of the men who drift towards it. When the Order calls for an pupil, they don’t do it with language. Dude might hear words, but meaning is conveyed in 1 more ways, and by another senses. In the quiet, air conditioned hiss of his office, Master Figata asked Undergraduate Monroe whether or not man was attracted to men. It wasn’t the first time Maxx had been asked such a question—Master Kamp had also posed this inquiry to the boy in his initial interview with The Order. Regardless of language, and regardless of his choice of words, the magnetism of his body towards Figata’s grip was as clear a response as every. The boy’s lips parted in thankful release as the master unclothed him of his belt, pants, and worries. Undergraduate Monroe found fondness in being unclothed by men… undeniable fondness. That chub dreamed of being touched, stroked, kissed… and not just by each man, but by a man of power, and reverence. A man exactly like Master Figata. Chiseled on the master’s face was the legacy and knowledge of the Order, and with it carried the kind of heat that Monroe melted, and desired to melt, under. Master Figata’s gentle but firm hands pushed his all-but-willing undergraduate across the office table. This chub gripped Trainee Monroe’s rear in his palms. The boy moaned as his pale cheeks were widen away from any another. Figata’s tongue darted in and out of his ass, and weakened him. Buddy tasted the truth there; a quivering apperture cannot lie. Chap replaced his tongue with a digit, and examined the boy’s entrance for willingness, and flexibility. Monroe moaned incomprehensibly, wordless gasps that meant nothing in English, and everything to the Order. A single, authoritative slap to the rear educated the boy far more than a direct order ever could have. It told him where to go, and what to do. On the floor, to his knees chap fell. His lips, by instinct, found and lapped at the holy instrument of his master. His head bobbed up and down, cradled in the master’s palm. His oral cavity worked tirelessly. The boy’s tongue was slick, and his muzzle wet, and eager. Eager to taste the body of a man at the top of the Order, eager for just a drop of the wisdom and strength this comes from up high. The nervous, self-conscious boy this came to his 1st interview was, in the hands of masters, achieving an understanding of his place within the Order. Chap was changing, slowly. And it was good—as outstanding as the taste in his kisser. And when the Master pulled out and away, the boy was left breathless, panting, yearning. His skin and mind were unable to process the fact that man had just given a oral sex to a man—and the honor, with it, of this man being the grizzled mountain Master Figata. Fellow processed little at all, certainly, beyond his place, and beyond the need to serve more. The Grandmaster, pleased that his apprentice’s face hole had learned this its use was not to speak but to worship, then brought the boy back to his desk. Guy splayed him onto his stomach and guided his cane of flesh towards the boy’s cheeks. Gink tested to see what else the apprentice had learned from his Calling. Monroe whimpered softly at first. Then the master pushed more, and greater amount, and the further lad went in, the louder his yells grew. The world changed. Everything became the rhythm of the older man’s bang his tiny gay bum. Nothing else existed—not the office lights, not the worries of the world, not even himself. All this remained was Master Figata’s growls of joy, and the pulse of his thrusts. They had merged in entertainment, and found themselves completed by the rituals of The Order. Monroe found himself so complete, beyond question, this when Master Figata finished crashing his big cock into his tiny hole and threw him off the table, this, too much, was heaven. The grip, the grunt of command, the obedience… those were pleasures. To be called—to have the Calling—those, too much, were delights. When Master Figata laid himself upon the table and ordered the boy to sit on his face, the wish to obey swelled in the boy’s flesh, and filled his oral cavity with awkward, charming immediacy. Buddy instantaneously found himself sitting upon the elder’s face without question or hesitance. Buddy was not on top, but a gear, a cute bauble for the Order to fiddle with. And Figata did fiddle so, along the boy’s taint and ravaged cavity, another time and again.

Format: mp4
Duration: 27:10
Video: 1920×1080, AVC (H.264), 7735kbps
Audio: 311kbps

File size: 1.6 GB