[SS-1764] Quadrupled Kneading

QUADRUPLED KNEADING

The world knew him as the meanest boxer on the planet — angry, loud, womanizing, pure hypermasculine rage in the ring. What almost nobody knew was what happened between fights.

Deep in the northeast wing of his mansion sat a private spa suite. After every big match he would walk in, strip naked, and lock the door.

First came the sauna.

He stayed in the unbearable heat for a full hour. Sweat poured down his thick chest and abs in rivers. The wooden benches steamed. His heavy cock and balls hung free under the small white towel that barely covered anything. By the time he stepped out his whole body was slick, red, and throbbing.

Then the two masseurs entered.

Both were big, handsome, and built like fighters themselves. They never spoke much. They just poured warm oil over his already soaked skin until he glistened like a wet statue.

Four strong hands attacked him at once.

They dug deep into his traps, his lats, his quads. Fingers pressed so hard it felt like they were trying to break him open. He grunted and cursed under his breath, but his cock was already rock hard against the marble table.

“Harder,” he growled.

They obeyed. Thumbs forced into his glutes. Oil mixed with sweat and ran down the crack of his ass. One masseur spread him open while the other pushed two thick fingers straight into his tight hole. No warning. The pain was sharp and perfect.

Then they took turns fucking him.

The first one mounted him without foreplay, slamming his thick cock deep into the boxer’s ass in one brutal thrust. The boxer roared, face pressed against the cool marble, muscles flexing hard as he got wrecked. The second masseur fed his cock into the boxer’s mouth at the same time.

They used him like a piece of meat.

Every thrust was punishing. Balls slapped against his ass. Oil and sweat flew. The boxer came the first time without anyone touching his cock, shooting thick ropes across the table while still getting pounded. They didn’t stop. The second load hit minutes later. Then the third. His body was shaking, hole raw and stretched, but he kept pushing back for more.

By the fourth orgasm he was moaning like a broken animal. The fifth hit when both masseurs filled him at once — one in his ass, one in his throat — and he painted the marble again, completely spent.

They left him there, leaking, oily, and trembling.

And ready for his next fight.

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